Farewell to The X Factor for another year. Our Cheryl remains the nation's best-loved convicted Geordie brawler, Simon Cowell has banked another billion and the probably-gay one beat off the possibly-gay one to seal his Faustian pact with pop-culture obscurity.

If Joe whatsisname wanted true immortality, he should've entered the Oxo Factor - for a worse advert will never, ever be made.

Premier's cunning ruse was to get members of the public doing its dirty work by filming their own versions of the same humourless Oxo script - you know, like on that YouTube the kids all love, but with its spirit of iconoclasm and non-conformity subbed for corporate-backed irony.

At least the winning Dawson family managed to extract new levels of soul-crushing banality from the exercise, thoroughly earning their 15 seconds of infamy.

We can't say we weren't warned. This is exactly what Warhol was talking about.

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