May I Have Your Attention Please?

by James Corden

  It was such a strange time, with so much going on, and I used all those other distractions to take my mind off what was happening with me and Shelley. And one of those distractions was a new love – come on! I’m not that callous. No, the new object of my affection was a certain man by the name of Mat Horne. Our man-love became so intense so quickly that – I’m not gonna lie to you – it turned into my next big affair. I’d seen him on tape back in New York and then we’d met for the first time at the read-through; after that we had our first phone call, which lasted for an hour. It was a beautiful thing.

  Mat and I got each other immediately and, as we got deeper into filming the first series, we became absolutely inseparable. It was ridiculous. I think the entire time we were shooting we were never more than three yards from each other, and by about week four we’d got so close that we were finishing each other’s sentences. Prior to Gavin & Stacey, Mat had been part of a double act called Mat and MacKinnon, so he was a natural when it came to riffing ideas and scenarios, and as the shoot went on we started doing these little improvised sketches together in our downtime. On more than one occasion, people commented on the chemistry between us, which got us thinking about working together on another project after Gavin & Stacey, maybe some kind of sketch show. There were a few out there at the time, plenty of competition, but we both liked the idea. In the meantime, though, filming was going well and we were getting some really good stuff in the can. Within a couple of months the shoot wrapped, we began the edit and, before we knew it, the first show was ready to air.

  Our show, the one we’d dreamt up in a hotel bar in Leeds, was about to be broadcast. Gavin & Stacey by James Corden and Ruth Jones. There it was, on a black card, with Stephen Fretwell’s piano chords playing underneath. I couldn’t help but think back to the days and nights I’d sat with Ruth writing the show. The way we’d laugh and get excited at the thought of people maybe seeing something we’d written. I remembered back to that day at the airport in Wellington when Ruth sent me the text, and also how she’d come out to New York and we’d written some of our very best stuff on a bench in Central Park.

  It was such a proud moment – probably the proudest I’ve ever had – sitting with Mum and Dad on Sunday night at our family home in Hazlemere. It felt like my very own opening night. The next day, I got down to the newsagent’s first thing to read the reviews: I remember the Guardian and the Daily Telegraph specifically, but it seemed as if everyone was talking about the show with such affection, and that never really disappeared. In fact, from the moment the first show aired in May 2007, the show just took on a life of its own; the ratings started at 500,000 viewers, and by the time the last episode of the last series went out on New Year’s Day 2010, the figures were over 12.5 million. It still takes my breath away that so many people took the show to their hearts.

  The people at the BBC were so excited about the show that, before the first episode had gone out, they’d commissioned a second series. I was staggered that they could have that kind of faith, but they did, and so, weirdly, Ruth and I ended up writing the second series while the first one was still being shown on TV. In some ways, that was actually quite difficult. It’s very hard to emulate success, especially when that success is happening at the same time as you’re trying to emulate it. It wasn’t a position either of us had been in before. When we’d written the first series, there had been no comparisons and nobody was telling us how good we were. This time round, the pressure was really on.

  We were determined to get the second series right. We wanted to use all the positivity the first series was enjoying to help us write the best second series we could. So, every Tuesday we’d nip down to the shops, buy a copy of the Radio Times and read the review about the previous week’s show. Jack Searle, the reviewer, was a big fan, and each week he’d tell his readers to make sure they caught it. The plan kind of backfired. As lovely as it was to read all the nice things Jack wrote, it made the prospect of writing the second series doubly scary: not only did we have to repeat what we’d done, we wanted to do better.

  Gavin & Stacey seemed to be growing into something special; the characters had struck a real chord with lots of people, so Ruth and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone who’d taken the show to their heart. With all those thoughts whirling around my head, all that pressure Ruth and I were putting on ourselves and each other, writing that second series was bloody difficult. I’d drive down to Cardiff and we’d sit for five or six hours at a time, trying things out but often coming up empty. Writer’s block: up until that point I hadn’t believed it really existed, but I became pretty familiar with it during that time.

  On the other hand, everything else seemed to be going along well. My love affair with Mat was in full swing and rarely a day would pass when we didn’t speak or text each other. And, alongside the man-love, I was about to fall for a new girl I’d met while filming Fat Friends a few years back, an actress called Sheridan Smith. She had been in The Royle Family and Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps as well as loads of other things. She is an incredible actress. Unbelievably talented. Funny, and absolutely intoxicating to be around. It would be wrong and distasteful to go into detail about our relationship – some things have to remain private. All I can tell you is I loved her more than I ever knew was possible. I was head over heels in love with her and, for the next two years, on and off, off and on, we were together.

  With the first series doing well, more auditions started rolling in and Mat and I both found ourselves up for a British film called Lesbian Vampire Killers (of which more later). I don’t think either of us could believe that we were being considered for the two leads in a film. I thought back to how I’d felt when Andy, Russell and I had all been given scripts for that Thai kidnap movie and I’d been asked to audition for the newsagent. Suddenly, from being the guy to ring up twenty Bensons and a scratchy, I was being considered for leads in films.

  It was such a strange time for me. Professionally, it couldn’t have been better and yet personally, I was starting to feel quite lost. My relationship with Sheridan was either up or down – true love or the deepest heartbreak – and so I lost that stability that I’d known for most of my life. Everything that I knew, everything that was familiar, seemed as if it was drifting away. I know, I know, you’re going to tell me you hear this kind of thing from people in books all the time, but it’s the truth when I tell you that the next couple of years all went by in a bit of a blur. So many things changed so quickly. I was up. I was down. I was up again. Gavin & Stacey was swiftly becoming the kind of success Ruth and I could only have dreamt of, but the reality is, I don’t remember a lot about it. It sounds crazy, but sitting here now,I find it hard to remember exactly what happened, when and where.

  By the time Ruth and I were writing the second series, in the summer of 2007, Shelley had long since moved out of the flat in Beaconsfield. Since the day she left, the place had a lingering air of emptiness: the shelves were half-empty, the drawers half-full; the home that we’d worked so hard to create together had lost its heart. For some time, I’d been on and off and on again with Sheridan. When we were on, we spent a lot of time together in London, and when we were off, I had no desire to be on my own in Beaconsfield, so I’d crash wherever I could.

  Dominic Cooper had recently broken up with his girlfriend, and so we spent a lot of time together. I don’t think Dom felt as lost as I did, but he was still going through a little heartache and we clung to each other like a couple of lost boys. He had moved out of his girlfriend’s place and was living in a self-contained studio at the top of Nick Hytner’s house. As for me, my car boot was always full of clothes because I never knew where I was going to end up. I’d either stay with Dom or I’d wind up in beds I’d never slept in before, with girls I’d never met before. I was single at the time, so I wasn’t doing anything outrageous, but I’d never been a womaniser, and the longer it went on, the emptier my soul felt.

  I remember one morning specifically. I�
�d done a shoot for Heat magazine wearing only my underpants. It was a laugh, a mock-up of the famous Armani David Beckham photo shoot. Well, that night I went to a party thrown by Tom Vaughan, who had directed Starter for Ten. He had a new film opening and he’d invited Dom and me along to watch the premiere and, of course, we were well up for it. The great thing about my relationship with Dom is that at various times in our lives, we’ve known exactly what each other have been going through and been able to lean on each other for support. That night was about us forgetting all the crap and going out for a big night. I remember getting steadily pissed during the premiere itself as Dom and I sat there putting away a bottle of wine. Afterwards we went to the party and drank plenty more and when that wrapped up, we headed for Soho and the Groucho Club.

  By now, the Groucho had become pretty familiar to me. From meeting Kay Mellor there to talk about Fat Friends a few years back, it had become one of the places where I spent a fair number of nights out. That night (as with a few nights like it), I don’t remember what happened after I got there. I don’t remember getting there, drinking there or parting company with Dom, but I definitely do remember waking up the next morning completely naked, in a strange flat, without a clue as to the name of the girl I was lying beside, or where the hell I was. What I did know, however, was that I had a day of radio interviews lined up with Mat Horne and I was already an hour late.

  The girl lying in bed next to me was still fast asleep, so I crept out of the room and got dressed in the hallway. I walked down the stairs and standing right there in front of me in the kitchen were two girls holding the Heat magazine centrefold. I had no idea what their names were either. (I didn’t even remember getting back to this flat, so names were unlikely.) They asked me if I was OK and I said I was fine, but that I had to leave as I was already late for something. As I was walking out, one of the girls pointed to the magazine picture and commented on the size of the bulge in my pants. ‘It’s mostly all balls,’ I said as I left and went downstairs.

  Outside, I looked around a bit but realised I had no idea where I was, so I went back to the flat and knocked on the door (which hurt a lot because that had been a great line to leave on). One of the girls opened up. ‘You’re back,’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to ask you where I am.’

  She looked at me as if I’d grown another head. ‘You’re in London.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that, but what part of London?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Chelsea.’

  Chelsea, right. I’d never been to Chelsea before. Here I was, walking down the King’s Road in last night’s clothes, searching for a cash machine so that I could get a cab to where these interviews were taking place. I was an hour late and I stank of booze. Scrubbing up good.

  I guess it would have been all right if it was just a one-off, but it wasn’t; this was happening a lot. Most nights I’d be out on the town somewhere, getting drunk, hanging out with different people who seemed to like me. And I still didn’t really have anywhere to stay. The last train to Beaconsfield was at midnight or it was £80 in a cab so, instead of trying to get home, I started staying at the Soho Hotel. I would literally check out every day and tell myself I would go home that night, but then inevitably I’d be back there checking in at 4 a.m., needing to sleep before another day’s work and another day’s hangover. I’d buy clean pants and socks every day. That was how things were for a time.

  Success can be giddying, if you know what I mean. I was a young guy, in the public eye for the first time, and I no longer had the stability of a settled home life as back-up. And in terms of the show, the good news just kept on coming. It had been nominated for seven different British comedy awards, which was not only a record, it also added more media interest about the people in it. In the end we won three of the seven: Best New Comedy for the show, and both Ruth and I won Best Newcomer. We were named the Writers’ Guild of Great Britain’s Comedy Writers of the Year. The Critics’ Choice, The South Bank Show Award for Comedy. The plaudits and praise just kept rolling in. Ruth took it all in her stride. She enjoyed it and found the fun in it. I, too, relished it. But the difference was, I started to believe the hype.

  I began this book by telling you that my family is due home in a couple of days, and I guess it’s from that perspective that I’m looking back on the guy I was then. I’m a dad now, with all the responsibilities that suggests. I’m in the relationship I always dreamt I would be in. I’m calm and comfortable and very, very happy. Back then, though, I was anything but. I was floundering. I’m not saying I regret all the experiences I had because I don’t. I definitely regret certain things I said and did, but it was a wild time – and there was nothing more wild (or totally confusing) than the couple of months I spent sort of hanging out with Lily Allen.

  I first met Lily at the premiere of The History Boys film back in 2006 and immediately thought she was great. She’s confident, funny and fiercely intelligent. We got talking at the party after the film and she asked me for my phone number. On one hand, this was very cool, but on the other, just a little embarrassing, as I was standing next to Shelley at the time. Anyway, we hadn’t really seen each other since that evening, and then I got a call asking if I’d go on her chat show.

  The second series of Gavin & Stacey was out and they asked me if I wanted to go on and promote it. Did I? Of course I did but, more than that, I wanted to see Lily. The attention and awards and everything else that was going on in my head had convinced me that I could pretty much have any woman I wanted. I know. I can’t even believe I’m typing that myself. It’s so ridiculous for any man to think that, let alone me.

  A couple of days before the interview I did a pre-chat on the phone with a researcher and told him about the time I’d first met Lily and that she’d asked for my phone number. He told me that Lily had told him that too. ERM, WHAT? Lily was walking around the office telling everyone that she’d wanted my number? I was amazed she even remembered. I immediately started to build this whole thing up in my head, even more so when the researcher told me that one of the ideas they’d had for my appearance was a game where they tried to find out how compatible Lily and I would be.

  ‘Compatible? As in a relationship?’ I asked the researcher.

  ‘Yeah!’ he replied excitedly.

  Well, given where I was at the time, with my ego starting to spiral out of control, a broken heart trying to nurse itself with empty one-night stands and a complete lack of understanding of my position in the world, this was right up my street. I made it my aim to make Lily mine.

  It was a BBC3 show and a pretty crazy affair all round, with a young studio audience and a seventies retro circular bed with cushions, rather than the normal chat show couch. Lily and I were up there together, nestling into the cushions, chatting for a bit about how we’d met at The History Boys premiere when she’d been absolutely off her tits. Then she showed a clip of the first series of Gavin & Stacey, where Nessa slaps Smithy on the bum, and after that there was another clip showing me snog the face off Daniel Radcliffe at an awards do. Lily commented on how sweetly I kissed Daniel, and that, right there, is when I went for it. Resting on one elbow in the cushions, I looked into her eyes and said, ‘That’s just what happens when you kiss me.’ She giggled. ‘Are you all right?’ I added softly as she fell about. ‘Difficult to hold it together, isn’t it?’ Lily was laughing and I got the impression that she was flirting back, but I wasn’t finished yet. ‘Your dress is a triumph,’ I told her, my gaze fixed on hers now. ‘D’you want to know the truth?’ I said. ‘I don’t think you know how lovely you are.’

  That last line drew a massive ‘Aaahhh’ from the audience. They seemed to be getting into this as much as I was. ‘Let me tell you this,’ I said, ‘and you can cut it out of the show if you want, but on my life, truly, without irony or agenda’ –yeah, right – ‘I don’t think you know how lovely you are.’ Lily was doe-eyed at this point. ‘You know,’ I tol
d her, ‘you could do with someone to tell you how lovely you are every day.’ She kept staring into my eyes as I drowned in the applause. ‘Ignore all those people,’ I told her. ‘I mean, I don’t know you, but—’

  ‘Oh, just fuck me,’ she cut in.

  OK!

  I’d never flirted with anyone quite so blatantly and definitely never so publicly. It was electric, it was brilliant and it was all on TV. I would never dream of doing it now, but back then, in the state of mind I was in, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. When the show was over, I asked Lily if she wanted to go for a drink. She said she’d love to but she had somewhere else she had to be. So I left on my own, still buzzing, and instead of heading out to some club or bar like I normally would, I finally went back to Beaconsfield. I felt at that moment that I wanted to be at home. As it turned out, on my way back I got a text from Lily thanking me for coming on the show and saying that she’d love to see me soon. Wow. I thought about her all the way home, and when I woke up the next day she was the first thing in my head. Was what happened real? Could it ever be real, or was it just some TV show? I thought, whatever that had been, the best way to make it real would be to impress her. I couldn’t just leave this up to fate. I had to act now.