TOP OF THE POPS
I WAS JUST A LOVE MACHINE
Last year I had the chance to be a Top of the Pops audience member. Our cover story was that we were taking a teenage relative along as a treat on her first visit to London but I quite fancied going anyway to experience the magic of live television. I had no desire to be actually seen on TV as I suspected that I would be twice as old as everyone in the audience (this turned out to be the case) but I soon realised that I was also twice as tall as everyone in the audience, which made it hard to be inconspicuous. We decided that we would always stand at the back and I would sort of slouch and try to make myself shorter.

After standing round a holding area for a while, we all filed into the studio (which is tiny, unbearably hot, full of cables and equipment and cameramen who tell you to get out of shot all the time). A producer came along, cracked a few lame jokes and explained the rules – it turns out that you aren’t just an audience member but have to perform yourself: clap with your hands in the air! Dance to everything! Look happy! Cheer when a dancer does a special move! No handbags allowed! Production assistants would mingle in the crowd and zap you with cattle prods if you didn’t obey.

The producer announced the line up (Girls Aloud! V! Kasabian! Three of a Kind! DJ Smiley or Spidey or something! Natasha Bedingfield!) and a young audience member practically wet himself when Three of a Kind were announced. Who the hell could get that excited about them? The same lad also tried to get Fearne Cotton to wear his naff trilby hat (she was very polite but looked at him like “No way am I touching that flea ridden shit, mate”) and was generally totally star struck and embarrassing. We decided to look out for him on the next series of Pop Idol, where he would probably be rejected on the first day and cry and say that Simon Cowell was an idiot who didn’t recognise true talent. The producer said that Usher wouldn’t be in the studio but that they would play his video instead. Lots of people seemed sad about this but I hate Usher with the burning intensity of a thousand suns and laughed at their grief. There was to be a rehearsal and then the live shoot – so much fun to have to be enthusiastic and spontaneous the second time round.

Now-dropped boy band V came on to do “Can You Feel It?” with about fifty dancers. The record company really pushed the boat out on that one – money down the drain! V were quite average but it was fun watching the dancers who were a) very good and b) very fit. We were dancing around ironically at the back when suddenly – horror! – V ran through the audience onto a stage behind us. We all had to turn round and suddenly found ourselves right at the front. Oh the shame of being filmed frugging to V on primetime national television.

Girls Aloud performed “Love Machine” and basically acted out the video on stage. They are all very tiny and glossy looking in real life. I confess to liking Girls Aloud, so this was the “highlight” of the evening for me. My abiding memory of the performance is the look of abject embarrassment on the Ginger One’s face when she had to do a sexy shimmy about two inches from one of the writhing dancer boys. Poor Ginger One.

We were on the wrong side of the studio to be in the crowds for Kasabian (generic indie bollocks a go go) or DJ Spidey (some kind of shit summer novelty record - Spidey handing out inflatable bananas to the crowd to create the spurious illusion of fun) but we didn’t really care. We were trapped close to the stage for Three of a kind to perform their one hit wonder "Babycakes" (a couple of the fit dancers from V came back for that) and, again, there was no way to avoid the cameras. Predictably, stalker boy went into fits when they did their performance and was later seen to be pestering them for autographs. We thought the show was over but then Natasha Bedingfield came on to record a performance for next week. It was that “Shelley and Keats to a hip hop beats” song. Great. We were knackered by now after basically prancing around non stop under bright lights for three hours without refreshment. We gave up any pretence of enjoyment and just sat at the back. I decided I would say that I had a bad leg if one of the fun nazis came over but I think that by then, they had lost the will to live too. Natasha seemed very smug and pleased with herself whilst waiting to perform and we all nudged each other and muttered “what a diva!” when she told a flunky to get her some water. Who does she think she is? J-Lo? After an interminable performance they finally let us go and we dashed off to the bar. We forgot to set the video so we have no idea how stupid we looked. Perhaps it is for the best. Coming soon: I attend “Later with Joolz Holland”!