Alan Carr - Look who it is! - My Story

Over time the undesirables were ruthlessly rooted out. With this new burst of love from the audience, our confidence grew and so did the studio. We went up to the biggest one at London Studios. We were on hallowed ground. This was where Ant and Dec filmed their Saturday Night Takeaway , this was the pat on the back we needed.

Justin and I were both thrilled. I felt I had finally shaken off the demons that said I wasn’t good enough. I had been so worried at the beginning of the run that I couldn’t do it. Justin was naturally upbeat, enthusiastic and a born conversationalist. He made it look so easy, thriving in what is essentially the pretty stark surroundings of a studio. I doubted whether I could keep up with him, let alone possibly say anything that would make the final cut. Justin can literally talk about anything, plus, amazingly, sound like he gives a shit, which is a fantastic skill to have when you’re faced with a dreary A-Lister intent on plugging their CD, perfume, clothing range, film. Delete where applicable. Whereas Justin can throw himself wholeheartedly into the conversation and chug it along with his cheeky chat and upbeat nature, I tend to switch off and look completely bored shitless which, I admit, isn’t ideal. I bet you can’t wait for the ‘Alan Carr Chat Show’, can you?

But I made a concerted effort to talk more, engage myself with the guest and earn my place upon the sofa. Believe it or not, towards the end of that first run I started to enjoy myself. I actually looked forward to the recording and, as it happens, I wasn’t making a tit of myself. In fact, Justin and I were making quite a good partnership in this thing they call ‘presenting’. We were doing just fine together, we were becoming a right old double act, and my fears that I was the new Syd Little had been unfounded.

Whether it’s performing ‘Doctor Who on Ice’ with Billie Piper, or rapping on a mock R’n’B video with Mariah Carey, or singing a duet with Mel C at an EastEnders pub in Magaluf, it is only when it stops that you can finally take in the bizarreness of what I used to call my life. If I actually took it in whilst I was in the middle of these more surreal moments, I think my head would explode. Maybe after all it’s a good thing that I let myself get swept away by it all. Maybe I’m afraid that if I pinched myself it would bring me round from this dream-like state, and I would wake up and find myself back packing shampoo in Northampton. Even after all I’ve been through, I still worry that it will end tomorrow and I’ll get banished to some industrial estate in the middle of nowhere for having too much fun. So I do what I do best – I pop on my costume and carry on regardless.

So I’m back in the studio, and for the eighth time that day I change into my outfit. Staring at the monstrosity that looks back at me in the mirror, it’s hard to comprehend firstly that the shy little boy from Northampton has come so far, and secondly that I would make such an ugly woman. Not disheartened, I slip on the négligé with no complaints, pop on the black stilettos, let Sue the make-up lady smear my lips with cherry-red lipstick, and I am ready.

With a quick glance in the mirror to see that Justine has pinned the shaggy brown wig to my head, I make my way to the back of the stage reciting the lyrics of ‘Simply the Best’ over and over again. As I pass through the backcloth to the wings, one of the stagehands mutters sarcastically, ‘Look who it is!’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s Tina!’

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