Sunday, 10 January 2016


Her magnetism is a fact, this weird psychic energy she’s always had and that even now, on her stumbling route to the Drink nightclub toilets, causes the inebriated crowds to part like the waves of the Red Sea. That hypnotising force has seen her sail through auditions and casting calls since the day she was first spotted aged four doing her silly sequence dancing routines, though for all her charisma she’s always been something of a blank canvas. Even now as Cheryl veers around all the glammed-up Surrey wannabes the girl’s being scrutinised by passers-by for anything, even just a trace of something real, a flicker of genuine emotion, something the heaving crowd might take away from all the immaculate surface lurching before them in lace-up heels. Her blankness is the really terrifying thing and however perfectly the script is stuck to, the potential is there for all the pent-up latent chaos to break through. What it would really need is the right set of circumstances, a certain state of affairs conducive to outbreaks of random violence, a situation involving two wired up, aggressive hedonists looking for an excuse for screams and sensation. Cheryl and Nicola are locked in a cubicle hoovering up the gak they hope might wipe out the messy effects of too much alcohol, and all it’s doing is making Cheryl more angry. She’s still drunk so maybe the drugs aren’t working as they should, or maybe she’s just too far gone to let anything get in the way of her attacking somebody, anybody.

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