Louis Walsh*
MY WEEK
MONDAY: If I’ve learned one thing from being on The X Factor, it’s that I’m sh**e at making basically meaningless decisions under pressure. Lunch is a nightmare.
“So, Louis,” my PA says, “do you want the lasagne or the ham sandwich?”
“I can’t choose,” I say, “it’s too hard, I love them both.”
“Sorry, Louis,” he says, “I need an answer.”
“I know you do, Dermot, but I just can’t pick one.”
“For the last time, my name’s not Dermot, and you know the rules. If you don’t give me an answer, I’ll have to put it to the public vote.”
Two hours later, the result’s in. It’s the sandwich.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell the loser, “I really wish I could take you both through.”
“Listen, mate, I’m a frozen lasagne, you don’t have to apologise to me. You’ve lost it. I think you really need to get a proper job.”
It’s then that I realise I’m not even hungry any more. What’s wrong with me?
Climbing into bed later in my special Boyzone pyjamas, I finally realise what it is. Monday was good. I liked Monday. I was good at Monday. People were always saying to me that I was their favourite thing about Monday. But sometimes you just have to move on and admit that you’ve done as much with Monday as you can. I wish Monday all the best for the future, but I want something new in my life.
I discuss it on the phone with Simon, who says he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to find someone who can twiddle a pen and say “it’s too hard, I can’t choose” with as much feeling as me.
TUESDAY: I’m starting to think that I made a mistake. It’s only nine in the morning and I’m bored already.
I thought the phone would be jumping with offers. Instead, it’s so empty and quiet here that it’s like being inside Cheryl’s head. Simon calls. “Miss you, mate,” he says. “We got that Nick Grimshaw charisma bypass in to do your job, but it’s just not the same. Do you want to come back to Monday and take up where you left off ?”
“But I’ve moved on to a new phase,” I say, playing hard to get for all of three seconds. That’s when he offers me a million quid. “I’m on my way.”
MONDAY: I don’t care what the critics say. It feels right, being back here in Monday where it all began for me. The old gang is back together. The tabloids say we have a collective age of 219, but that’s still younger than the Rolling Stones.
“Sharon Osbourne’s ditched her husband too,” Simon says, “so you might be in with a shout if you move fast.”
“But Simon, she’s not my type. You know that. You’re always teasing me about it.”
Suddenly I don’t feel so well. I need a cup of tea.
“Sugar?” asks the girl in the canteen.
“Yes,” I say, channeling my inner Molly Bloom, “yes, I said yes, yes... That’s four yesses. Cuppa, you’re through to the next round.”
I really think I can win this thing again, like I did with Shayne Ward in Series Two. Under my management, he’s gone from selling millions of albums to working with Foster and Allen.
If that isn’t what the young people want, I don’t know what is.
I know some say we’re just a bunch of out-oftouch old-timers sitting in judgement over the future of much younger, hotter people. But so is the Dail, and that still works. Sort of.
WEDNESDAY: I take a quick break from Monday to dash off a letter to the new Minister for Agriculture, calling for a ban on wild animals in circuses. It’s not right that dumb creatures are made to perform for peanuts in front of audiences for our twisted amusement. Feel free to insert your own punchlines about Jedward. I need to get back to... MONDAY: I know, I know, it really should be Thursday by now, but I never want to leave Monday again, I feel safe and loved here. I read in the papers that Roy Keane says he was only joking when he said that he wanted to kill a few of the Irish football players. I feel for him. My sense of humour constantly gets me into trouble too. Like the time I told RTE that Ray D’Arcy had the star potential for Saturday night TV. I still can’t believe they fell for it. It does annoy me, though, that everyone thinks I just sit around all day waiting for Simon to call up and offer me a job. I’ve never been so busy. What they don’t realise is that I actually helped my fellow Mayo man Enda Kenny pick his new front bench. No one knows better than me how to form a winning line-up. First, Boyzone. Then Westlife. Now I’ve got Irish boy band HomeLand. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. (What’s that? They’re actually called HomeTown? Whatever.) The Taoiseach reminded me that I once described Boyzone as “Ronan, Stephen and three Ringo Starrs”. “What have you got for me to work with?” I asked. “About 50 Ringo Starrs.” Well, I’ve made stars out of worse. Remember Six? No, me neither. FRIDAY: I’m outraged to be panned in the press as “a bit old and tired, desperately clinging to the last chance at fame”. Bloody cheek. Then I realise that’s actually what I said about Pete Waterman when we were both on Oh, I do make myself giggle. *As imagined by Eilis O’Hanlon Popstars.