The whole 'bullying saga', which inevitably helped to seal Misha's fate, actually did her a BIG favour, for several reasons.
"It's the X Factor's biggest talking point!" The Daily Mail newspaper assures us between endless stories of other big X Factor talking points and tweetpics of No-listers and their recent weight-loss, waving into a mirror wearing a bikini during a Nuts magazine photo-shoot.
The judges, three of whom are on the panel for the first time, have each contributed the most memorably ludicrous moments of the series. Returning granddad Louis Walsh had surpassed the realm of self-parody by week four.
People can be as snobby as they want about Gary - but there's no doubt this man can put on a show-stopping performance. Of course Mark Owen, Jason Orange and Howard Donald were missed - but they're off having a well-earned holiday while Gary continues to thrive on his charity projects.
This weekend is the semi-final of the X-Factor, and while there's one contestant standing head and shoulders above the others, if I were a betting lady, I'd put money on Misha B being in the bottom two again. Britain, it seems, has a problem voting for the best act, and I'm calling it racist.
Being judges (without a jury, mind) is becoming ingrained into our culture. We're constantly told that our opinion counts, we're encouraged to comment, to vote, to Tweet, to share 'what's on your mind.'
Kelly's best comment to date comes when addressing Ellie-Goulding-Without-The-Personality; aka Janet Devlin. After forgetting the words (again) during a crucial performance, Kelly jumped to the defence of her "baby girl" by saying, "you own that stage every week momma, just keep telling everyone that me me? I'm Janet Devlin boo boo."
And the fact is, we live in a world where our newspapers are constantly taken over by drama; our free time is (mainly) spent watching famous-sorts bicker and tell stories in the jungle/on a judging panel/at the High Court - we can't help it. We're drawn to the tawdry details; the naughty bits that should be kept secret; the bare, naked details. As humans, we seem to be programmed that way.
However many hours it takes to watch a series of X Factor, I have to double it. Let me explain...
Faster than you can say, "JLS in boat shoes and thrift store plaid shirts", the pop world has become obsessed with indie. If you're both an Animal Collective enthusiast and shameless pop fanatic like me, you'll notice it feels a bit weird. Like watching your best friend get off with a work colleague at your own birthday party.
It's like going to McDonald's and somehow, without expecting or ordering it, coming out with the finest haute cuisine meal of your life. I only hope we as an audience haven't had our aural taste buds numbed by too many years of fast food music to really appreciate Rebecca's talent.
I believe Frankie was fed to the lions way before his drug downfall, and I by no means condone taking drugs, but Cocozza isn't an addict and this probably won't be the last time he experiments on a night out.
The professional singers are skewered because they chose to work on their craft rather than whore themselves on reality TV, wiping away the tears after revealing how their grandmother got a paper cut in WW2 then proceed to butcher a Queen song to the slavish applause of the crowd.
As I said in my last post, music is at its all time lowest state, with pretend dance and fake urban tunes plus meaningless lyrics and no groove clogging up our charts like a festering turd in the u-bend of a public latrine.
All I want for Christmas is this: I want you to buy one piece of music over the Christmas week, but I want it to be a piece of music that you actually want to own and listen to. If it is by whoever wins X Factor, that's fine; I just probably won't send you a present. But if it's Smells Like Teen Spirit, you don't even get a card.
It's been a crazy week for me, with so much going on, both personally and with the X Factor. So here's my diary. As you'll see, there was no time for any R&R!