by James Argent
Eventually, he called me in for a chat.
‘I am sorry, James, but I’m going to have to drop you from the course,’ he told me.
‘But why?’ I protested – but I knew the answer: it was the lack of coursework that had let me down.
The teacher tried to soften the blow by explaining that other people who had been asked to leave in the past had gone on to do well, but I was devastated. I couldn’t understand why I could flop when I’d made such a success of amateur dramatics outside of school.
I took art instead, but I could barely draw a stick man. I just messed around for the rest of my A-levels, and, even though I stayed on for the full two years, in the end things just fizzled out and I didn’t even turn up for all the exams.
It was while I was in my teens that my family received two very severe blows, and we were thrown into deep shock. The first blow to hit us was that my Granddad Tom became very ill. When it happened, my mum sat me down with Natasha to break the news.
‘Something very serious has happened to your Granddad Tom,’ she explained. ‘He’s suffered an aneurism, which means he’s going to be very poorly for some time.’
It was unexpected, because Granddad Tom was always so full of life and we were so used to seeing him perform his magic act.
‘Can we go and visit him to cheer him up?’ I asked.
‘No, James, he’s too unwell. But Nanny Brighton’s there with him and they send you all their love.’
Much as Natasha and I wanted to see Granddad Tom, I think my family did the right thing by shielding us from visiting because he was actually gravely ill. I think it would have distressed us a great deal to see him like that. We prayed he’d pull through, but, sadly, his health continued to decline. When my dad sat us down again it was bad news.
‘I know you love your Granddad Tom very much, so this is going to be very hard. I’m afraid he’s passed away,’ my dad told us, his voice charged with emotion.
As anyone who has lost a much-loved grandparent will know, it’s a heart-wrenching experience. Granddad Tom was a lovely, kind man and his death brought back memories of all those Christmas parties and summer fêtes when he used to entertain us. It was the first time I had experienced the death of somebody I loved, and the grief was very painful.
I cried a great deal.
When my family began to make the arrangements for the funeral I wanted to pay my own tribute to Granddad Tom.
‘I’d like to do something at the funeral. Can I read a verse from the Bible for Granddad?’ I asked.
My parents agreed but on the day of the funeral I was too choked up to speak. It was very hard because we’d never had a chance to say goodbye to him, and when I saw his coffin at the funeral I was overwhelmed. At dark times like this you learn to pull together as a family and that’s exactly what we did. We grieved together and we said our last farewell to Granddad Tom.
Fate can sometimes deal you some very tough cards because there was a second shock on the way, although it didn’t come until a couple of years later, when I learned that Granddad Seamus was also very ill. I was almost seventeen at the time. Seamus just didn’t seem like his old self and he seemed to be getting slower every time I saw him.
Eventually, he confided in my mum that there was something very wrong. I’d noticed a lot of hushed conversations in the house, so I could tell that something wasn’t right. When my mum sat down with me to explain what was happening, I could see she was very upset.
‘Granddad Seamus has cancer of the prostate,’ she explained. ‘It means that things are going to be very hard for him, but we all have to hope for the best.’
That horrible word ‘cancer’ seemed so final.
Looking back, I think we all feared what was coming next, but I just didn’t want to accept it. I went to visit him all the time while he was ill. Seamus was a very proud and strong man, so I hoped he would make it. He was very dignified about it and I think he wanted to spare me the worst details, so we didn’t discuss his illness in any detail. I just wanted him to get well. He had Sky Sports put in at home and we’d while away the hours together watching boxing or football.
As his illness progressed, the doctors put him on very strong medication and he was tired all the time. It was heartbreaking to see him getting weaker and weaker. When my mum sat me down for another chat she gave me some devastating news.
‘I’m afraid the cancer’s spread,’ she said. ‘Your granddad’s a strong man but we all need to pray for him. He’s a fighter.’
Even at this point, Seamus was still incredibly dignified.
‘My luck’s out’ was how he told my mum that the cancer had spread.
Seamus found it very difficult to get around his home towards the end. It got to the point where he couldn’t walk and he was moved to Whipps Cross Hospital. My parents warned me as much as they could in order to try to prepare me for what was going to happen next, but I never believed that we would lose him. I just imagined that he would be OK and that he would get through it. I just couldn’t take it in. Seamus was one of my best friends. We’d spent so much time together that I just assumed he would always be there.
Surely he can’t die, I thought, so soon after we’ve lost Granddad Tom.
When Seamus finally lost his battle with the cancer I was distraught. I cried my eyes out and blubbered like a small child. I thought of all those wonderful times we had shared, playing football in the park or climbing trees or discussing his beloved Spurs.
It was a very dark moment.
We had a big funeral for him at St Thomas’s Church next to my old primary school. All of his side of the family came over from Ireland and it was a very sad occasion while everybody said their final goodbyes to him.
The grief I felt was extremely painful and the death of my two grandfathers was without doubt the hardest thing I had to deal with while I was growing up. I still miss them very much today. If I close my eyes I can see Granddad Tom doing his magic tricks, and Granddad Seamus is always in my thoughts. I often remember his pearls of wisdom, like those special words he said to me while we on the balcony together as we watched the sunset on holiday in Ibiza: ‘Picture this moment – for you will never see this night again.’
3
MY LATE TEENS: WELCOME TO THE ESSEX PARTY SCENE
One of the great things about life with the Essex crowd during my late teens and early twenties was the fantastic party scene. There was always somewhere to go and let rip. It was in the sixth form at Trinity that I started to go out regularly on the town with my mates. Sometimes I’d head down to a nightclub in Walthamstow called Charlie Chan’s, where occasionally I’d manage to bluff my way in despite being too young. We’d also try to sneak into bars and pubs in South Woodford for a few drinks. The most famous club in the area was called Faces. My friends and I were always desperate to get into there, but I never could sneak in at this stage because of my age, as most nights were for over-twenty-ones.
Of course, all this partying required a bit of cash. My first part-time job, which I got while I was still at Trinity, was at Waitrose, where I worked Saturdays on the patisserie counter. It brought in a nice bit of money, but, to tell you the truth, I hated it. I had to serve customers and help out with the cleaning, which I was happy to do, but I wasn’t a great success. I was constantly warned for standing about talking to my workmates or for getting up to mischief.
Things came to a head when I decided to play a stupid prank in a lift. They had a food elevator in the store that was used to transport goods up and down between levels, but people were strictly banned from travelling inside it for health-and-safety reasons. We’d load it up with a batch of food and then press the button to send it all to another floor, where it would be unpacked by somebody else. I loved mucking around at work, so, when somebody dared me to take a ride in the forbidden lift, I was game for a laugh. Holding my breath, I got in there and hid behind a load of boxes and decided to take a ride down to the basement. Unfortunately, when it
got to the bottom of the shaft, the door opened and the general manager was standing there! I’d been caught with no means of escape.
‘James, can you come up to the office please? We need to have a word with you,’ he said, sternly.
I’d had so many warnings by now that I knew what was coming next.
‘We think it might be better for everyone if you agreed to leave us,’ he explained diplomatically.
I wasn’t officially sacked. I think they still liked me as a person, but they’d had enough of my constant messing about and my poor time-keeping. It had been a good little Saturday job and it had been handy to have some of my own money coming in, which I knew I would miss. My mum and dad weren’t very impressed when I told them I’d been bumped out.
Right, I thought, I’ve got to get another job.
I decided to apply to Faces nightclub to see if they needed a pot boy (whose job it was to go around collecting all the empty glasses while the club was open). Ironically, I wasn’t old enough to get into the nightclub as a customer, but they hired me and I absolutely loved it. I was like a little kid in a sweetshop, having landed my dream job at the best club in Essex. I was working in a nightclub environment two or three nights a week and it suited me down to the ground. One of my best friends, Milno, who was one of The Famous Eleven, also worked there. I had to collect all the glasses and wash them before putting them back on the shelves, and go around the club to make sure everything was clean and tidy and sweep up any broken glasses. If any arguments broke out between customers, I had to call security – in fact, there was always loads of different stuff to do. The staff at Faces were all really friendly and, even though I was just a humble pot boy, I felt really cool: here I was, listening to music while watching all these beautiful women dancing. I was getting paid to mix with people who were getting drunk and having a good time, and this was in the very club all my mates were desperate to get into! While I was sweeping up I would do a little dance routine, which the customers loved, and people would laugh and smile at me. Now that I’m in TOWIE, when I go to Faces I am lucky enough to be ushered into the VIP area, but back in those days even as a pot boy I felt like a king!
Despite all the gorgeous girls who came into the club, I was still very shy when it came to dating women. I had lots of friends who happened to be girls and I was a popular guy, but I’d never actually had a proper girlfriend. I’d kissed a few girls at parties while I was at school, but that was about it. The first time was on the dance floor at an under-eighteens night at a club; I must have been about fifteen. But I can’t remember her name. I had no trouble being friendly and talking with women but when it came to be intimate, never mind being sexual, I was not very confident at all. I would start to get nervous and would literally shake and tremble. I don’t know why. I guess I was just a late starter, whereas some of my friends were already going out and getting lots of sexual experience.
When I was about seventeen, my friends started to take the piss out of me for it and they’d call me a virgin for a laugh. It got worse when a film came out called The 40-Year-Old Virgin, which starred Steve Carell, whose character in the movie looked the spitting image of me! So I became known as the ‘Forty-Year-Old Virgin of Essex’. All the banter had the effect of making my lack of success with girls into a much bigger thing in my mind. By the time I was eighteen, despite working in Faces, I had never pulled a girl. Eighteen is quite old to be a virgin in Essex (trust me) and all the ribbing from my mates meant it began to play on my mind.
Meanwhile, I needed to find a full-time job after leaving Trinity. My work at Faces was great but it was only a few nights a week and Mum and Dad were keen that I go into something that would keep me occupied. They were concerned about me and we had one or two conversations about what they thought I should be doing with my life. At one point it seemed as if I was out partying every night and then sleeping during the day, so I can understand why they were a bit worried.
‘Don’t you think it’s about time you got a permanent job?’ my dad said to me.
I was still interested in theatre and entertainment, but during the sixth form I’d eased off a bit from all the amateur dramatics, so I wasn’t sure what to do next. When I heard from a friend that there was an admin job going at a local solicitor’s office I decided to apply. It would be steady nine-to-five work and I suspected Mum and Dad thought it would keep me on the straight and narrow, so they were pleased when my application was successful. It was my first full-time job but I had zero interest in it, and it lasted only about six or seven months. I was frequently late and I would also get caught using Myspace or Facebook to talk to my mates during office hours. The bosses in the office would sneak by my computer to peek at whatever was on my screen, so I’d have to quickly click onto something else. In the end they agreed it would be best for me to leave. I’d flunked it, just as I had at Waitrose.
I was unsure what to do next, but I still fancied myself as a bit of a performer, so after the job at the solicitor’s office ended I tried to find acting work as an extra in movies and on TV. I went and had my photo taken and registered with a theatrical agency. A few weeks later I got a phone call asking me if I’d like to be an extra in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
‘Of course I would,’ I replied eagerly.
I was offered the chance to be in a crowd scene during the Quidditch World Cup, which was due to be filmed at Warner Brothers’ studios at Leavesdon, near Watford. I was really excited and on the day I caught a coach up there with all the other extras in the morning. The set was amazing, with all these huge tents decked out in bright colours. At one point I was standing quite close to Daniel Radcliffe (who played Harry Potter) and Emma Watson (Hermione Granger) and I remember thinking how much I would love to be doing what they were doing. When the film was finished you couldn’t spot me in the crowd – but it was still great fun. I also had a small role as an extra sitting in a hallway in a scene in The Golden Compass with Daniel Craig and Nicole Kidman. When Nicole walked past me I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was, and I again sat there thinking about how much I would like to work in the entertainment industry. It reminded me of all the amateur dramatics I’d done and I hoped that one day I’d be able to put them to use on stage or on television.
The movie-extra work was fine but it didn’t really provide me with a proper income, so I still needed a full-time job. I was forever sending off letters and CVs to firms in the City, but I would never get anything back. Then, out of the blue, I got a lucky break when the chance came up of a job in the retail industry. My best friend at the time was a boy called James Kane, whose family owned a chain of jewellery shops with five branches around Essex and east London.
James had a word with his dad and he begged him to give me some work. When he said yes I was over the moon and for once it seemed that I’d found a stable job that I could do reasonably well. I didn’t have much passion for jewellery and I had no interest in learning about gold, but I was working with a good friend and I was grateful for the money.
My links with James were to open up a whole new group of friends. It was through him that I would later meet Mark Wright for the first time. James was a friend of Mark’s younger brother, Josh, who was a promising young footballer. I had finished working at Faces by now but I left the club on good terms and they were always happy to see me. They’d give me the odd drink voucher whenever I visited the club, which was nice. I didn’t know it at the time, but my old job at Faces was about to open up some new doors for me. Now that I was a bit older I would go to Faces often for nights out with my mates and everyone was always amazed by how many people I knew there. I seemed to be on first-name terms with everyone in the whole nightclub. I would spend the night chatting away to various different groups of boys and girls, not just those who had been to our school but also to people who came from different areas. Of course, I wasn’t famous for being on the telly back then – I was just a normal boy from down the road – but I was good at socialisi
ng and people seemed to enjoy my company. Friends told me that I was bubbly and popular, but, as far as I was concerned, I was just being plain old Arg. Then an idea struck me.
Why not try to make some money out of the fact that I know so many people on the club scene? I thought.
After all, plenty of other people seemed to be doing it. When I’d worked at Faces as a pot boy there was a great DJ there called George D. He was also a nightclub promoter who would put on all the best parties in Essex and London. Any event that he hosted was always jam-packed and he would ensure that all the most beautiful women were there. George was similar to me physically, in that he was a bit chubby. I’d piled on a bit of weight during my late teens, so I used to think of him as an older version of me. I could see from his nice clothes and expensive watches that he was earning good money. Maybe I could be the new George D. George and I used to talk a little bit about the various tunes that he played and I remember on one occasion he put a proposition to me.
‘I’m hosting a big party on New Year’s Eve. I’ve got hundreds of tickets and I’d like you to help me to sell them,’ he explained.
‘George, I’d love to have a go at that,’ I replied.
I think he must have seen how popular I was around the club and he reckoned I’d be able to shift a few. He was right, because by the time the big event came along I’d sold about a hundred tickets and he was delighted. It stuck in my mind, and, now that I was no longer a pot boy, I had a new idea: I’ll put on a party and charge for the tickets, I thought.
First, I needed a venue. There was a place down the road called the Karma Bar, which was owned by the same management as Faces. It was a smallish place that could hold about 250 to 300 people, so I decided I’d approach them with my new proposition. They knew me from my time at Faces and they were pleased to see me.