One Chance (23 page)

It was a wonderful five-day trip, with early morning game
drives watching the sun rising over Mount Kilimanjaro. I found it absolutely breathtaking to watch all the wildlife, and I would call Julz on my mobile, drinking sundowners and watching the sunset. The trip was only marred by the fact that it coincided with the 7/7 bombings back in London. That affected us all, but especially those who worked in the capital and were worried about colleagues and friends.

My reputation as a seller helped me get into the company's management programme. I went on a few daylong courses in Cheltenham, where I did a reprise of the “unexpected talent” I had done on my induction course, and was eventually given a store to run for a few weeks. My first bite at management was at the branch in the centre of Bridgend. The company's area management was pleased with my progress there, and a month or two later I was promoted to store manager at one of the company's failing stores, on The Hayes in Cardiff.

The Hayes Cardiff branch had a reputation for being a quiet store. Indeed, when I arrived on my first day to do the handover audit, the manager I was taking over from was playing sudoku with one of the sales consultants! That branch turned out to be one of the lowest-performing stores in the whole company. My area manager asked me if I would be able to make a difference, and I told him that I would do my best. He knew me well enough to know I was serious about that statement.

After a brief period of observation, I saw what the problem was: attitude. Everybody who worked there, be they regular team members at the branch or those sent over from one of the busier branches, dismissed the branch as too quiet; they were convinced they would never make any money. The way I saw it was that if
someone came into work with the attitude that they were going to fail, then of course they wouldn't sell very much.

I was convinced that if people started to see the glass as being half full rather than half empty, then they would start to make sales. I told staff that the store being less busy meant they had time to give people good, honest service. This meant that sales would stick, and there would be a great amount of repeat business.

I sent back anyone who came over with a defeatist attitude, and with new personnel, my ideas were able to break through. I encouraged my staff to get out from behind the counter, although I never went as far as giving away any of my own sales. I made it clear that they had to compete with me, too. The result was healthy competition amongst the staff. When I joined the store it was number 558 out of 570 stores. Within three months it was ranked second in the company; after that we consistently got top-ten positions in the company. Our position was based on what sales we were getting, measured against our targets.

But although I was good at motivating and leading by example, I remained hopeless at organization. I would always lose marks on store visits because things weren't as organized as they should be.

Travelling to Cardiff and back was still a struggle, both in terms of time and also financially. Because the results were good, my area manager was prepared to subsidise my travel costs in order for me to stay at the branch. But when a branch manager's job became available at my original branch in Port Talbot, I had a
decision to make. It was a difficult one, but I wanted to spend time at home with Julz.

I moved to the Port Talbot branch in November 2006. Again, I was soon making steady progress in the store, and trying to change attitudes there. Despite the commuting having come down, I was still working long hours and not enjoying any kind of social life. I was also constantly mourning the loss of my singing. I wondered whether I would ever sing in public again. I was barely able to sing at home, as we had next-door neighbours with young children and thin walls, and I was rarely home early enough to sing without disturbing them. At this point, I saw no future in singing at all.

Late one night, while doing emails and working on figures on the computer, I came across a pop-up window. I tried to close it down, but ended up maximizing it instead. In front of me I saw Simon Cowell inviting people to apply to take part in a new ITV show called
Britain's Got Talent
. I briefly looked at the video clip and read on.

Despite myself, I started filling in the online form. I didn't know where it would lead, and as I typed in the details I wondered why I was bothering. I stared at my reflection in the laptop screen. What the hell was I doing? Almost out loud, I asked myself why they would ever pick me. I sang the wrong kind of music; I was too ugly, too fat, and too old. To me, I was everything they were
not
looking for. I got to the end of the application and reached the option to send or cancel. I truly didn't know what to do. I didn't want to be one of those contestants people laughed at.

Yet another quiet voice inside me was telling me that I would never know unless I tried. I noticed that the entries closed the
following morning, so just leaving it and coming back later was not an option. I decided to leave it up to chance. Picking up a ten-pence piece, I decided to play heads or tails: if it landed on heads I would submit the application; if it landed on tails I would close the pop-up window and never think about it again.

I threw the coin in the air and it landed . . .

. . .
Heads!

The journey could now begin. I was still convinced that it would lead nowhere. But I hit send, and would have to wait and see.

To my surprise, I got a letter inviting me to audition. Julz got a surprise, too, as it was she who opened it, and I hadn't even told her I had applied. I hadn't mentioned it because I expected to fail.

I could still fail—the audition was on a Saturday, the seventeenth of March. In retail, Saturdays are the busiest day, and there was no way I could just take the day off. Richard, my colleague, was on holiday that week and offered to come in, but I didn't want him getting in trouble with his wife for something that would most likely amount to nothing.

In the end, my part-timer Alison Thorne heard what was happening. She told me she could get a child-minder and would be willing to come in for me. Alison was a lifesaver. There was no way
Britain's Got Talent
was going change the audition date to a Sunday, so her intervention saved the day. I had my chance. The question was, would I be able to make something of it?

PART THREE

Success

CHAPTER TWELVE

Britain's Got Talent

A
S
I
DESCRIBED
in the prologue, the amazing response I received for my
Britain's Got Talent
audition was difficult to take in. I stood there on the stage, feeling bemused at the reaction I'd just received. Especially from the judges: had Piers Morgan just said I had an “incredible voice”? Had Simon Cowell really just described my singing as “absolutely fantastic”?

I didn't have much time to think about their comments. As soon as I came offstage, the crew guide took me over to the show's hosts, Anthony “Ant” McPartlin and Declan “Dec” Donnelly, to record an interview. Ant and Dec, as the duo are known, are two of the biggest TV personalities in the UK, and this was the first time I had met them.

“So come on, Paul,” they asked, “how do you feel?”

To be honest, I was so stunned that I didn't know how I felt. I hadn't been expecting anything at all from the audition, and had only felt confident about one thing: that I wasn't what they
were looking for. I certainly hadn't anticipated the response my singing got. I was elated, but extremely confused.

Everyone I spoke to from ITV, by contrast, talked as though my success was a given. I did another interview in which the cameraman asked me repeatedly whether I thought I would win the whole competition.

“After that performance, and that reaction, surely you think you have a good chance?”

“I don't know,” I replied resolutely. “I'll just take each step as it comes.”

The one thing I didn't want to do was get ahead of myself. I had no idea what the next step would be after the audition; this was the first time the show had been on TV, and I wasn't sure how the competition would unfold. I didn't want to raise my hopes, for fear they might be dashed at the next stage.

I finished the interviews and went to find Julz and my family. They were ecstatic.

“See?” Julz hugged me. “I told you that you could do it!”

Julz, my family, and I headed out to Cardiff Bay to find a restaurant, and I allowed myself a bit of a celebration. It had been a good day—better than I could ever have expected. My thoughts, though, were already turning to the future, and I wondered what was going to happen next.

I returned to work on the Monday morning and thanked Alison for covering for me. I told everyone about the audition, and they wanted to know what the next stage was.

It was a strange couple of weeks, going from the highs of the audition to returning to the day job. It seemed ironic, too, that
here I was, waiting for a phone call, all the while working in a shop selling phones! I had to concentrate, keep my feet on the ground, and get on with my work. We had targets at the store, and we still weren't quite hitting them.

After a fortnight or so, I finally got the call from the TV show's production team. I needed to go up to London for the next stage of the competition. The remaining contestants were put up in local hotels and had to report to the Grand Connaught Rooms in central London first thing on a Sunday morning. The production team warned me that it was likely to be a long day. I should make sure that I made myself comfortable and also bring refreshments, as they didn't know what would be provided.

The Grand Connaught Rooms were a venue that lived up to its name: several hundred years old, their opulent halls have played host to the likes of Elle Style Awards and Ralph Lauren shows. This particular Sunday, the rooms were full of two hundred nervous contestants and three judges who would decide our fate. The day began with a briefing from Simon Cowell, Piers Morgan, and Amanda Holden. We were told they had to get the numbers down from two hundred to just twenty-four for the live shows. They were going to go into another room and make the difficult decision as to who would get to compete. All we could do was wait.

It was a long day. With so many acts sitting there waiting, it soon got quite warm in the hall. There were accusations later from some of the eliminated acts that they had been denied permission to leave. I didn't find that to be true. When I asked the production team if I could get something to eat, they had no
problem with my going out. As far as I could see, they just wanted to make sure they knew where everyone was.

The day wore on as we waited for the judges to reach their decision. Various bits of filming took place: Ant and Dec, complete with camera crew, went round the room chatting to the contestants; so, too, did Stephen Mulhern, the presenter of the accompanying ITV2 show
Britain's Got More Talent
. Then, finally, the wait was over: the judges had made up their minds. We were called for in groups of ten to go and discover our fate.

It was towards the end of the night when my name was called, along with nine others. We were taken by one of the researchers to the nearby Shaftesbury Theatre, where Piers, Amanda, and Simon were waiting for us. On the way to the theatre, we passed some of the other contestants, who had already seen the judges and been told they were unsuccessful. That didn't do much for the nerves, I can tell you!

The researcher took us into the theatre through the stage door and led us up onto the stage. In front of us were the judges: this was to be the moment of truth, and we were all dreading it. As well as myself, there was the young baton twirler Craig Womersley, one of the nicest people you could ever meet; and Bessie Cursons, the precocious musical theatre singer.

The fact that we weren't going to be performing again made the situation feel even more difficult. There was nothing we could now do to influence the judges' decision. To make matters worse, they decided to play a game of suspense with us.

Amanda spoke first. “We were all very impressed by your performances, but I'm afraid to tell you that . . .”

She paused. It was an agonisingly long pause—a pause so long, I swear I could see tumbleweed pass along the stage.

The contestants looked at each other. What was going to happen? Were we to be sent away disappointed? Or were we to be sent onwards into the unknown? Finally, with the tension ratcheted up, Simon broke the seemingly endless silence.

“You're all through to the live finals. Congratulations!”

As the other contestants cheered and hugged each other, I stood there, not quite believing it. I was gobsmacked. This journey that had started with a flipped coin at home was now about to get more serious and more daunting: I was going to be singing live on national television in front of an audience of millions.

Preparations for the live shows started soon after. I went back to London to decide on the repertoire I would work on for the semi-final and final. I'd been asked to provide five options, so I put down five different arias, including “Che Gelida Manina,” “E Lucevan le Stelle,” and “Nessun Dorma.”

I had a meeting with one of the producers to discuss the options. The producer felt my list was too full-on operatic; he felt I should consider something a bit more well known and popular. He suggested Andrea Bocelli's “Time to Say Goodbye” and “You Raise Me Up,” made famous in the UK by Irish boyband Westlife, as well as “Nessun Dorma.” I took his suggestions onboard and agreed to add them to my set-list, though I preferred “Nessun Dorma” to “You Raise Me Up.” I started learning the songs in the way I always did, by listening to them repeatedly on
the music player of my mobile phone. Within a few days I was familiar with them.