Authors: Paul Potts
The next stage was meeting up with the vocal coach for the shows. Her name was Yvie Burnett, a pretty blonde with a beautiful Scottish accent. To my joy, she was a trained opera singer, a mezzo-soprano, and we quickly became good friends. We had a session or two in London, and to bring the rehearsals closer to some contestants, some further ones in Birmingham. The biggest struggle for me was the verses for “Time to Say Goodbye.” The chorus was sustained and very easy to remember, but the verses required pacing and flexibility. Yvie and I worked hard on this, and I surprised myself with how quickly I was able to get around the difficulties I was having.
I had another session with Yvie and a choreographer at Birmingham's Custard Factory studios. When they mentioned having a choreographer in I was startled, as I hoped they weren't going to ask me to dance, too. I knew I was hopeless at dancing!
The remaining acts also had meetings with industry lawyers, to go through the contracts involved in appearing on the show. There was the possibility that Simon might activate some of the recording contracts we were being asked to sign. One of the other acts felt we weren't getting a great deal, and suggested that we threaten to withdraw from the competition in order to get a better offer. I remember shaking my head in disbelief. Here we were, with an opportunity to perform in front of millions, and some were prepared to risk throwing it all away. I had no experience with contracts and royalties, but common sense told me that refusing our services would be fruitless. Adam, our appointed solicitor (whom we had voted for in a majority vote), told us that
the contract on the table was a standard Sony contract, and in fact one of the better ones in the industry.
I felt I had to speak up. “Think about it,” I said. “This isn't just a singing show. It's not a matter of having just a few reserves; they have to cover for the balance of talents. I'm betting that they have a reserve for every one of us.”
Adam confirmed this was the case. Eventually, everyone agreed to go ahead with the contracts.
The live shows were scheduled for June, and ITV asked us to take two weeks out of our schedules and work commitments. I was granted this time off from work with no difficulty. In fact, Carphone Warehouse had been helpful about the competition throughout: they'd let me switch roles from managing Port Talbot to being a team leader at their Bridgend outlet, in order to give me time to prepare for the show.
It turned out that we weren't needed for the first week, so I spent that time hiking in the Lake District. Walking had become a big passion of mine over the years. I'd started hiking seriously with my brother Tony shortly after I'd started working for Tesco. We'd walked the West Highland Way in Scotland, and even walked from John O'Groats to Land's End in aid of the charity Mencap. Ever since, I've always taken the opportunity to walk whenever I can.
The week in the Lake District was spent getting fresh air and doing phone interviews with journalists. I remember doing one with Karen Price from
Wales on Sunday
at the base of Nab Scar, just at the start of a thirty-mile walk over Fairfield, Dollywagon Pike, and Helvellyn. That wasn't the only long walk I did that week. One of my regular ones started in Ambleside, climbed
Loughrigg Fell, and encompassed the full length of Great Langdale before climbing Rossett Pike. I particularly liked the view from the top of Rossett Ghyll. It was a tough climb, but the view over the valley and the distant pastureland took my breath away almost as much as the climb had! Then I passed Angle Tarn and continued to the Scafell Massif via Great End, totaling over thirty-five miles with over six thousand feet of ascent. It was dark by the time I arrived back in Ambleside. I had a well-earned pint of good bitter at the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel at the end of that!
As I headed south to London, I got a call from the head of media at ITV. She told me that my audition had been shown to the media as part of the screening of the very first episode of
Britain's Got Talent
.
“Your audition went down really well,” she said. “There were very hard-nosed journalists in that room who were reduced to tears.” I didn't know what was ahead of me, so this left me feeling hopeful but confused. I'd just stood in front of the judges for three minutesâI didn't really understand how that could make people react like this.
I was staying with some of the other acts in the North London district of Cricklewood, at a smart hotel called the Crown. On arrival we were given a briefing by Ollie and Jenna, the researchers who were looking after us. They were great, and both really hard working; they always seemed to be on hand. Initially, I was very nervous about being around the other acts, as we were effectively competing against each other. But I needn't have worried: we all got on like a house on fire, and sat together in the upstairs bar to watch each other's performances.
There was a core group of us that met for dinner and to watch each evening's programmes: Bessie Cursons and her parents, who were from my old holiday haunt of Portsmouth; the puppeteer Damon Scott, who seemed to be very confident; and Mike Garbutt, an impersonator whose attitude was very similar to mine. He was a nice guy who struggled a little for confidence, but was very good at what he did.
One of the brightest stars in the room was little Connie Talbot. She was a pretty little girl who seemed very mature for her tender six years. The common thought amongst the adult competitors was that she was the most likely winner. Connie was self-assured without being overconfident, and had just the right kind of cuteness without its feeling forced and sickly sweet. I got on well with her parents, who seemed very down-to-earth and pleasant.
My audition was shown on Saturday, 9 June as part of the first-ever show of
Britain's Got Talent
. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to watch it or not, but I managed to get through it, and was congratulated by everyone else in the room. Several of them told me that I had a good chance of winning. I did my best to put aside what they were saying; I was nervous enough without the extra pressure of hoping to win.
One thing we were all unprepared for was the amount of interest there was from the media, and in particular from the newspapers. I think it also took ITV's press office by surprise, as before long we were getting called directly, although they did check with ITV beforehand as to whether it was okay.
The calls started with a few requests being passed through Jenna and Ollie and one or two face-to-face interviews, complete with photographs. Then it just snowballed from there. Although
I had dealt with the press before in my role as a city councillor in Bristol, that was local press only. Dealing with the likes of the
Daily Mail
, the
Mirror
, and the
Sun
was a different animal altogether.
Through Jenna, I also got calls with offers to fix my teeth. This was something I had always considered, as I hated the way they looked. This felt like a real bonus, and Jenna took the dentists' details. I didn't know what else the week would hold, and I did my best to keep my expectation levels low. Having low confidence really helped with this. I never believed that anyone would pick me, so merely being at the live rounds felt like the FA Cup Final for me.
Meanwhile, there were more sessions with Yvie as I went through “Time to Say Goodbye” a few more times. The producers decided that if I made it to the final, then I would perform “Nessun Dorma” again. So in case I did make it, we also went through that as well.
The Thursday of the semi-final came all too quickly. It was a fairly warm day. I had been fitted for a tuxedo for the performances on the show, but dressed casually for the rehearsals. I didn't realize the rehearsals were going to be shown in the video introduction before my entrance, and I remember thinking how scruffy I looked! The rehearsal took place in the same studio that the live show would be broadcast from later. There were lots of people milling around and three substitutes standing in for Piers, Amanda, and Simon.
After a full run-through, I recorded a short piece to introduce myself for the video that would precede my performance. The producers wanted me to talk about my lack of confidence. They
felt that if I told the audience why I felt this way, then viewers would be more likely to vote for me. There was a lot more that I
could
tell them: there was the bullying at school, which I had talked very briefly and generally about. Then there was also the abuse at the hands of Burton-Barri. Would I use this to help me win? I felt sure the producers would love to hear about it.
I decided to talk a little about how the bullying made me feel, but that I wasn't going to say anything about the abuse. If I spoke about it, I'd never know whether I had gone further or even won
because
of the abuse, rather than in spite of it. I would never know, and ultimately I'd be giving the effects of the abuse even more control over me. It would mean that I could never rely on any success being solely due to my voice. So I kept that information to myself.
By now, the clock was ticking until we were live on air. The acts for that night's show were given a briefing by the judges. Originally it was planned that the X'sâthe judges' buttons to vote acts offstageâwould not be used for the live shows. However, due to the competition between
Britain's Got Talent
and rival shows such as BBC1's
The Apprentice
and Channel 4's
Big Brother
, it was decided that the X's would reappear after all.
This was a very unwelcome update, and added to the already nervous feeling around Fountain Studios in Wembley. Several of the other contestants assured me there was no way I would get buzzed, but I couldn't be sure, so I tried not to think about it. It was a dramatic end to the preparations for the first semi-final, which was the last thing I wanted or needed. I just wanted to get it over and done with.
There were eight acts performing in the semi-final, and it was decided that I would perform last. To some of the contestants it seemed like an advantage to be on last, but not for me. It meant I had more time to think about thingsâmore time to get nervous, to lose all courage, to forget the words. I worried that the waiting would be too much for me, and that in front of millions of people, my mind would go blank. I feared opening my mouth and nothing coming out. In my dressing room, I tried to occupy myself until call time by listening to my performance music on my phone. This didn't seem to help much at all, so I listened to different music. If the words weren't in my mind by now, they never would be.
By the time I got the call I was in a complete haze. I made my way down the stairs and along the corridor to the backstage area. The other acts, who were now waiting for the end of the show, wished me good luck. I stood and waited for my turn, which seemed to come too soon. Standing behind two huge video walls acting as doors, I could hear my voice on the video clip being shown, ending with the words “I'm somebody. I'm Paul Potts.”
The doors opened. Part of me was excited, but part of me wanted to get it over and done with. I walked forwards to the microphone. The music started, and it was time to begin. Thankfully, there were no hitches, no forgotten words. I managed to find that place I went to when I sangâthe one where I was in a different world. As I finished singing “Time to Say Goodbye,” a shower of pyrotechnics rained down behind me.
As with the initial audition, there was a huge reaction to my performance from inside the auditorium. I was relieved that it had seemed to go well, particularly as the judges had not been
slow in buzzing some of the other acts. As the audience's cheers subsided, the judges started to speak. They were all really complimentary: Amanda spoke about the death of her father, something she had not talked about before the show, and that he would have voted for me. Piers talked about his reaction to my voice.
Now it was Simon's turn to speak.
Please be nice
, I pleaded inwardly. At that moment I realised that, contrary to the instructions of the stage manager, I had left my mobile phone in my trouser pocket. Someone was calling me. I could feel the phone vibrating, and prayed I had put it on silent.
My phone was normally set to vibrate, then ring at maximum volume. And not just to any old ringtone either. I had been an avid watcher of the TV drama series
Life on Mars
, and had downloaded an amusing ringtone voiced by Philip Glenister in the character of a 1970s police inspector. The ringtone was set to say “Oi! Fatty! Shut it, and have another pie!”
Waiting for Simon to speak were the longest seconds of my life so far. If my phone wasn't on silent, I felt sure that it would be the end of any hopes of a career. Thankfully, when Simon started speaking, my phone subsided.
“Every time you come on, I want you to do well,” Simon said. “And you just did again. It was magic.”
I was hugely relieved, twice over. When I got offstage, I told the crew about my phone. At this revelation, they shook their heads:
“Don't do it again, Paul,” the stage manager said, trying, and failing, to stop himself laughing out loud.
Now it was time to wait for the results. There was a very short gap while the phone lines were open, and then the votes
were counted. I didn't want to think about the result. I thought I had sung okay, although I didn't feel I'd done my best. It was too late to do anything about it now, though; I just had to wait for the viewers' decision.
The results were in. The acts were led out on the stage, and we were put into our allotted positions. When I watched television at home, I always felt the urge to shout at the screen when hosts held on before announcing the winner. “Get on with it, for God's sake!” I'd yell. Standing there on stage, I was thinking exactly that as Ant and Dec started announcing the results. Finally, the preamble was over.