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TAKE ChERyL yOUR NOTE.. IS UP TIME.

Dear Cheryl Cole, I'm worried about you. Not because you've lost your US X Factor gig. Not because you've lost $2million and the chance to be a mega global superstar.

I'm worried about you because you've lost something far more serious... THE PLOT! In the aftermath of your bombshell axing by Simon Cowell this week, your loyal fans here in Ireland joined in a collective gasp of horror and betrayal. They shouldn't have bothered.

Because the harsh fact is this - you only have YOURSELF to blame. Let's face it, your last UK X Factor series was pretty rotten. You lost your killer sense of style and your arch rival Dannii Minogue served your pretty backside when it came to pure entertainment value.

And after suffering a monumental backlash over your disgraceful treatment of Gamu, you then sulked and moaned your way through almost every show - even snapping at poor contestants like Wagner over their comments about you in the press.

As it became clear that our love affair with you was rapidly fading, Simon gave you a lifeline - a golden ticket to a new life of riches, fame and success beyond your wildest dreams.

But how did you repay him? After months of hype and excitement surrounding your big move to the USA, you arrived on day one of filming looking like a hideous clown in fancy dress with a dodgy blow dry.

Trendsetters called your bizarre purple and orange combo 'colour blocking'. I called it colour SHOCKING. Then there was the not so small matter of your figure. Lets not beat around the bush here - you have looked simply dreadful and lost your killer figure. Poor Simon must have felt like he had been conned when you shuffled on to set in LA on day one looking like you'd just been wheeled out of the nearest Dunkin Donuts anonymous meeting.

Then, of course, there was the grating Geordie accent. Cute at best, but in the harsh glare of the American spotlight almost unintelligible.

You promised to take voice coaching lessons so your new American audience could understand you. Instead producers were left cutting your performance from the first two auditions to pieces in a desperate bid to salvage even a few of your comments on the judging panel.

Eventually, after the shocking choice of style, the plump figure and the oddball accent, Simon was forced to concede defeat and give you your marching orders. So what does $2million get you these days, Cheryl? Surely more than a tubby horror show with a tacky northern accent? The sad truth, Cheryl, is that you've let yourself go. And now Simon has rightfully let YOU go. Of course we'll welcome you back with open arms, I'll even be the first to give you a hug when I'm backstage on the opening night.

But take PM's cruel-to-be-kind advice. Get out of that comfort zone you're in. Get to the gym, stop downing the junk food and for the love of God, please hire a stylist. Because your real fear shouldn't be your American rejection, but how you're going to win over your army of fans back home.

You really do have to fight for our love this time.

Yours with concern, Paul Martin.
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Title Annotation:Features
Publication:The Mirror (London, England)
Date:Jun 3, 2011
Words:540
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