Pondering Contrasts Between X-Factor And Strictly Come Dancing?

Only a complete nitwit could fail to recognise the cultural chasm between these two Saturday night blockbusters.

Here are two hit shows from opposite poles of the great divide. The first fronted by an octogenarian TV legend stars a collection of cuddly favourites representing different tastes of jolly fine Middle Class culture.

The second is controlled by a smug-faced, exploitative, multi-millionaire git with hair in a ridiculous 1960 'brushcut' and stars some of the worst examples of wannabe famous 'cos I wannabe famous Joe Soap public.

Strictly Come Dancing is where British Margo Leadbetters and their Victor Meldrew husbands gather of a Saturday eve and relax with tea and digestive biscuits after a heavy day making home made marmalade, ironing the handkerchiefs and clipping the hedge.

These stalwarts of Suburban Mediocrity and upholders of all things decent, settle down in their comfy armchairs secure in the knowledge that thankfully there's still a tiny corner of this great island where polite people congregate to enjoy stimulating television without having to suffer filth, sex and violence being shoved down their throat every five seconds. Good old Brucie. Good old Auntie BBC.

The X-Factor on commoners ITV couldn't be more different. No sign of any aspirant Katherine Jenkins' in this neck of the woods. Nor a marvellously gifted teenager giving a Rachmaninov concerto as you might get on any properly respectable programme like the Leeds Piano Competition.

Not a hope. This is the show during which dad falls asleep after drinking gallons of canned lager whilst mum chains her way through another pack of 20 Mayfair as she jumps up and down to vote for her favourite boy, who reminds her of that lovely Gareth Gates as he 'sings' away like he's some kind of yodelling goatherd in the Swiss Alps who's just had both his balls removed.

Meanwhile the delinquent teenage kids are watching the show with their mates upstairs. Peep through the keyhole and catch a glimpse of Hades as they all slurp down the cheap wine, keep pace with the latest events in their life via Facebook, text the last person they shagged to announce he/she is now officially dumped and wind up with a bit of the old Saturday night in-and-out as they have a go at getting each other pregnant.

Whatever happened to Hughie Green and Bing Crosby?

In Strictly Come Dancing, the contestants all dress in beautiful ball gowns, elegant evening suits and acceptably dangerous costumes brilliantly designed to display the female form in a way that offers just enough of a titbit to the old codger sitting at home in his armchair, whilst causing no offence to his dragon of a wife sitting opposite.

The benevolent woman might have stopped shagging years ago but still generously permits her obedient husband a nice little treat on a Saturday night. Just like the budgie gets his millet.

The costumes and style of X-Factor contestants are more openly to do with sex. The boys do exactly what boys have always done from Elvis Presley to Michael Jackson via Mick Jagger and Kanye West. So we won't bother going into all that again.

The girls however are well worth a brief mention. Successful X-Factor girls nowadays quickly develop a built-in look of total concentration about whatever variety of love song they are singing. It's always a love song.

And it occasionally leads to one of those glorious wardrobe malfunctions that end up in the tabloids. Rarely on live TV. But sometimes in rehearsals or when she's out and about and there are cameras to be seen.

She knows instinctively that if she's ever going to make the Aguilera League, she'll have to master the tricks of the trade. How to flash whilst appearing to sing. Can she do it? Is she up to it?

Probably not at the X-Factor stage of her career. But if she's ever to get famous here's a glimpse of what she's aspiring towards. A flash-forward on any X-Factor girl winner a year hence.

With everyone believing she's consumed by the emotion of the words, she brilliantly suspends us in the hypnotic trance of her girl-power. Then, just as she catches us looking into her eyes, she triggers some hidden button about her person. This slowly releases a vital part of clothing leaving us all gawping as we wait in hushed silence, like cheetahs on the prowl, for something to finally break free and reveal a glimpse of bosom or an occasional flash of dark nipple.

Having satisfied herself we've seen her tit, she then does a bit of totally mortified acting before she puts her bosom away and thrills to the sound of wild applause in recognition of yet another superb singing performance. Master this art and win the competition.

OK. We've had fun exploring the differences between these two programmes. The evidence points to them being pretty much the same give or take the odd golf club annual dinner.

But they're NOT the same. Rarely have two seemingly similar Saturday night programmes on opposing channels been so different.

One show is about young kids wanting to become stars. The other is about stars wanting to hang on to what they've got and win a bit more.

The cast of Strictly Come Dancing fat-cats have all tasted the big-time.. They've already lapped-up far more that their 15 minute quota of cream. Now, the only reason for coming back is to eke out a few saucers more.

Nothing wrong with this. But watch them when they're voted off. They look like they're waving goodbye after popping in for afternoon tea. They're cool about it. I've never seen such charming executions. The tension builds. The familiar long pauses between Tess and Brucie. More pauses and long looks between the barking mad judges. Then finally the guillotine drops and they're off the show. This should be the moment for bitter tears of disappointment.

Cue, let's have a laugh and a smile about it. Let's set off for one last cuddly waltz. Let's be happy and enjoy loads of back slapping all round. Let's have a party. The show closes with a mass group hug. Curtain. Music. Cue titles and applause - End credits.

Flick over the channel.

From Roman gladiators to Madonna via Jade Goody there's always been some kind of route out of obscurity. A ladder through the clouds and up to the stars. From rags to riches. From 2 up 2 down obscurity to mansions, nightclubs and Ferraris.

This is what X-Factor's about. The latest in a grand old tradition. A real show. Where staying on is the difference between life and death. This is the war-zone of light entertainment programmes.

Strictly Satin Slippers Versus the Unknown Factor X. Ask any mathematician. There's no comparison.