Apart from a job on prime-time telly, one of the most important things Pop Idol gave us was something that we later developed on I’m a Celebrity… and Britain’s Got Talent, the idea that our role was to be the voice of the audience. What I mean by that is that it was our job to react to what was happening in the same way the audience would – so, if we felt sorry for an act, we’d commiserate with them and, if they’d had a great audition, we’d congratulate them. Similarly, on I’m a Celebrity…, when one of them does something stupid, we laugh at it, just the same way you all do when you’re sat on your sofa at home.
That’s as far as it goes, mind. We’re not copying other stuff you do at home. What you get up to behind closed doors is none of our business.
After seeing the auditions, which included the good, the bad and the truly appalling, we started to think that maybe, just maybe, Pop Idol would be a hit. Some of the contestants were so funny that, even if we didn’t find the next superstar, we were pretty sure Pop Idol would be entertaining telly. Even now, I can still remember some of the amazingly awful contestants. There was the ‘YMCA girl’, for example, who turned up without knowing it was a singing show, forgot the words to ‘YMCA’ halfway through and ended up being one of the cult hits of the series. She even got a part in panto but, as we’d proved at the Sunderland Empire, they really will let anyone perform in those things.
But there were great singers too – like the kid who could hardly say his own name because of his terrible stutter, and then, when he sang, had the voice of an angel. That was Gareth Gates.
The very last auditionee, who later ended up arguing with Simon Cowell, was Will Young, and Will eventually went on to become the Pop Idol we were looking for.
We also worked with some people, who – especially if they’re reading this – are extremely talented professionals. There was Clare Horton, the producer, Andrew Llinares, a producer/director who now runs Britain’s Got Talent, Richard Holloway, the executive producer, and Jo Brock, who was one of the associate producers and is still one of our best friends. Jo’s married to Alan Conley – our best mate who leaves his keys in the door and the hob on. She’s a very patient woman. We also did a lot of work with Charles Boyd, a writer/director/producer (he was quite greedy when it came to jobs), who went on to run American Idol in Los Angeles. We still see a lot of those people regularly. After all, that’s the easiest way to collect the cash-for-compliments fee we charge for favourable mentions in this book.
The Pop Idol audition tour had been a roaring success and, by the time it came to the autumn, when the first episode went out, we knew we had a hit show on our hands. We’d also realized two things: 1) we weren’t the worst singers in the world and 2) it was time to leave sm:tv. We’d spent more than three years on TV on Saturday mornings, and had real mixed feelings about leaving it behind, but we decided that our last show would be 1 December 2001. It was one of the hardest, most emotional things we’ve ever done on TV – and yes, that includes Ant being blinded by a paintball. After more than 150 episodes, and countless accolades, including by now several awards from the BAFTAs, the Royal Television Society, the Television and Radio Industries Club and even a British Comedy Award where we’d somehow beaten The Royle Family and Da Ali G Show, it was all coming to an end.
The biggest of dozens of highlights on that last show was Chums, when Dec married Cat. The guestlist included Mariah Carey as one of Cat’s bridesmaids. At the time, the press was full of stories about what an eccentric diva Mariah was and, although we were thrilled about having her on the show, we were also worried she might not play along. That worry disappeared when, in the middle of the week, the producer, David Staite, got a phone call:
‘Hi, David, it’s Mariah Carey.’
‘Er, um… hi, Mariah.’
‘I have a question for you – what colour is the wallpaper on the Chums set?’
‘Pardon?’
‘What colour is the wallpaper?’
‘Green, why?’
‘I’m in Virgin Brides in Manchester, and I want to make sure I rent a bridesmaid’s dress that clashes with the wallpaper – it’ll look funnier then, won’t it?’
‘Er, yeah, it will, yeah.’
‘Great – I’ll get a blue one – see you Saturday!’
On the day of the show, when Mariah turned up, some people were still worried that she’d be a total diva and expect to have rose petals sprinkled wherever she walked and freshly born puppies in her dressing room, but the moment she walked in, we knew that wouldn’t happen. There was a good reason for that – she was carrying a plastic bag from Virgin Brides. She’d got the dress and she was great on the show.
The other memorable thing about the wedding was that, finally, after three years of me and Cat trying to get it together in every episode of Chums, I got to kiss her. Before the show, I told the producer that we would lock lips for exactly ten seconds, to give the moment maximum drama and romance. As you’ll know, ever since I nicked Ant’s lass on Byker Grove, I’ve always been a very professional screen kisser. When it came to the big moment, we started the kiss, and all I could hear in my earpiece was the whole gallery counting down, ‘10–9–8–7–6–5–4–3–2–1!’ It all went in slow motion, and I never wanted that kiss to end – not just because it was Cat and she’s lush, although that was a small part of it, but primarily because I knew the moment it did, me and Ant were going to walk off the set and that would be the end of our last ever Chums.
There were all sorts of surprises on that last show. We had goodbye messages from everyone – Bono, the late great Sir Bobby Robson, Alan Shearer, Kylie Minogue, Paul McCartney, David Beckham and Sting, to name but seven – and even though I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to cry on telly, we were both filling up on the last link of the show. What made it harder was that, all around us, off camera – the people holding the cue cards, the researchers – the whole production team was in tears, which only made us two more emotional.
In a way, one of the only things I can liken that last Saturday morning to is my wedding day. Obviously, my wedding day was much more important, and had fewer members of Steps there, but what they both have in common is that, even though you’re right in the middle of it, it doesn’t feel real. It’s like you’re not really there. I was there, at both of them, by the way.
I don’t want to sound like I’ve just been kicked out of The X-Factor, but it was the end of something really special and one of the most emotional experiences of my life. It might sound silly to say that about a Saturday-morning kids’ show, but leaving a job you love, with people you love, on a show you love is a very, very difficult thing
I feel the same. I still miss it dearly. It was glorified messing about for three hours every week and it was a once-in-a-lifetime job.
When we left sm:tv, we also left behind something very special, and something that always made us both smile on a Saturday morning. That was Cat, and she stayed on while we flew the nest to spend more time with potential Pop Idols. For the whole time we’d done sm:tv and cd:uk, Cat had been there – as our co-pilot, friend and ‘that lass who wears the goofy teeth and the funny wigs’. We’ve never worked with anyone else so closely – before or since – and she was an absolute joy from start to finish. She also made me write all that. So, for the memories, the laughs and this whole paragraph – thanks, Cat.
No matter how much fun it was, though, and no matter how hard it was to leave, we knew the time had come to move on. Pop Idol had given us the chance to do that and, although we didn’t know it yet, 2002 would be a year unlike any other.
For a start, we had our first Saturday lie-in of the twentieth century.
Why do you always have to spoil my end-of-chapter statements? Keep it zipped when we get to the end of the next one.
Okay, I’m sorry.
Chapter 26
By the time Christmas came around, even though there were still eight contestants on Pop Idol, there was only one question on everyone’s lips: ‘Will
or Gareth?’ It was great to be doing a show that had captured the public’s imagination, but it was such an intense experience that there was also a part of me that was relieved to be back home for Christmas, in the bosom of my family. Here was an opportunity to forget all about Pop Idol for a while. Or so I thought – the whole country was talking about it, and I was naïve to think my family would be any different. Round the Christmas dinner table, all I heard was Pop Idol this and Pop Idol that, and then, I got the update that really mattered – the votes were in from the Donnellys. ‘Four of us have voted for Will and four of us have voted for Gareth.’ I pointed out that those eight votes would cancel each other out, but no one cared. By the time we got to the Christmas pudding, I had to politely ask them all to change the subject and, when that didn’t work, I went with: ‘Can we have five minutes without talking about Pop bloody Idol?’
Despite the fact it almost ruined Dec’s Christmas, the show was great fun to work on. Charles Boyd and us two would come up with little sketches about the judges every week; Dec would play Simon and Nicki, and I’d play Pete and Foxy, and that was where the whole ‘Simon Cowell wears high trousers’ thing started. And, for the record, back then, those trousers were very, very high – he could touch his ears with his belt on a good day.
By the time it came to the last few weeks, the hype around the show was enormous, and Gareth had emerged as a clear favourite with the public. Privately, we always wanted Will to win – we’d loved his cover of The Doors’ ‘Light My Fire’, even if it wasn’t a patch on the version we’d done in the log cabin with Rory.
Obviously we had to keep our preference for Will a secret and remain impartial – it wouldn’t have been very professional if we’d gone, ‘Hi, welcome to Pop Idol – Vote Will!’ Despite our preferences, Gareth became the bookies’ favourite. He was very popular with teenage girls, which is obviously a vital section of the audience in any talent show: they do a lot of voting, they buy records and, most importantly, they scream at pop stars. I don’t know what the music industry would do without them. Gareth was also a good singer, and had a great story – he was the kid who was overcoming his stutter to win the nation’s hearts.
Understandably, Gareth had a lot of trouble with his stutter when we’d talk to him live in the studio – it was nerve-wracking for any contestant being on telly with millions of people watching, but for him it was even harder, and he often struggled in our interviews with him. To try and makes things easier, we would get him into my dressing room before the show and run through the questions with him; it meant he stuttered less, and it also meant we could get his autograph for our nieces and nephews, which made it a win-win situation.
In the week leading up to the final, the whole country went even more Pop Idol crazy. Will and Gareth both had election buses and toured the country, like politicians, drumming up votes. I’m telling you, Gordon Brown could take a few tips from those boys when it came to winning votes.
Finally, the big night arrived and, for the two of us, just knowing we’d be hosting it and announcing the result was such a mouth-watering prospect – we couldn’t wait to find out who the public would choose. We were later told that more than eight million votes were cast, which was more than the Liberal Democrats had received in the previous year’s general election. I’m no political expert, but it struck me that if the Lib Dems had stuck on some hair gel and banged out a version of ‘Light My Fire’, they could’ve won that election. The whole thing was an incredible phenomenon. When it came to actually announcing the big result, the moment of truth, the climax of months of hard work, the winner of Pop Idol…
I did it! It was just one word – ‘Will’, and I got to say it.
I was fine with it.
That’s not what you said at the time.
Come on, there’s no need to rake up the past.
Pop Idol really did change everything – the prime-time audience finally knew who we were, and it seemed like maybe, just maybe, we’d managed to successfully leap forward seven hours from Saturday mornings to Saturday evenings. It was now twelve years since we’d met at the Mitre and, in all of that time, no one had noticed we were pretty much making it all up as we went along.
Without even realizing it, after Pop Idol, we returned to our first two jobs.
Paperboy and Irish dancing busker?
No, acting and singing. Look, you’ve interrupted my big end-of-chapter statement again.
Oh yeah, sorry.
Chapter 27
The success of Pop Idol led to us being offered all sorts of other projects. We returned to acting when we filmed a one-off sitcom for ITV – A Tribute to the Likely Lads. It was a remake of an episode of one of our favourite ever sitcoms, Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads? We had to trim the title of our remake a bit, though, otherwise it would have been A Tribute to Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads?, and that’s just too long for the Radio Times. The original show starred James Bolam and Rodney Bewes and was written by Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais. It was brilliant. It’s the story of two best mates who are from Newcastle and live in Newcastle – ringing any bells?
To put it mildly, The Likely Lads is an institution in Newcastle and, when we announced we were doing it, the reaction from our fellow Geordies was simple and straightforward: they all said, ‘We can’t think of two better lads to do it but, whatever you do, make sure you don’t mess it up.’ Well, ‘mess it up’ wasn’t exactly the phrase they used, but you get the drift.
The two main characters, Bob and Terry, are very different – Bob is excitable and optimistic, while Terry is grumpy and disillusioned with the world. Can you guess who played who?
Will you stop saying that sort of thing, Declan? I’m really not that grumpy.
Careful – you sounded a bit grumpy there.
It co-starred John Thomson and was directed by the legendary comedy director Bob Spiers. We shot the episode on location in Newcastle and in a studio in London and it received mixed reviews, but the people who really mattered to us – the people of Newcastle – said nice things. And as long as our fellow Geordies were happy, then we could rest easy.
Another unexpected offer that came our way was from Sony Records, who approached us to make the official England World Cup single, for, well, for the World Cup, which that year was happening in Japan and South Korea. Our first reaction was very simple: ‘Didn’t you hear any of our music?’ But Sony weren’t joking; they genuinely wanted us to do it. Once we’d stopped laughing, we assumed they’d put us with ‘proper’ songwriters, the way Frank Skinner and David Baddiel had been paired with the Lightning Seeds, or the England Squad had worked with New Order in 1990, but Sony said, ‘No, we just want you two, and we’ve already chosen the song.’ It was an old terrace chant from the 1970s called ‘We’re on the Ball’. That was one less headache – we were worried for a minute that they might actually want us to write and compose the whole track.
We weren’t getting off lightly, though, we still had to write some new 2002 World Cup-inspired lyrics, but we were incredibly busy, and there appeared to be no free time in our diary to actually write the song. Eventually, we managed to clear a couple of hours one afternoon after a Variety Club lunch…
That is the most old-school-showbiz thing I’ve ever heard you say.
Thank you. So, there we were – Ant and I had a couple of hours to spare, an instrumental version of the track, a pen, some paper, and there was no point in putting it off any longer: it was time to get serious. To write the lyrics, we decided to go to a place that was quiet, disused and had been deserted for years – my kitchen. Once we were in there, the songwriting magic came flooding back, and inspiration immediately struck.
What he means is, we wrote down a list of footballing clichés, picked out the ones that rhymed, then chucked in a verse about the players, and we were done.
What can I say? Some people are just born songwriters. And us two definitely aren’t some of those people. After spending literally minutes on
the lyrics, it was time for the next big part of the project: shooting the video. The story, and I use that word in the loosest possible sense, was that we were trying to blag our way to the World Cup in Japan by kidnapping the England manager Sven Goran Eriksson and his assistant Tord Grip and posing as impostors.
The FA had promised us access to the players – we could do some filming with David Beckham, Michael Owen, Steven Gerrard and the rest of the squad. That turned out to be the exact opposite of the truth. We never got any access to the players, and we ended up sat in a minibus outside Elland Road, in Leeds, where the whole squad were training, and didn’t get so much as a picture with them.
It wasn’t all bad news though – we got to work with Mike Hedges, who’d produced albums by the likes of Radiohead and U2. And now, to that list, he could finally add the artists formally known as PJ and Duncan – all that time messing about with nobodies like them must have been worth it when he got to work with us.
As part of the promotion, ‘the record company thought it was a good idea’ to perform live on cd:uk. ‘We’re on the Ball’ had a brass section on it, and we’d asked Phil Mount, our close friend and the show’s producer, to book a brass band to have on stage with us. He said no. That would cost money, and he wasn’t prepared to spend cash on a backing band for a couple of presenters who six months earlier had been hosting the show themselves. ‘Charming,’ we thought, although we did come up with an ingenious plan. Si Hargreaves, our press officer, came down with a bunch of guys from the office, and they all pretended they knew how to play trumpets. It turned out that what they actually knew how to do was drink a lot before the show and then mime badly on the telly. In their defence, they did at least get drunk on Becks, and with David Beckham as England captain, I thought that was very patriotic of them.
Ooh! What a Lovely Pair: Our Story Page 23