Melanie Morris attends a recording . . . and witnesses a foul and astonishing attack

'IT'S all panto." That's Louis Walsh's general remark when asked about The X Factor, and he's right. It's a massive production of songs and costumes, cheers and jeers, live performances and lots of audience participation that happens around Christmas time each year. At the heart of the show are the three judges, each with their own, 'panto' role: Simon as the Evil Barron, commanding boos and hisses with his acidic remarks; Sharon as the Fairy Godmother, all big, bouffy hair and sparkly bits as she glides around, bestowing graces; and Louis as Buttons, the cheeky chappie who manages to keep everyone entertained with his smart remarks.

Finally, The X Factor participants are the chorusline, hoping to be lifted to starring role status as a result of this show . . . it's their big break. As the weeks pass, from the roadshow auditions to the studio elimination shows, the judges bitch, squabble and goad each other . . .and the sacrificial lambs of contestants . . .through round after round, drawing the viewers in close. Come 16 December, Saturdays will not be the same. There's no reality talent show that equals The X Factor in terms of interest, excitement and devotion.

Like the panto, The X Factor is a great leveller . . . everyone seems to love it. Only recently Louis Walsh was set upon by a gushing Gwyneth Paltrow at a Prince's Trust gala, who informed the bemused band manager that both she and Chris Martin are hooked, getting text updates and recordings of the show sent to wherever they may be. Graham Norton's a fan, as is Ricky Gervais. The night I went, Kate Moss asked for eight seats to be reserved for her.

Getting to Fountain Studios, The X Factor's Saturday-night home is a bit panto-esque in itself. You go to a land far, far away (Wembley), and just when you think you can go no further, you keep going a bit more. Through north London, past the various Irish enclaves, up past the new Wembley stadium which draws the sort of oohs and ahhs we usually reserve for the London Eye, and then on again. You eventually hit a large, low-rise, windowless building, opposite a petrol station with a McDonald's, and you're there. Once inside, it's time for the inevitable distribution of the wrist band . . . VIP, VVIP and VVVIP. The facility is nicely laid out, there's a canteen where you can gawp at former reality TV show types eating jacket potatoes (Dane Bowers, Ashley the cool dude from this season's X Factor, former Popstar Hayley Evetts and the like), there's a general area for hanging out, and then there's the posher bar area and green room where pink champagne and canapes are on tap for the upper echelons of audience members.

Then there are the dressing rooms, where Very Best Friends get to hang out. There's very little in terms of 'hospitality' on offer there . . .

a fridge full of cold drinks, a kettle for coffee and tea and a big bowl of Celebrations chocolates, but this is where the action is. Downstairs for judges and presenter Kate Thornton, upstairs for contestants. Each dressing room seems to echo the individual's personality and role in the show. Simon's is all bachelorboy minimal and smart; Sharon has festooned hers with dogs, shaggy carpets, big bowls of flowers and velvet candles; Louis' is ego-free and functional . . . and when I visit, he's lent half of it to Westlife and Delta Goodrem, who are performing on that night's show. You don't need to be a Mensa member to guess where all the crack is being had . . . everyone loves Louis.

We've travelled to the show with Louis' mother . . . a very charming and composed lady . . . two of his sisters and a young niece; if ever one needed to cut through the red tape of backstage wristbands and passes, bring Maureen Walsh with you. The walls of security men and big, burly bouncers melt away in her wake. Just before the show begins, we hear Sharon and Louis teasing Simon that they're going to gang up on him tonight. "Bring it on", is his encouraging response. It's going to be a bumpy ride . . . except at this stage, we didn't realise quite how bumpy.

The audience is made up of general punters, who win tickets by lottery or on radio/TV competitions, friends and relations of the various participants (competitors, judges and presenters) and the most random smattering of celebrities you might ever be able to concoct.

They are introduced by the warm-up guy and on my night, this included big shout outs for Peter Jackson, the Simon Cowell of Dragon's Den, restaurateur and former X Factor contestant Aldo Zilli (who gave us a song) and Chris Tarrant. Whilst hanging out in the green room prior to broadcast, Shane Lynch elbowed me in the right tit by mistake (he apologised). If that's not rubbing shoulders with stardom, I don't know what is.

As we take our seats, the warm-up man has been getting everyone going with Mexican waves, songs, snippets of gossip and risque jokes that make eight-year-olds feel like they're living life on the cutting edge. The place is bursting with atmosphere as we're told to stay standing through the show ("the only time you sit, is when the judges are talking, " we're informed), and the ITV2 X Factor Xtra studio is pointed out, up in the gods of the building. Ben Shepherd waves hello.

Suddenly it's 3-2-1 and we're on our feet, cheering as the familiar signature tune blasts out. Out come the judges with their acts and everything runs to perfection. Kate Thornton is very slim, shimmying around in a tight red velvet dress. As Sharon's stable each get up to perform, their voice coach Mark Hudson (the American guy with the crazy coloured beard) is intently conducting and monitoring their performances. Louis refuses to add 'gimmicks' to his acts' presentations . . . while Robert has a gospel choir, the McDonald Brothers just get up and sing their hearts out to the Troggs' Love is All Around. In the ad breaks, Simon Cowell is the only one allowed to light up a cigarette, which he does at every opportunity.

Well, it's his show.

The ad breaks are filled by the continuity guy encouraging audience members to ask the judges questions. The best question, we're told, will win a Nokia mobile phone. There are lots of Simon questions, everyone seems to fancy him, want to kiss him, and/or want to marry him. There's big applause for a little girl who won a Pride of Britain award and has brought presents for the three judges. Just when the big love can't get any bigger, Chris Tarrant puts his hand up to ask a question.

How marvellous, a question from a celebrity to a celebrity. The continuity guy bounds up with his mircrophone. The next minute-anda-half are surreal. Because the general feeling of bonhomie is controlled by the continuity guy, who seems to spend his time slagging off the judges . . . Simon in particular . . . Chris has a similarly jaunty air about him.

"Louis, " Chris starts, "you're an intelligent, articulate man. And Sharon, you're married to an intelligent, articulate man. What. . ."

before Chris can finish his 'question', Sharon is up on her feet, screaming and throwing things about. Her unassisted voice fills the entire studio. "How dare you bring my family into this, " she starts. And then the language gets fruity. "Who the f**k do you think you are?

How f**king dare you, you f**king c**t."

Chris starts to splutter, asking to finish the question. He never gets a chance. Sharon gathers momentum and (to spare you the endless asterisks) continues to let her opinions of Chris Tarrant be known, ending with, "At least I'm still in a f**king marriage." Simon tries to calm her down, but is given a similar f**k-fest of an answer. It's left to Louis, who's been spending quite a lot of time with Sharon of late, to manage the situation. Everyone in the place is aghast and nobody really knows what to do. Suddenly, it's time to go back on air, and we have to pretend that none of this crazy carry-on has happened.

We get to the break in programmes, but the judges have to climb the stairs up to the ITV2 studio, beside which Tarrant sits. It's all being televised live. Louis goes first and manages to calm the journey, talking to Chris while Sharon walks past. There's no sense of anything untoward. Before the second show, Sharon apologises to the audience for her language, explaining that like any mother, she's like a lioness around her family. She seems to strike a chord as women cheer her, sympathetically. We all move on.

Show number two begins and Westlife take the stage with Delta. She's willowy and beautiful in a white, full-length gown; Westlife are manly and handsome in black suits. Back in Louis' dressing room afterwards, Brian McFadden is transfixed to the TV screen as Delta is interviewed. "Isn't she stunning?" he asks no one. We all agree. They're a very good-looking couple, and a pair who seem to be crazy about each other. It's all very sweet . . . and it's good to see Brian hanging out with his former bandmates, their friendship intact.

It's interesting to note that nobody knows who the winners are before they are announced. I watch a cameraman set up for his shot during the suspenseful hush that precedes Kate's announcements; he darts among the three faces he's been allocated to follow.

By the time winners are named and the bottom two perform again, we're at the edge of our seats. Whether you care a jot about these people, or the show before you experience it live, I guarantee you'll be hooked if it's rolling out in front of your eyes. There are careers at stake here, as Simon reminds us. We're all furtively text voting with our phones on silent.

It's Robert or Eton Road . . . with Simon holding the deciding vote. Deals with God are hastily made, intentions offered, fingers crossed.

Simon goes with Eton Road and we fancy him all the more. Robert is a most gallant loser and we love him for it, swearing to buy his first album.

Back to the dressing room to finish the Celebrations, and the chocolates too.

Melanie Morris is editor of 'Image' magazine