There’s something about reality TV that finds a viewer’s nationalistic string and gives it a good hard yank. Big Brother, X Factor, any lesser franchise – many of them throw up contestants that thrive long beyond their shelf life for the simple reason that they happen to have been born in the same principality, province or nation as people with a BT phone line, 25p to spare and a willingness to ignore any talent or personality in favour of a sense of vague proximity.

That’s why X Factor is such an astounding breath of fresh air this year. There’s no Rhydian, no Helen from Big Brother Two, no Glen from Big Brother Seven, no Imogen from Big Brother Seven…actually, it’s quite possibly just the Welsh who indulge in such cheap xenophobia-dressed-up-as-patriotism jiggery pokery, but my point remains sound. Aside from the massive failure of the north-eastern girl bands to channel local support, no band or singer has attempted to, nor has the scope to, yank on said string.

This is great news for London, because when talent is actually allowed to shine, Leona Lewis – formerly a receptionist from Hackney – happens. (When it doesn’t, Leon Jackson – formerly and currently some berk from Scotland – happens.)

And this year there’s lots of London talent to do well. In fact, aside from Laura (who hails from Manchester), London *is* the talent. There’s Rachel from Hackney, the woman who has overcome her demons and having three of her five children taken into care who has come back and is going for a pop career. Now, leave aside all the awkward questions about her background – why just three of the children? If everything’s fine now, why aren’t the family reunited? Why has she been allowed to enter this competition if these serious issues haven’t been addressed? – she’s got lungs, and then some. Her rendition of ‘Chasing Cars’ in boot camp wasn’t only the best performance from the series so far; her vocals were full-on Nina Simone-esque. Admittedly, Nina Simone when she was doing other people’s songs and not being entirely sincere, but still. The girl’s a hypnotically good singer.

Boy band JLS, too, hail from London. There’s something of the young Take That about them: they work damned hard, back it up with looks, vocals, and above all else, an unswerving dedication to fun. Between the band, Rachel and Laura, there are three acts that deserve to come out of this with a career.

Of course, not everything London has contributed has been great. Alexandra’s a London girl, but despite the fact several people I know keep trying to tell me she’s the best singer, there’s something inescapably dead in her eyes. We’re also responsible for Daniel, seeing as he originally comes from Walthamstow. People in the programme have now stopped referring to his dead wife, opting instead to notionally refer to how he’s ’such a nice guy’ who’s ‘been through so much’. But that can’t hide the fact that he’s not got the X Factor. He’s not even got whatever led to Steve Brookstein winning the popular vote three years ago.

He also leads this year’s march of the fatties. This is admittedly rather hypocritical territory for me – after a summer of non-stop binge drinking, I resemble a rather hastily-assembled suet pudding – but the line-up often resembles a new Jamie Oliver project. Have previous years been so intriguingly lardy? Take the first live show. Was it Alexandra’s thighs that were most distracting, porking out of her mirrorball dress like a pair of meat towers? Or the otherwise almightily-talented Laura, having to carefully force each fattened leg past each other inside an overly tight dress? Or perhaps Rachel, dressing like a portly landowner from a Thomas Hardy novel to sing Robyn’s ‘Heartbeat’?

Still, we can at least be proud of the fact that the UK, let alone London, isn’t responsible for this year’s true televisual car crash. Spanish Ruth – yes, I know that Dannii Minogue has kept it well hidden, but she really is from Spain – is a woman who has convinced the judges and voting public that conveying passion for music is done by looking like she has just stumbled out of a car crash. Seriously, try watching it next week – the grasping at the right side of her head like she’s incurred serious concussion, mumbling away in words that no-one can understand, and peering down the camera like a badger stuck in a trap waiting to be put out of it’s misery.

I think it’s supposed to show longing.

Still, if you see her around, grab a shovel and do the right thing. Then find 25p and vote for Rachel. This year, the Celts don’t get a look-in.