In spite of my thorough slagging off of ITV in the last post, I did deign to view it's general tackiness tonight, because they were demonstrating the levels of class and sophistication they are capable of with the help of one particular person: Michael Buble.
Now Michael Buble (or Mickey Bubbles, as I do believe Paul O'Grady christened him) has been somewhat unfairly labelled as the "older woman's" perfect man, but I'm here to tell you Loose-Women-esque giffers; you have competition. As far as I can see, Michael Buble is damn near perfect. Good-looking, cheeky smile, voice to send tingles down your spine, brilliant sense of humour, modesty, kindness and thoughtfullness. Yep, the whole package (though unfortunately the perfect package tends to come with an obnoxiously beautiful Brazilian model of a fiancee).
I was watching 'An Audience with Michael Buble' for over an hour, and did I once stop drooling? Well honestly, not really. He can bring you to tears with love songs and Bambi-eyes, and yet ten minutes later, flip your stomach with a mischievous smile and a cheeky wink. Sure, jazz isn't all that popular in this day and age, but I just don't care. The man has a voice that could make an angel cry with envy, and I don't care what he sings, just so long as he keeps doing it.
In any case, the programme tonight suggested he had done odds and sods of acting, so I'm cutting this short in order to get onto Play.com and order whatever he's in, regardless of screen time, genre, taste boundaries or ratings. Sadly when I voiced my adoration to my mother, her response (after "You can bring him home anytime...") was "I think you'll have to get in line, hon."
Well, frankly, I'm younger, angrier and bigger than them. So bring it on.
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