There will be no voting at this live show," says the advert for the touring version of Britain's Got Talent. No opportunity, then, for a reversal of the controversial finale of the television antecedent, when Blackburn's own Susan Boyle lost out to a dance troupe named Diversity. Instead, the evening will surely become the Susan Boyle freak show, as all eyes swivel to see if she displays a further acreage of spinster thigh or any more twitchy, volatile behaviour. She's set now, courtesy of her apparent brittleness, to become a musical, non-alcoholic, equivalent of George Best or Oliver Reed, hauled onto chat shows until the end of recorded time in the hope that she might do her ticking time bomb routine again. There's already doubt over whether she will manage to perform at every date on the tour. Her appearance must be considered somewhat provisional anyway, until Ofcom concludes its investigation into whether rules were breached in allowing her to appear after showing signs of instability. It's time, surely, to let the poor woman alone for a spell.
A similar fragility, though, can scarcely be said to afflict Boyle's co-performers. Many of them struggled to stretch their turns to the length of a brief television spot, so the thought of them in a spectacular theatre presentation does remind you of the local five-a-side team playing in the Camp Nou. The precise line-up of the show has yet to be revealed, but public pity and sentiment will surely make room for the likes of Stavros Flatley, who were what White Van Man considered proper entertainment back when Michael Barrymore was still married to a lady. Many other competitors who made it to the competition's later stages - the mulleted heavy rock guitar maestro, the man who did Michael Jackson dances in a Darth Vader helmet - possessed entertainment value only in their roles as stooges and foils for the invited mockery of the audience at home. It's really all rather ghastly. If you were of a literary bent, you might be put in mind by the show and its phenomena of a Poe short story, as the court gavottes around a distracted and dislocated woman whose mind has much to contend with. Whatever happened to Britain's talent for maintaining a respectful distance?