Amanda Roberts - Shimmer

In the production office Chloe was printing out lists and spreadsheets with various colour-coded columns on them. It looked like an admin minefield and I sensed it was coming my way. I must have looked horrified because Matt said, ‘Don’t worry Amanda, it’s only paper. We are going to be The Door Police for a while, with the power to allow people into the magical world of Strictly.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it like that,’ replied Chloe. ‘But I’m afraid I will need you on various doors at various points this evening. Here’s the list. The different colour codes correspond to the seating areas and the status of the guests. Obviously the celeb partners are in the front row, so we can get shots of them …’

‘Heh heh, especially the ones who were competitors last year,’ interrupted Matt. My celeb gossip database immediately whirred into action as I quickly tried to work out who he was referring to. Chloe raised an eyebrow. There was a shadow of a smirk on her face. Perhaps she had a sense of humour lurking in there after all.

‘… anywaaaaay. Amanda, to clarify. Each of the audience members is on a different colour-coded list. They will be given a wristband corresponding to that list on arrival. This way we can avoid sneaky last-minute seat shuffling. The friends, family and key celebs are seated where we can get shots of them, but everyone else is divided pretty equally. It is simply too disruptive to have people swapping around at the last minute.’

She handed me the sheets of A4 and six bags, each filled with different coloured wristbands. She looked me straight in the eye.

‘Do not let anyone change their seats. These seats are allocated. Okay?’

‘Yes, Chloe,’ I replied. I felt as if I was being told off. I wasn’t though … was I?

The first show was due to start that Friday evening, so before we were due to take up our door duties, Matt and I headed to the canteen for a late lunch. It had felt a bit like a high school canteen to me all week, but now that I had a clearer idea of what all of our roles were, I wasn’t sure where to sit. While we were queuing for our pies, pushing our trays along the three metal rungs towards the till, I noticed a pretty girl about my age. She had dark hair, pale skin and red lips. A cross between Snow White and a fifties cigarette girl, she was one of the most put-together people I had ever seen. Her lips had a perfect Cupid’s bow shape, which although created with make-up, didn’t make it any less cute. Her hair was cut in a dark shoulder-length bob with a blunt fringe that looked as if it had been cut with a razor. It was shiny in a way that finally made me understand my northern granny’s expression about looking ‘like boot polish’. She was wearing a black dress with a wide belt, which perfectly accentuated her curvy pin-up girl figure. It seemed fair to assume that she was a celebrity from a show I wasn’t familiar with. A kids’ TV presenter, perhaps? She gave us a hesitant smile as she approached, picking up a tray for herself.

‘Hi there,’ she said in a soft Scottish accent. ‘Do you mind if I interrupt?’

‘Of course not, go ahead,’ replied Matt. He was sooo giving her the once over.

‘Thanks.’

‘How can we help?’ I asked. Matt now had his back to me and it was clear that if I wanted to be included in this conversation, I was going to have to include myself.

‘Well, I just wanted to interrupt.’

I frowned slightly.

‘What I mean is, I didn’t have a specific question. I’m new here, only just started, and it seemed to me that you were having the most fun in the canteen, so I thought I’d ask if I could join in.’

I had to admire her honesty. And she was right: Matt and I had just been having a right laugh. Who didn’t enjoy piling mashed potato onto someone’s plate with a massive catering spoon and then shaping it into a Close Encounters -style mountain? Who could not enjoy that? No one I’d call a friend, that’s for sure.

‘Well then, welcome to our people,’ said Matt. He put his hands together and gave a little bow. ‘You are one of the family.’

‘Yeay, thank you! I really didn’t want to eat with the rest of the make-up team. I’ve been with them all day, I feel like I need someone, a bit, well, a bit … more relaxed.’

I laughed.

‘That’s us! Irresponsible, underpaid and too silly to know any better …’

‘Excellent news,’ she replied, with the kind of crinkly nosed smile that made me think she could be a lot of fun. ‘I’m Sally. From make-up. Yes, I do a lot of the fake tans.’.

‘In that case I declare you the hardest working woman on Strictly,’ I said, picking up a Wispa from the display at the till, showing it to the cashier and putting it onto her tray. ‘Let me get you this.’

We spent the meal chatting and joking about the rest of the team, and our experiences with the dancers and celebrities so far. Who we’d seen in action, whose costumes looked exciting and who were our personal favourite dancers. It was the first time all week that I had felt as if I was even vaguely among people like myself. Despite Sally’s glossy looks, she had a really warm manner, and I knew that she was the kind of girl I could be great friends with. All too soon the meal was over and Matt and I went to the office to collect our coats before beginning our shift outside on Wood Lane.

We left via the back entrance to the building, passing by the doughnut-shaped courtyard made famous by so many comedies and Blue Peter broadcasts. On the other side of the security gate a queue was already forming, even though it was hours until the show began. Matt took one entrance and I took the other. I had queued once to see a panel show recorded here. This time I was on the other side of the velvet rope, and instead of wearing sparkles, I was wearing discreet black clothes like the rest of the production team. It felt like a uniform, a badge to show that I was one of them. I shivered with delight.

Ninety minutes later, I was shivering for different reasons entirely. The thin Converse trainers I had been wearing all week, specifically to fit in, now seemed like the footwear decision of a maniac. It was freezing, and I desperately wished I’d worn boots instead. I dug my hands deep into the pockets of my Parka, raised my shoulders and did my best to keep smiling.

Luckily the excitement among those queuing was enough to keep my spirits high. Beneath everyone’s winter coats I could see flashes of sparkly shoes, satin dresses and jewel-coloured cuffs. Several of the men were holding umbrellas over their wives, gallantly trying to protect their hair and make-up. Each couple looked as if they were on a once-in-a-lifetime date, which in a way they were. And apart from the love-struck there were also some mums and daughters, gossiping and observing every little thing. As I checked people’s names off the list they smiled and chatted with me, and I helped them on with their coloured wrist-bands, making the same joke again and again about whether it would go with their evening wear.

Then, just as I was starting to fade, Matt came up to me and shoved one of his hands deep into my pocket. What the hell was he up to?

‘For you,’ he said, before darting back to his post. I dug into my pocket till my fingers reached a woolly ball and then realised what he’d done: he had just given me his gloves.

‘Thanks, mate!’ I called over to him. ‘What a star!’ He waved me away casually.

An hour later, all of the guests were safely inside the building and we had guided them to their seats without too much hassle. As Chloe had warned, a couple of gentlemen determined to show their wives a dream night out tried their hand at changing to a seat in the front row, but Matt and the team were there and we managed to keep everyone happy and correctly seated. I don’t know how I concentrated though, as I was constantly doing crazy double takes every time I saw faces I recognised.