I tended to get a bit obsessed with things. Okay, not a bit, a lot. Like I’d binge watch a show, take Queer Eye for example, and then I’d get their autobiographies, and Antoni’s cookbook even though I struggled to butter a slice of bread. I’d follow them on Instagram, follow them on Twitter. You get the picture. Then I’d be onto the next programme, the next obsession. Basically, I needed to get a life and I was spending far too much time on my own at home.
I blamed my best friend, Freya. She was in love and so my social life had taken a tumble. It wasn’t that she’d abandoned me for her boyfriend. More that I couldn’t face listening to how wonderful he was and having to witness her lovesick face. Yes, that made me a cow. I was happy for her, but I was twenty-one years old, worked in a supermarket, and lived with my mum in a council house in Clapham with no love life whatsoever. I couldn’t even have a battery-operated boyfriend because my mother still insisted on cleaning my room.
Anyway, this was why, when I should be out living it up on a Saturday night, I was instead lying on my bed in my bedroom, TV on, watching Britain’s Best New Band, with only a packet of crisps for company. We were at the live auditions stage where they performed for the judges, (note my use of the word ‘we’ because of my mental overinvolvement) and my heart was in my mouth as the next band came onto the screen. Dan and Harley, the presenters, always chatted backstage with whoever was going on stage next and I'd never wanted to be Harley Davies so much in my damn life. Lucky, lucky bitch.
"Hi, guys, so you're The Para-not-normals. How did you four get together?" She asked them.
A dark-haired guy spoke. "We met at college and practised in our spare time. We've played a few gigs, but this is the competition we've always wanted to be in."
"Well the judges are waiting for you. Good luck." Harley smiled, and the guys sauntered onto the stage.
Seriously, I had never in my life seen such fit blokes. Every one of them was a hunk. Nearly always in a band you had at least one who looked like, as my mum would say, ‘they’d had a hard paper round’, but no. They looked in need of an image overhaul, but I'd watched this show before and knew that they liked to make entrants look worse because they all got a makeover before the live competition weeks started. I could clearly see that I was going to be licking the television screen if this lot got through. Especially the lead singer. He just had this aura about him. It seemed otherworldly, like he almost glowed out of the screen. I know, I was getting far too overexcited, but seriously, it was like he called to me. Fuck, I really did need to get a dildo because I was clearly heading for the edge. My mother needed a bingo night so she could shout 'house' while I shouted in the house. With numbers for mum and the letter 'O' for me, I could almost talk myself into believing my masturbation would be educational. Here's the current math, my current 0 was numerical, as in zero = fuck all.
"Okay." Bill Traynor, the main guy from the auditions said, dragging me back from my imagination. "So who are you guys?"
The lead singer began to speak and I was lost once more. "I'm Zak. This is Rex, Roman, and Noah. We're the Para-not-normals and we're going to sing Paradise City for you."
"Okay." Bill said, "When you're ready."
The band began to sing, but within thirty seconds, Bill put a hand up and stopped them.
"Nooooooo." I screamed, my grab packet of Doritos flying off my lap as I sprang up off the bed and to my feet. He could not stop my guys. No way!
"Do you have something else? I don't think that song is the right one for you." He said looking frustrated. "For God's sake, Bill." I ranted. "This better be a wind up."
My phone beeped and I sat back on the bed and looked at the message that had come through.
Mum: Can you keep it down? If you've that much energy maybe you could wash the dishes?
And this was why I needed to move out. I couldn't even enjoy myself watching television outside of my covers, never mind enjoy myself under them.
The band had moved onto Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift and I watched enraptured as they sang their hearts out, the guys giving backing vocals to Zak. Then Dan and Harley came back on stage, the band standing between them and Dan asked for the judges' response to the audition.
Talent scout Maxwell Johnson spoke first. "I think you have potential. It's a yes from me."
I took a slow breath out. Come on!
Then it was Marianne Moore's turn. I didn't know her, but Mum had said she had been really famous in the 1960's. "You remind me of The Rolling Stones in their early days when we used to hang around together. Great times. It's a yes from me."
Carmela Toto was up next. I didn't like her much. She'd been in a girl band, but always seemed to want the spotlight on herself. "I like you. You have a great energy. Yes, from me." She told them. And just like that I liked her again because she saved my band, although if she went anywhere near Zak, I'd make a voodoo doll of her using one of my niece's Barbies. Poppy had so many, she'd not miss one and I'd bought her most of them anyway. I could set fire to it. A Barbie-cue.
Finally, it was Bill's turn. "I like you guys. There's something about you, but I'm not sure…"
"Don't be fucking stupid, Bill." I shouted. The audience began to protest and chanted, "Yes, yes, yes." I joined in.
Bill looked back at the audience and his face contorted as he considered his verdict. "I think with a little image styling and some expert advice you could have something. One thing though. Your name. I'm not into it. I'd prefer just The Paranormals. We can work with that. Get you looking out of this world."
The band looked on tenterhooks and I realised I was sitting on my hands.
"What do you say? Ready for an image and name change?"
They said yes.
I yelled, "Yeeeeeeeesssssssss."
"Then that's four yeses. You're through to the next round. Congratulations, guys." Bill said.
And my mother sent me another text.
Mum: The neighbours will now think you've got a bloke round. FFS can you Please. Keep. The. Noise. Down. Before they report us to the council and we end up homeless.
An advert came on as the show finished and the voice said. “Win tickets to be in the audience of Britain’s Best New Band,” and before I knew it, my phone was in my hand and I was dialling the number.
Something told me that I needed to see this band for real.
I decided after calling, that my obsessional behaviour had hit an all-time high.
And then on Monday morning I got a text.
Congratulations! You are a winner of two tickets for the live rounds of Britain’s Best New Band. Please reply to this message with your name and email address.
Oh my god! I could barely tap the keys on my phone as I answered. Please don't go wrong. I needed those tickets like I needed the air to breathe.
Shortly afterwards I got a text confirming that tickets were on their way to my email address.
I rang Freya.
“Freya, next Saturday night, I need you. We’re off down to the London Landmark.” I spilled out excitedly.