"You call thát singing?" the chief jury member asked cynically. "The bard of the Gauls can do that ten times better!"

The other two jury members, a young woman and a 30-year old pop star, laughed. Megan, however, did not.

She was the one the comments were directed at.

The 20- year old from Doncaster wanted to be a profession singer and had therefore applied as a candidate for the famous show "Britain seeks a pop star". However, what the show really sought was sensation rather than true talent, and did so by exposing and insulting those candidates that thought they could sing, but couldn't. The chief jury member, a 60-year old former popstar, was selected for his abusive and cynical comments, never shying from using them against talent-free would-be singers.

Like Megan.

She had just sang Amy McDonald's hit "This is the life", being sure that she was given the most desired sheet of paper to enter the recall, but instead she got nothing but laughter and insults.

"Your voice is as small as you are," the chief jury member said, with regard to the 5'1 height of Megan. "Every other candidate could put you right in their pocket!"

Laughter again. Megan still did not laugh. She just stood there, baffled at the stream of insults-disguisted-as-critics, while three running camera's were filming her.

"Geez, I don't want to be in your shoes," the 30-year old pop star said.

"No, your pinky toe won't fit in those!" the chief added, pointing to Megan's size 7 feet. Laughter. From three out of four people.

"I'd like to see your vocal cords," the young woman said, grinning. "And if I did, I doubt they look like the vocal cords of a singer," she added.

"You doubt?" Mr. Cynic asked. "I can be 1000% percent sure of that! No singer! Three times a "no" for you. Bye!"

Megan, however, did not leave. She pointed a finger at the chief jury member.

"You," she spat at him, "You didn't sing yourself on stage. Only playback. And now you ask from us to sing a song perfectly here? Idiot!"

With that, she left the building, sad and angry. Did she spend two hours in a train and six hours waiting in the studio for this? Singing two minutes and being turned down so quickly? Being insulted by that moron in the jury, who had indeed only sung in a music studio, recording his songs there, and then used the playback on stage? Megan was sad and pissed as she went back to the railroad station.

Oh, she had been so sure she could sing! That bastard! Making fun of her height! And her feet! And those two other idiots laughing! Megan was angry. Fuming.

She was sulking all the time travelling back home. When she arrived at Doncaster, it was already evening, though still daylight. It had been a sunny summer day, but now the sun was about to set. Megan had no eye for the beauty of the orange ball slowly moving towards the horizon. She was still angry.

As she walked over the pavement to her small apartment, she hardly noticed the child, about 10 years old, running up to her.