Frankie "Cocksure" Cocozza has left the X-Factor. Hooray. Let’s have some coke. With lemon and ice.

Despite surviving that sing-off on Sunday, and having a few boos from jealous men who find it unbelievable women would want to sleep with a man who looks like a girl, he's now free from the rigours of the television schedules. And so are we.

I’ll never have to look at his skinny-jean-wrapped-legs, bouffant-Babyliss-big-haired-hair, mascara-wearing, smug-smiling, out-of-tune, wobbly-framed face again. Hooray. Let’s have some coke.

His reason for leaving, according to the X-Factor people, is that he broke one of the show's "golden rules". What this is they haven't actually said. Presumably he was trying to learn to sing or eating bunnies in the green room.

In a statement, bunny-biting Frankie winced in the harsh light of day and said: "I'd like to apologise to Gary Barlow, my fellow contestants and everyone who has voted for me, but, as of today, I will no longer be in the X-Factor.”

Up and down the land, unscrupulous women cursed their luck and shouted at the sky with raised fists, disheartened with the knowledge they wouldn’t be on the front of The Sun if they met up with him in Coco Moco’s Viva La Loca and Vodka club in Chelsea.
 
"My life during the show has gone out of control,” continued Frankie, attempting to frustrate a bailout deal giving the Greek government 130 billion Euros in a bid to improve the economic situation in Europe.

“My behaviour off stage has over-stepped the rules of the competition. I no longer deserve my place in the show, so I am therefore leaving.”

Rabbit feaster Frankie's leaving is probably the biggest shock since we found out Kelly Rowland can't put down anything she picks up or that Tulisa was born Jenny Millabong.

Frankie Cocozza. The man with seven girl's names on his bum. When life in his hometown of Brighton allowed him seven chances at love. But his bum, unlike his head, wasn't big enough for the increased rate of his alleged newest conquests which took column inch after column inch.

There was that girl off the tele, that brunette one from a club, that blonde with the flumpy McGumpys he'd spotted at Jackie Meller's House of Booze and that other one who was passing by to get some milk and found herself selling her story the next morning giving her the opportunity to buy lots of milk with the proceeds.

But being booted off, or quitting, or whatever happened, is probably the best thing for him. And us. Anyone who wins the X-Factor goes on to do nothing.

Matt Cardle, I know for a fact, just walks around parks with a pork pie hat on at a jaunty angle walking like a cockney geezer asking strangers if they've seen his knackwurst.

Those who lose (any of these TV talent things) tend to make a go of it. Look at Susan Boyle, Jedward, Olly Murs, JLS, One Direction, Cher Lloyd... Eoghan Quigg. All bigger than the winners of their respective series.

So if X-Factor has taught us anything this year, it's that winning means nothing, breaking the “golden rules” means you'll be famous and get lots of lovely girls, and probably a record deal and chance to appear on I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. And eating rabbits is OK kids.

Ciao, Mark Wright here from The Only Way is Essex with my oft-weekly talk about sex. It’s pretty difficult to get into that’s for sure. A friend of mine said the other day I probably send my right hand a Valentines Day card but I didn’t understand what they meant. I’m from Essex.

Anyway, sex, It’s all very natural unless your posh like a Londoner and then you slip in words like “crumbs” and “crikey” when it all gets too much. I imagine Prime Minister David Cameron and Prime Mayor Boris Johnson sound like this in bed. When Nick Clegg does it I’ve always imagined he’d say “preposterous” with clasped hands.

Anyway, I’m straying off the point, I’m here to talk about love and all the strange relationships that are going on in my programme. I’m now marrying Lauren Goodger despite conflicting reports of my love interests with Sam Faiers, Kayla Collins and Lucy Mecklenburgh.

I know Lauren went on Twitter the other night and wrote about my relationships with those other girls. She told this person who thought it was all fake: “Of course its not u fool them 2 r acting playing the game! the truth is I've been with mark 10 yrs not the others ! Clearly its real!”

These are the three things I know about rumpy pumpy: It always involves a man and a woman (two if you’re lucky). It can involve a man and a man and/or/preferably a woman and a woman (two if you’re lucky). You only get one chance to have a go (two if you’re lucky).

The other night I was watching a DVD in the privacy of my cellar when I noticed a weird and wonderful movement by Kayla Collins who was playing a teacher. She seemed to be pulsating her feet in my direction. I have to say I didn’t know where to look and eventually I settled on looking at Lauren’s gerbil. She’s a fine-looking gerbil and all that, but I should have thought about which way to turn before things got out of hand.

Anyway, I’m straying off the point again, I’m here to talk about The Only Way is Essex.
 
Well, actually, that’s all I know. Those three things I mentioned earlier. Anyway, that’s all you really need to know. Now I’m going to fly off on my tangerine bicycle of mystery. Bye.

At this festive time of year we turn our thoughts to that special man who bought warmth and light to the world – John Lennon.

John Lennon once said The Beatles were more popular than Jesus. And well he may; after all, Jesus never had a hit record.

Either way millions of his fans will no doubt reflect on his death. Probably playing Imagine over and over and drinking tea. It’s just a shame there’s nothing on the television about him.

Yes, today is the day, 30-years-ago, that he was shot by crazed-fan Mark Chapman.

On all accounts Chapman was a bit of a shit and had been seen the day before loitering, sweating, reading a book and clutching a copy of Lennon’s new album Double Fantasy. Lennon had even signed it that morning for him.

That said, there are numerous accounts of Lennon being a bit of a shit himself, but let’s not speak ill of the dead.

For those who could stay awake, ITV did manage to squeeze an hour-long documentary about the man at 10.35pm on Monday. The Day John Lennon Died was narrated by fellow scouser Paul McGann and featured interviews with the people who knew him and those he inspired.

The best part had to be the doctor who pulled Lennon’s exposed heart out and tried massaging it. Harrowing stuff. Also the bit about how All My Loving came on in the waiting area as he was pronounced dead. Weird stuff.

Anyway, I’d better be off. I need to play Imagine over and over again and drink some tea.

IF someone I love more than life itself bites it big with bullets and dies in a park, I hope Bradley Walsh will comfort me in my time of need. With his outrageous hair, his nonsensical glasses and outlandish trundling through all and sundry’s front doors drinking their tea, he’s comic relief in a devastating situation. Hey, your husband’s dead, but don’t worry it’s me, Bradley Walsh, look at my trench coat and glasses. Can I have a cup of tea love?

Law and Order: UK (ITV1, 9pm) is probably the most nonsensical pile of tosswipe I’ve ever seen and it left me scarred. All those jump cuts and locations written on the screen. House, police station, field, court room, office, sexual predator’s proving grounds. Plus, Bradley Walsh as Detective Sergeant Ronnie Brooks is about as convincing as Jack Tweedy‘s vows to Jade Goody.

Apparently this week's case hit close to home for DS Matt Devlin (Jamie Bamber from Battlestar Galactica) when investigating the death of a police officer and super best friend, DS Pete Garvey.

You see, they’d been super-best-chums since childhood but there was all that nasty business when parish priest Jonathan Nugent turned out to be a paedophile. Who’d have seen that twist in the plot coming? But hey, Father Jonny’s married now and has got kids and lives in a trendy flat with pottery-sculptures. Surely it must be a mistake? No. It wasn’t. Pete killed himself with a gun because Father Nugent was a child-abusing arsicle.

No amount of pottery-sculpture was going to throw DS Matt Devlin off the trail. (Unfortunately I had to sit through an hour of soul-searching and tea-drinking until he was banged up)

There’s a long sequence in court which is presumably what the announcer at the beginning of the programme was referring to when they said “adult situations“. You see, when she said “adult situations” I assumed it would be paying bills, filling in forms, doing the washing up and so forth. But no, there’s masturbation, porn mags and child abuse. With all the Bradley Walsh stuff at the beginning things seemed to be getting out of hand.

Anyway, the evil Father Nugent was banged up after DS Matt Devlin gave a harrowing recollection of what life was like taking a shower when Father Nugent was about. He closed that chapter in his life and next week investigates a filthy prison guard who was taking advantage of his position being in charge of all those lags.

Will Crown prosecutors James Steel and Alesha Phillips be able to compile a case in time? How many folders and important papers will they carry? Will Bradley Walsh drink more than three cups of tea? (Bradley Bingo cards should be printed in the Radio Times) Will the filthy prison’s guard’s abuse of his prisoners be included in the summing up during a harrowing court scene or has DS Matt Devlin been unable to secure the appropriate evidence despite knowing in his heart that everything a convicted criminal told him was true? Will Freema Ageyman discover how to act unlike a fish that’s discovered it can talk?

Tune in and find out - police procedure has never been so much fun - or take the smart move and watch An Idiot Abroad on Sky One which is on at the same time.