We are four. The tutors get no vote this week at all. They just get huge boos, and what the hell is Betcha wearing?

Onwards... Carolynne had a nasty call from her father this week, suggesting she's losing her plot. She's wearing a black trouser suit, and the sound engineer doesn't fade up her mike for the opening line. Wanker. This is exactly Caro's song, she can take it to places Sharleen Spiteri never did. And yet, there's something not quite right with her performance, she's a bit too hyper, too much helium, trying a bit too hard.

The Grants love it, Robin is lukewarm - and we have to interpret the latter as severe criticism. The sound engineering tonight is utterly abysmal - microphones for the pap panel are faded up and down with no resemblance to who is speaking, and Dogsby's inability to shut his gob doesn't help.

Peter has been made increasingly cranky by the made-for-television schedule demands, and finally snaps at Kevin. He's no puppet. This week's outfit is a velvet suit with big circles. Something is his song, and once again the technical presentation is completely fucked up - he's standing in front of a spotlight, and when he moves, the light shines directly into the camera. Shall we sack the director now? This is a tired performance, from someone who is tired of this charade, and knows he's far better than Endemol's poxy production.

Good but not outstanding is the pap panel's verdict, and again Dogsby has a pop at Patrick Kielty. The mutt wastes no opportunity to throw brickbats at the host, this columnist wastes no opportunity to remind everyone that Dogsby is nothing more and nothing less than the puppet of the sponsoring record conglomerate.

Claudia hosts more on Peter and Caro, and the foursome's "Vote for Me" videos. Alistair is funny, Peter is silly, and Alex is soundtracked to She's a Star. That'll be subtle. As a sledgehammer. St Bob Geldof is voting Peter. Fern Britton is voting Alex.

Speaking of whom... Alex has a painful call home, and buds up with Alistair because Caro's head is full of Peter. Er, can we say that before the watershed? I'm Not In Love this week, with a yellow off-the-shoulder top and pink bra straps, combat trews. The 10CC classic is amongst the worst of 70s excesses, and this performance never quite moves into top gear. It's still far, far better than anything we've seen so far.

The sound engineering is still up shit creek, because it sounds as though Dogsby said she has an unfair advantage because she's so much better than anyone else.

Last week, Alistair voted to throw out James, and he's been on a downer since. Tonight: Jealous Guy, and Ali can't do much worse than Bryan Ferry's original vocal. A decent backing might help, this one is very, very karaoke. Technically very good, I'm not convinced of his talent. Should be enough to see him through to the final on the public vote, though.

Three people love the way Alistair performed, perhaps rather too effusive in their praise. One hates the way Patrick is presenting the show, perhaps far too vitriolic in his hatred.

In duets, Peter and Carolynne perform I Only Wanna Be With You in the style of the Tourists. Peter fluffs the words, but we wouldn't know if it was his own song. Overall, this suits Peter far better than Caro, it's just in the wrong range for her.

This was originally going to be "Move Over Darling", but Alex and Alistair do Everybody's Talkin' in the style of - well, in the relaxed style of two people who know they're coming back next week.

And finally, a version of California Dreamin' that was under-rehearsed and perhaps best left on the shelf.

You lied, they died, say US citizens to the spokesmoron. And do mention the war, says Andrew Murray. Two million marched in London in February, 150,000 after the unlawful war began the following month. That turned up the heat on the government, and added an extra level of vitriol to Ali Campbell's one-man campaign against the BBC. In turn, that led to the death of Dr Kelly, and the Hutton inquiry. The fabled weapons of mass destruction could as well be in Mordor as in Iraq, and we heard this week how the government's first dossier was re-written on the advice of Jonathan Powell, Mr Blair's chief of staff. The second, of course, was written by M Kahn, and is bent.

Hang on one cotton-pickin' minute. If the Master of FORT BOYARD is coming back from Portugal, as those on Eastenders would have us believe, then he has free right of return from within the EU. In particular, he doesn't need to declare the purpose of his visit to UK Immigration, he just has to wave his passport in the general direction of the officer at the EU counter. She probably won't even open it.

Patrick Kielty has a confession. His crew put up the wrong phone number for Peter during his duet, so they've annulled all votes received for everyone during that time. Cockup, not conspiracy, shut up Dogsby. (Dogsby hasn't said anything, but we can and should still tell him to shut up.)

The group have a challenge. Write a group song during the week, and perform it on tonight's show. The result is bloody good, and it's a shame they've published it four days too early to enter into Eurovision 04. Carolynne gets the bulk of the vocals, Alex a soulful solo, Peter's mike is miles down in the mix, and Alistair stands there like a grinning loon.

This is how Alex got to appear on last night's Pops: by being better than Alistair. And why she gave a look off stage to the left at a crucial moment of her performance. Ah, go on, let's hear her sing it again. And again. Blimey, this is turning into Teletubbies.

1.5 million votes tonight. Cripes. Safe into next week's grand final: Alex. And Alistair. Just as we predicted last week. The student vote: Alex votes for Carolynne, Alistair concurs.

Ver Pops this week, then. Started with Jamelia, a decent slab of poppy R&B. Then Louise, and the Sew Sloppy Crue lives down to its name. Some bimbette in half a white top and surrounded by dancers wearing almost nothing. Westshite dressed in black, with a gospel choir in white behind them: shut up, let the choir sing. Stickleback are back, and Chad Kroeger is still incapable of singing, the Peter Brame of the rock world. Mary J Bilge used to be good, but over-Mariahed the first twenty seconds. Wes Butters mutters his way through the top twenty, culminating in the Black Eyed Peas with a video I've not seen in something like two months. That's how bad the pre-release hype culture has become. And only the second unsigned act to appear on the Flops, Alex Parks starts off nervously, but has the crowd eating out of her hand by the chorus. She'll be more successful than Bis. Promise.

This week's Star Academy looks like being...

Caro I Don't Want A Lover; Peter Something; Alex I'm Not In Love; Alistair Jealous Guy. Advantage Caroline there, I think.

Duets: Al and Al Everybody's talking, having told the producers to "fuck off" with the suggestion of "Move Over Darling"; Pete and Caro I Only Want To Be With You. Advantage to the favourites.

The fab four have been keychecking California Dreaming and there will be an all-singing all-dancing new song, provisionally entitled Dogsby (What a Waste of Space).

And there will be something worth watching on Top Of The Pops on Friday, as Alex performs Yellow to the tweenie audience.

Back to the small screen soon...

• SuperTed (1982-86, S4C) - Yep, the adventures of Ted and Spotty are coming back. Will Derek Griffiths and Sheila Hancock get the gig doing the voices?
• Muffin the Mule (1946, BBC) - Oh gawds. The "moral guardian" of animals in a city farm. Bring back Crackerjack, all is forgive.
• Captain Scarlet (1968, ITV) - Hypermarionation - making realistic puppets by computer. Much preferred Captain Charlotte, an unsuccessful campaign at BUGS in 1994.
• Postman Pat (1981, BBC1) - And a spin-off for Jess.
• Thunderbirds (1965-66, ITV) - Not only a live-action film, but twenty six more half hour shows to air in 2005.
• He Man (1983, ITV) - Almost indistinguishable from the original, on CNX now.

Blimey, hasn't the weather changed quickly. It scarcely seems like six days since I was in Barth, sweltering and cursing the extreme heat. I mean, 26 C in the middle of September is just not cool. Today, we're struggling to pass 16, and the forecast warns of temperatures dipping to 1 C. A ground frost tonight. Do wrap up.

And aren't there so many leaves on the ground all of a sudden. There were about five on my lawn last night. Now there are something like a hundred, and surely more to follow tonight.

Mixed bag on TOTP2 tonight, Culture Club offered a so-so performance, but some classic late season A-Ha (Crying in the Rain is one of those really evocative records, bringing back the misty autumn of 1990). M People must die, Julio Iglesias should never have spawned, but Chris Farlowe's Out Of Time was fantastic. Bryan Ferry's Don't Stop The Dance is another evocative record, because the original TOTP segued from that performance into Kate Bush's Cloudbusting video, and then into Echo & the Bunnymen's Dancing Horses, and pop was beyond wonderfulness for those ten minutes. Finally, Warren Zevon performing Werewolves of London at his piano three years ago. Fitting.

Spooky. Euronews's other faithful viewer will know the three adverts include a telesales box set of the best of Elvis, with a bloke babbling over the top in English. Now, TV5 is showing the same publicité, but with a bloke babbling over the top in French. M Brouss speaks better French than he does English, but then M Chirac speaks better French than either.

Even if life does tip you down the drain in a flood, it need not be fatal, as we found out last night in Lunel, southeast France. (Novelobs aussi).

The old Bull Ring was a very 60s piece of architecture, all square edges and a concrete monstrosity. Big stores avoided it like the plague, and settled into New Street and the High Street. By the 80s, it was home to a quirky collection of cheap clothes shops and other curios. This wasn't bringing in the rent, so down came the curtains, and eventually up came Bull Ring - The Mall.

It's light, it's airy, it's spacious, and the old Bull Ring was none of the above. Two and a half stories, split down the middle by an open air pedestrian walkway. Bull Ring is still built into a hill, so the top floor gives access to New / High Sts, the walkway goes to the middle floor, and at the end of the walkway is St Martin's Church and the lowest floor.

All the usual suspects are there. Every mobile phone network, for no obvious reason. Every fashion store, for those who want to judge and be judged on their appearance according to someone else's criteria. Plenty of coffee houses, even a Big Bookstore.

If the old architecture was utterly 60s, BR-TM is utterly turn-of-the-millennium. At each end of the mall are two large shops - they're built in a kidney shape, so have curves, not corners. It's very disorienting, especially on the lowest floor where there are no dividing walls. Inside there are small podia, like decapitated mushrooms, where one can sit. With no back to the seat, they're not comfortable, and no one remains there for long. Restrooms are shoved into the stairwells down the side, and not clearly signposted - someone is going to go into the wrong gender toilets at some point, and there will be trouble.

And yet, BR-TM is still utterly soulless. For all the books, the expensive department store, it's entirely vapid. There's nothing there that one couldn't find elsewhere, the only thing BR-TM has done for us is bring everything in one place. Maybe it's the presence of a parish church slap bang next to the mall, sucking out all the spiritual energy from its surroundings and claiming it for its own.

Three best things: 1) Big Bookstore, 2) Decently cheap sandwich bar they've imported from London, 3) The weather, because it's the first serious rain we've had in a couple of weeks, and it's come with the first really cold weather since early June. I'll have to dig my jacket out. And it brought to light the massive drip by one of the entrances, so large that they have to close off one door when it's wet.

Another thing: the first spotting of a Christmas Decoration. So, back by popular demand, the Christmas Countdown Calendar. Same rules as last year, when all these things have appeared, it's Christmas, and the Christmas Decorations can go up. Yes, this year it's decorations plural! A whole two of them!! Changes appear in bold for one week, then turn italic.

• Christmas decorations seen in any store (done 22 Sept)
• Supermarket puts mince pies on sale (last year: 14 Oct)
• Lights go on in city centre (30 Oct)
• Decorations seen in or outside someone's home (26 Nov)
• Decorations up at work (10 Dec)
• Carol singers observed (9 Dec)
• Cards sent (14 Nov)
• Card received (14 Dec)
• Sign saying "So Many Shopping Days" (13 Nov)
• Christmas muzak (generic) (08 Nov)
• Clearly identifiable Christmas record (11 Nov)
• Fairytale Of New York (16 Nov)
• Stop The Cavalry (9 Dec)
• I Believe In Father Christmas (23 Dec)
• Chestnuts Roasting... (21 Dec)

I'm not counting a hearing of Fairytale... in a card shop on August 1, as they seemed to be playing a Kirsty MacColl compilation disk.

A vintage edition of 3-2-1 for lunch, with variety acts from the Roaring Twenties. Back in the early 80s, the Dusty Bin show was a Saturday night fixture, and for good reason. An acrobatic song and dance number, of the sort I've not seen in donkey's years - and a walk on part for Nigel Lythgoe, the real enemy within. Then Faith Brown singing her heart out, and waving her cleavage directly at the camera; and a song from a musical. This week on ITV and BBC1, we have two karaoke singing contests, two established game shows, and more tedious drama than is reasonable. I'm still amazed that Channel 5 hasn't gone for a revival, the one hour format doesn't need much tweaking, just a more appropriate choice of guests than Yorkshire TV made in the 80s.

Hello? Hello? Can you hear me, mother? Not if you're in Occupied Iraq, where the occupying forces have constructed their own wireless telephone network. There's only one teensy-weensy problem: it doesn't work. It doesn't interconnect to the rest of the world, doesn't allow communication with other parts of the occupying forces, and they've resorted to sending runners with messages. The introduction of carrier chickens cannot be far behind.

So I'm planning to go to the New Bull Ring tomorrow, and looking on their official website for a map. There isn't one obvious, nor a complete list of stores. Just a list of letters or categories, no full list. Dolts. So, find the search box, and type in "a map". It thows up a .net error page! These wankers have built their webshite on Microshaft shitware. If their physical architecture is as well-done, they're completely stuffed. However, if their security system uses Microshaft shitware, I can rob them of everything without being detected. Hmm. Better not take that risk; the police use Linux hardware, and boy is it hard.

The Football League has allowed Franchise FC to stage their next match at Milton Keynes. Visiting team: Burnley. The 1000 or so Burnley fans have had a rival offer: go to a theme park for the discount price of the tickets. The theme park, like all good-thinking football fans, doesn't like the prospect of franchised football clubs.