All Balls and Glitter (37 page)

I always think
EastEnders
, and all the other soaps, must be a hard place to come down from for young actors like Chris. These artists are put on a pedestal and become famous overnight. Fifteen million viewers watch them. They can’t walk down the street, or be treated normally, and they’re papped constantly, so it changes their life immediately. When that finishes and no one offers them another job, they must wonder what the hell to do next. One minute they’re famous and flying high, and the next they are just ordinary people again, but with the added problem of fame.

Fame is a funny thing. People somehow find it odd to see celebrities in the flesh – and they think it even stranger to see a group of them together. When we judges venture out in public as a gang, or even as a duo, there are a lot of double takes. I went to the Trafford Centre in Manchester with Len one afternoon and our fellow shoppers kept stopping us and talking to us. One lady came up to Len on the street outside and said, ‘You’re brilliant on that show –
the
Antiques Roadshow
.’ Oh, that made me chuckle.

Every night on tour, during the finale, Len, Arlene and I would stand on a raised platform above the stage, sidestepping and doing a little bopping. One evening, as we were busting our moves, a woman from the audience staggered from the opposite end of the stadium and began dancing into the centre of the stage in a very bizarre fashion. Len saw what was happening and went down to intercept her and dance her off. Then he came back, laughing like a drain, to boogie with us again.

It all got too much for him. He slipped and fell down the steep stairs to the stage and hit the deck. He lay there in a crumpled heap for the longest time. I looked at Darren Gough, and the pair of us corpsed with laughter, then Christopher Parker got the giggles. Len was lying with his legs in the air like an upturned
turtle! I reached out to grab him in an attempt to get him on his feet, without success. It was the most hilarious thing I have ever seen. I did feel sorry for him, but backstage we must have chortled for about half an hour. He came off complaining that everyone had just laughed and no bugger had helped him up.

In fact, those same stairs caused me a lot more damage in a much less dramatic incident. The band struck up the familiar
Strictly
theme tune as the show opened one night. Kate came down the stairs, followed by me, with Arlene and Len behind. It’s a long staircase and I was walking down carefully, with the cameras on me, waving and smiling to the crowd – who were booing, of course. On the second to last step, I heard a ping go in my leg and I thought, ‘Oh no, I’ve done something awful.’

I couldn’t shriek in pain and collapse theatrically in a heap. Instead, I had to dance across the stage and go into a little swirl with Arlene before we sat down. That night, I did the most peculiar travelling step to reach her because I was limping in agony. I had no idea exactly what the injury was, but I knew my leg muscle had gone somehow because I’d actually heard it crack. All I’d done was walk down the stairs, but my calf had ripped – a total freak of nature.

We reached our seats at long last. Arlene was waving and smiling next to me. I carried on smiling, but through gritted teeth I hissed, ‘Arlene, I have ripped my calf muscle from the bone and I need ice, immediately.’ We were in close-up on camera and I was clutching my calf under the table. Speaking through her own broad smile, she said, ‘Oh my God, are you all right?’ I had to sit there for about seven minutes while Kate presented all the dancers, who were coming down the stairs one by one, each with their own introduction, and it seemed to take forever.

As soon as the lights went down, Arlene ran off stage, bless her, and fetched some ice, which I strapped to my leg. I spent the next two hours in torment with water dripping down my leg. Nightmare.

Backstage, everyone had heard about it, because Arlene had informed the team that I needed instant attention, but there was nothing they could do for forty-five minutes or so. I couldn’t move. I had to stay where I was until the interval. The physios are fantastic, so they strapped me up temporarily during the break, and the next day built up my heel for me and strapped my leg properly, so I could at least walk.

The evening after it happened, there was an announcement to say, ‘Craig fell down the stairs last night.’ For a whole week of the tour, I couldn’t make my entrance on that staircase. I had to walk in at the side, limping over as if nothing had happened, and the dance with Arlene had to go. She did a twirl around me instead.

I was on crutches after that, with a huge bandage on my leg. The amount of people laughing at me was hideous. Chris Parker and a few others I’d been vile to were giggling with glee. Actually, I have to say it healed really well and was starting to bind after only a week and a half. That was due to the fact that the physios looked after it so competently.

One of the aspects of the tour that I adored was working in front of a live audience. It makes all the difference. In the studio, the audience is usually around 200 people, but on tour we had over 10,000 in some venues, all of them screaming and booing me. It was murderous.

In truth, I’m OK with the catcalls because I think people enjoy it. I don’t have to like it on a personal level (and who would?), but a character has been born that people love to hate. One would hope they don’t really mean it. It’s just the audience getting involved with the show and voicing their opinion. I think everyone is entitled to their own point of view and that’s why
Strictly
is so exciting because, although you could liken it to a pantomime, it’s a truly interactive event. The audience have the chance to affect the outcome. If you took that tool away from them, they wouldn’t bother cheering or heckling.

The boos are all good-natured and affectionate, I like to
think. One lady came up to me on tour and said, ‘Craig, you’re fantastic. I know you get booed and I was the loudest in the audience, but I love your comments.’

I believe I often voice what the viewers are really thinking. Len represents what people would say in public, as you tend not to criticize others then, but you can bet your bottom dollar that everyone sits at home saying, ‘Ooh, come and look at this, dear. Have you seen that bloke dance? He’s terrible.’

In February 2008, I got the chance to meet an icon, thanks to Bruce Forsyth’s eightieth-birthday celebration. The BBC was recording a special show to mark the occasion and asked all four
Strictly
judges to take part. All we had to do was get up and ice a cake, as part of a
Generation Game
segment, but they called us in early so we were sitting around filing our nails for about five hours before anything happened. Arlene was grumbling all the way through because it was taking so long.

People often get restless in situations like that, and start finding things to whinge about, like costumes and jewellery, or they moan that they were called too soon. Those sorts of things don’t bother me. I just keep quiet, or I’ll go to my dressing room and lie down. I can think of worse jobs to be doing than turning up and icing a cake for Bruce’s eightieth. In fact, I consider it an honour to have been asked.

It was star-studded event, with Jonathan Ross, Richard and Judy, Paul O’Grady and even some musical royalty, in the shape of Liza Minnelli, in attendance.

Liza was lovely. She told me that she was a huge fan of
Strictly
. She knew exactly who we were. It was a huge moment for me because Liza and Barbra Streisand are the two people whom I’ve been dying to meet all my life, and I adored her. She was so sweet and generous.

We watched Liza rehearse with no fancy costume, no make-up and with her hair not done. It was great to see her au naturel and then, later, to see the Liza Minnelli we all know and love in
‘performance mode’. It was a real insight to observe the contrast because one – the ‘Liza with a Zee’ persona – was outwardly confident, while the other was vulnerable, a bit like a scared rabbit. She switches it on for a show and she’s an absolute star.

At these pre-recorded, televised events, a singer will perform a routine and then the producer will run the tape back and usually ask them to do it again, so they can cut out glitches or nail a better cutaway shot. I felt sorry for Liza, though, because she belted out ‘New York, New York’, which is a huge number, and then immediately had to do it again. She really works like a dancer would and gives it 150 per cent, so she was sweating like a diva. The studio was also very hot with all the lighting and so on. I just wanted to take her into a cool room with a big fan, sit her down, and say, ‘Let’s chill for fifteen minutes, then do it again.’

She’d already performed on Jools Holland’s show in another studio before she’d even arrived at Bruce’s. To do that and then come to us and sing ‘New York, New York’ twice … She was a true professional: absolutely breathtaking.

Afterwards, Liza went up to Arlene and said, ‘I love your work.’

What a compliment. Arlene was so beside herself, she had to sit down.

Len’s a bit of an autograph hunter on the quiet, so he knocked on Liza’s dressing-room door to ask her to sign something. She wrote, ‘To Len, love from Liza Minnelli – you’re worth a ten.’

To tell the truth, Len even asks people who come on
Strictly
for their autograph.

I do occasionally get star-struck myself. I loved it when Beyoncé came up to me on
SCD
and said my name. We were backstage and she walked over and said, ‘Hi Craig. I think you’re great on the show.’

I nearly had a heart attack – oh my God, Beyoncé knows who I am!

Kylie Minogue was on the programme too, and she was lovely
and genuine. It’s weird to think that these huge stars watch the series. You know you’ve made it when Beyoncé and Kylie know your name. And for Liza Minnelli to tell us she was a fan was simply incredible.

Another lifelong ambition fulfilled. Only Barbra left now …

I was bowled over at the end of February because Grant managed to get time off work to come to New Zealand with me for the whole two months that I’d be filming
Dancing with the Stars
. It was wonderful. His company encouraged me to challenge myself in all sorts of new ways.

Consequently, I found myself jumping out of a plane over Queenstown at 15,000 feet. This was my, admittedly extreme, attempt to overcome my fear of heights.

I have always suffered from vertigo. I once tried to scale Sydney Harbour Bridge and freaked out halfway. I struggled on and got there in the end, but just as our group arrived at the summit, a huge thunderstorm hit: cue lightning, thunderclaps, the works. We couldn’t see a thing through the fog and were forced to endure an emergency evacuation. Is it any wonder I have an issue with heights? Funnily enough, both my brother Trent and sister Diane suffer from the same phobia. We all freeze as if we are paralysed.

At 15,000 feet, the air is thinner so you need oxygen, which was making me quite dizzy to start with. I was the first one to jump. The sound of the door, as it slid back to reveal the huge space that I was about to hurl myself into, was the worst thing. I looked down and felt violently ill.

Nevertheless, I forced myself to make the jump – and had the most exhilarating experience of my life. You freefall for about a minute and a half, which I felt really comfortable with, although I couldn’t breathe because the air was rushing against my face so much. It fills your mouth and nose and your face blows up to twice its normal size: not a good look.

I would recommend skydiving to anyone who has a fear of
heights. Once you’re out of the plane, you’ve got nothing to lose, so you abandon yourself to it. If the parachute doesn’t open then you’re screwed, true, but you will have had an amazing experience on your way out.

There aren’t many places in the world where you can jump from that height. The standard distance is between 9,000 and 12,000 feet, but the additional elevation allows you just a little bit longer in freefall. It has helped me with my fear, although it hasn’t conquered it entirely. I still get the panicky feeling. Nonetheless, I feel it’s made me a braver person.

As a case in point, Grant and I also tried parasailing in New Zealand, which turned out to be more frightening than the skydive. These great, big, glorious mountains surround Queenstown and there’s one particular place where the landscape enables you to catch the wind perfectly. You just run and jump off the mountain with a parachute: below you is a pine forest and then a schoolyard, where you land. Some people touched down on a nearby beach instead.

I found that the taking off and landing was a nightmare, but the bit in between was wonderful. Parasails are quite easy to steer because if you want to go left, you just pull left – which is fine if you know your left from right, of course, but tricky for those of us who don’t. To add to my difficulties, the wind threatens to throw you off course if you’re not sure what you’re doing. Fortunately, I had an instructor with me, which was a godsend. If I’d done it on my own, I don’t think I’d have lived to tell the tale.

I loved the entire escapade, although I found it scary that your feet hang so close to the tops of the trees. Then there’s the fact that you’re running off a cliff. On the skydive, when you’re 15,000 feet in the air, the world looks so far away, like a view, that it doesn’t feel real until you get closer. Throwing yourself off the side of a mountain, however, feels like you could crash a lot more easily, because you can clearly pick out all the details below. You
imagine that you might smash into trees, or break your legs on people’s houses.

As it turned out, I did crash-land and nearly broke both my legs. There was a gust of wind that hit us just as we came down and we landed so heavily that my lower body went completely numb. I really thought I’d broken something. Grant helped me to recover by supplying a nice glass of wine to get me over the pain.

When we returned from New Zealand, Grant moved in with me, and my happiness was complete. He is the perfect man for me. He’s sensible, charming, loving, funny, wants identical things to me and has had similar life experiences. It’s already been an adventure. I don’t know what the future holds, but, in the words of Liza Minnelli in
Cabaret
, maybe this time …