IF it's true, as I suspect, that mostly women phone-vote for high profile programmes like X-Factor (ITV1, Saturday), why is it that so few females reach the final stages? Currently, sisters simply aren't doing it for themselves.

Brenda Edwards has been consistently the best singer on X-Factor, but was voted off last weekend to give us yet another all-male final.

Over on Strictly Come Dancing (BBC1, Saturday) Zoe Ball, the last woman standing, is unlikely to repeat North-East actress Jill Halfpenny's victory. She's facing the pwharr factor line-up of Darren Gough and Colin Jackson and is third favourite despite having the advantage of being led by top professional dancer Ian Waite.

"I've never liked that Zoe Ball, she was always too good to be true," said my own dancing partner in life, who feels that Ms Ball's behaviour off-screen is far from the accepted Norm.

Having once voted enthusiastically for Pop Idol Will Young - "though he sounds a lot gayer these days" she reassured me - my wife feels this form of entertainment has had its day. Well, let's face it, if every decision now requires a ten-second delay accompanied by 'heartbeat' music the weekly supermarket shop is going to be a marathon.

"Anyway," came the clincher from her, "what's happened to other X-Factor winners? Steve what'shisface has disappeared and the losers, G4, are still around in the charts."

But there's no danger that old-style entertainment is going to reclaim it's weekend dominance judging by the 77th Royal Variety Performance (ITV1, Sunday). Even old smoothie-chops Michael Parkinson looked out of sorts as nerves jangled and funny lines were fluffed. Ozzy Osbourne was a surprise hit with his version of The Beatles' In My Life. "It's amazing what you can achieve with a voice synthesiser," said my eldest son.

Catherine Tate's "am I bovvered?" teenager - pinching Harry Enfield's Kevin and Perry act - chose to insult The Queen. HRH was shown laughing, but that could have been because she finally understood something that Tate was saying. Most uncomfortable was the Blueman Group throwing dye-filled balls into each other's mouths and spitting the results on white canvas. "That is truly revolting," said my wife as marshmallows hurled into an open mouth became a regurgitated sculpture. The trouble is, I can quite imagine drunken party-goers trying these ones at home.

Away from all this, 66-year-old newsreaders Trevor McDonald - or McDoughnut if you believe Lenny Henry - concluded his ITV career in the news chair with one of the most tongue-twisting "and finallys" so far. McDonald had to get his teeth around an infant "flung from a third floor flat" to escape a New York fire. The polished professional didn't even opt for the American expression of "apartment" to break his fall. The man's a hero. Although, I was informed at home, "oh look, it's Trevor McDonald's last broadcast on the 9 o'clock, no ten o'clock or is it 10.30 news?", which tends to reflect the parlous state of current affairs reporting on ITV.

If Sir Trevor remains "unbovvered" by the pitfalls of celebrity phone vote shows he's destined for the House Of Lords.