X Factor has recommenced and my whirling descent into mind-numbing car crash TV has begun.

Sad to say I am an X Factor fan. Well, perhaps ‘fan’ is too strong a word, but I watch the show (with baited breath).

However, after this weekend’s offering, I have to question why after I spent most of my viewing time sighing, tutting, moaning, eye-rolling or muteing the volume.

The judging panel has changed. Now instead of Louis Walsh’s inane grin and incoherent ramblings, we’ve got Nick Grimshaw’s, erm, inane grin and inconsequential viewpoints from a man whose credentials in discovering music talent are as extensive as, well Louis Walsh’s.

Singer Rita Ora is also new to the panel, having defected from the BBC’s The Voice (a more convoluted, less watchable, X Factor). She’s a singer/songwriter so she, at least should know what she’s talking about. Unfortunately it’s difficult to see past the unfortunate attire long enough to hear what she’s got to say.

Old favourite Cheryl Fernandez-Versini has returned to take the number two seat next to supremo Simon Cowell, and by the looks of things, she hasn’t had a meal since the last time she sat in it. In fact there’s probably space on said seat for a fifth judge.

Simon, meanwhile seems to have joined the likes of Courtney Cox, Katie Price, etc from the University of Botox Alumni, and, much like he did with Louis, traded in his face for a younger model.

Still, first weekend in and the foursome seemed ready to listen to anything.

There was the usual array of talentless extroverts willing to trade their sanity for 90 seconds on ITV - while shameless X Factor bosses rolled out their performances to the soundtrack of Chic’s ‘Le Freak’. Nice touch.

Adrianna Deco was one such contestant. A fashion illustrator who turned up in a zany hat to sing her version of ‘Boogie Wonderland’ which left you wondering if that’s where she’d come directly from.

But then there was the alleged actual talent.

Boyband The First Kings belted out Bruno Mars’ Uptown Funk whilst busting their wildest moves - all backed up with a pre-performance promo video and equally boisterous backing dancers. All paid for by their own cash, a fact that impressed the judges no end. A strange commendation, I thought, for a show which is apparently based on raw talent.

On then to 19-year-old Tom Bleasby.

I can think of nothing more off-putting to watch than a singer who makes strange faces while they’re belting out a tune and, sadly for poor old Tom, he’s that very guy.

Granted he can almost hold a tune, but the judges’ comments were baffling. Standing on stage looking and sounding almost exactly like Sam Smith circa 2012, Tom, for me at least, was nothing new.

But Simon clearly didn’t share my sentiment and predictably patronised him with: “You’re different, you’re original.” Cowell-code for ‘You look like you should work in a butcher’s shop.” Clearly Simon lives in a world where Sam Smith, Ed Sheeran, et al don’t exist. (I wish I did).

Seann Miley Moore had arrived on a one way ticket from Australia - but not before raiding Cruella de Vil’s wardrobe (although Rita was quick to claim it was her own).

He belted out Freddie Mercury’s The Show Must Go On and got a standing ovation for essentially shouting well and having a reasonably good sob story.

But no one’s sob story was better than Josh Daniels’. The Teesside lad who was singing Jealous by Labrinth in memory of his pal who passed away two years ago. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house (except in my house).

Even was Simon was apparently reduced to tears having recently lost his beloved mum.

Either that or his ears were bleeding.