ANY phoney psychic could have predicted the horrendous talent-show meltdown witnessed on Tuesday night.

All they’d have had to do was listen to Alice Fredenham, the confident, kooky jazz singer from The Voice who transformed into a gibbering wreck on ITV, speaking of her triumphant audition where Simon Cowell hailed her vocal cords as “liquid gold”.

She said: “To be given that kind of reception, you’re setting yourself up for a fall. I just don’t want my nerves to get in the way of what I know I’m capable of.”

So became the self-fulfilling prophecy when, two verses into Cry Me A River, she forgot the words, crumbled before our very eyes and her voice evaporated from liquid gold to gaseous sulphur.

It was excruciating to watch, but certainly in keeping with the shambles pervading throughout the hugely disappointing Britain’s Got Talent semi-finals, a once-brilliant annual TV highlight that’s somehow falling apart this week.

The tone was set from the gun on Monday when a 57-year-old fake vicar dancing to The Trammps’ Disco Inferno with a broom dressed as a nun, who should have been a mid-show, midweek, timefilling novelty, was chosen to open the live shows.

That’s the sorry result of what happens when the BGT producers try to be funny, instead of letting the acts, especially the jam-forbrains head cases, provide the entertainment on their own.

It hasn’t helped that the talent this year is comparatively poor, continuing the downward trend since the outstanding Diversity/SuBo 2009 series.

Unfortunately, it’s been compounded by the malfunctioning talent radars of Alesha Dixon, who’s become a talent show cliché – “Your vocals were on point” – and Amanda Holden.

Dixon to Bosom Buddies: “You look fantastic.”

They look like a drag version of Status Quo after a misjudged stage-dive.

Dixon to impressionist Philip Green: “You are adorable.”

He’s an in-your-face, camp, overly exuberant pain in the backside, which means his future lies in television.

Holden to Modupé Obasola: “I thought it was brilliant.”

It was a horror show from a poor girl who’s been given some catastrophic advice to “step it up”, ditch her guitar and become forgettable.

And try as Ant and Dec might, not even they can save a series when it becomes all about the judges.

Holden managed to crowbar in a plug for her forthcoming autobiography (“out in September”) while Cowell’s attempting to turn: “I didn’t like it... I loved it,” into a crowdpleasing catchphrase, along the lines of Bruce Forsyth.

It’s Brucie, of course, who’s been the chief target of Cowell’s jibes in the pair’s war of words over whether kids should be on the show, calling him “Mr Grumpy”

for suggesting the experience could be disastrous for youngsters and that they should have their own series.

I’m not suggesting BGT is using its children as pawns in the debate, but dedicating 11-year-old Arisxandra Libantino’s performance to the Strictly host probably wasn’t the wisest move Cowell’s made.

And if he truly was serious about dismissing Sir Bruce’s argument that kids can’t handle the pressure, he wouldn’t have fudged his casting vote on Monday night between sending Arisxandra through to the final at the expense of Youth Creation.

He bottled it, levelled the score at 2-2 and took it back to the public decision.

Everyone is on message, naturally, with Walliams tweeting on Thursday: “The only contestant to go to pieces on this series of #BGT was Alice Fredenham. She is 28.”

Which makes me think maybe Bruce Forsyth has a point after all.

Perhaps there should be a separate Britain’s Got Talent show with an age restriction.

The experience could, after all, be disastrous for grown-ups.

Spudulike awards

● ITV’s admirably risky and inspired decision to resurrect Les Dawson for An Audience That Never Was.

● Rosemary Shrager turning out to be even more gloriously thick than the regular contestants, on Celebrity Catchphrase.

● Springwatch replacing Britain’s Got Talent as the best nightly TV entertainment with little more than mating snails footage, followed by Chris Packham proudly boasting: “Britain might well have talent, but it doesn’t have molluscan erotica, does it?”

● Embarrassing Bodies’ Dr Dawn Harper’s expert diagnosis for Tim, 40, from Nuneaton, who complained: “I’ve developed severe sweating around the buttocks that drips like a tap.” Dr Harper: “It’s fair to say you’ve got a problem with excessive sweating.”

● The Apprentice’s near-classic Dubai treasure hunt, capped with Lord Sugar’s dig at an imperial / metric-confused Kurt: “Myles, Kurt would call you Kilometres,” and cultural attaché Jason’s Arabian accent, the least convincing stab at a foreign dialect since Steve McClaren said yes to that FC Twente manager’s job.

Spuduhate awards

● The Voice lasting an eternal 130 minutes.

● Channel 4’s Clare Balding appointing herself a world leading authority on the Suffragettes.

● Corrie following EastEnders down the tug-of-love cul-de-sac.

● Rent-a-gob Katie Hopkins’ endless tenure of the Daybreak sofa.

● The depressing sound of Britain’s Got Talent primary school children saying: “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

● Gender-card obsessed Gabby Logan claiming on Loose Women that “the likes of Sue Barker weren’t given the same platform” as men in the role of sports anchor before London 2012. Would that be the same Sue Barker who anchored BSkyB’s tennis coverage from 1990, BBC Grandstand from 1993, the Grand National from 1996, A Question of Sport from 1997, and was awarded an MBE for services to sport and broadcasting in 2000?

Must be another Sue Barker.