One Chance (28 page)

. . . “Then he opened his mouth,” Amanda told the audience out front, “and much to all our surprise, he had the voice of an angel. I couldn't believe it. The audience erupted in spontaneous applause, and of course I burst into tears.”

Yvie had helped me calm down, and that made me feel a little better. I could sense that the film crew wanted to speak to me, but I needed to compose myself and prepare for my time on stage. I was called over to meet Simon Cowell, and it was good to see him. He gave me one or two words of advice, telling me to relax and enjoy the performance, which, waiting backstage, felt easier said than done!

“Of course that was Paul Potts,” Simon was speaking now, “who went on to become the deserving winner of the whole competition. Since then, it's been the most incredible success story for Paul. His first album has already sold over two million copies, and he's been number one in over fifteen countries. Britain
has
got talent. Ladies and gentlemen, I am very proud to introduce . . . Paul Potts!”

The curtain lifted, and I felt incredibly exposed. Here I was, performing not just for an international television audience and a packed auditorium of invited guests, but also in front of
Her Majesty. As the audience applauded, I walked forward to the microphone and started to sing the first of my two pieces: “Nella Fantasia.” I was accompanied on this and my second piece, “Nessun Dorma,” by a small ensemble of female string and wind players, as well as a full orchestra in the pit in front of me. For “Nella Fantasia” a female acrobat danced behind me; for “Nessun Dorma” I was joined by a small female choir.

I got one or two words wrong in my performance, but I did eventually settle into it, and by the end really enjoyed the experience. After the show, I took my place in the lineup next to the
Britain's Got Talent
judges and was presented to the Queen and Prince Philip. They told me they had enjoyed my performance, and Prince Philip teased Simon and the judges about how they made money from me. It was very well natured and amusing, and it was such an honour to meet them and to sing for them. Performing at the Royal Variety Performance is something very few people get the opportunity to do. It was an evening I'll always remember.

Julz and I went on to the after-show party and met a lot more people there. I got to meet Sir Bobby Robson, the former England football manager who was manager of England at the 1990 World Cup, Italia 90. It was during this tournament that “Nessun Dorma” first became really well known, thanks to the BBC's decision to use it as the theme tune for their coverage. We had a good chat, and I was left with the impression that he was one of the nicest people you could meet. Sir Bobby told me he had really enjoyed my performance and that he admired my determination.

I thought the Royal Variety Performance was the perfect event to cap a remarkable year, but there was to be one more
surprise for me before 2007 was out. I was asked to go and meet Simon at his house in West London. I hadn't been told what was going to happen, but was advised to arrive smartly dressed. I met Simon and he said we were going for a ride in his Rolls-Royce Phantom. We sat in the back and had a chat, all the time with a camera there to catch every moment. As we rode, I tried to work out what was going on. Very soon I noticed we were in Westminster, which confused me even further.

“What's happening?” I asked. “Where are we going?”

“You've worked so hard over the last six months,” Simon said, “that I've got a treat in store for you.”

I noticed to my disbelief that the car was turning left into one of the most famous streets in the world: Downing Street. I followed Simon as he went up to knock on the most famous door in Britain: Number 10. It was answered by the prime minister, Gordon Brown. I was shown around, and I met his wife, Sarah, plus the then chancellor of the exchequer, Alistair Darling. Gordon presented me with a signed copy of his book
Courage
, and told me I was a great example of just that. I didn't feel very courageous, I told him. I had simply done what I loved doing, that was all.

Over tea, the prime minister presented me with a double-platinum disc to recognise worldwide sales of two million albums. I couldn't believe it. What a year! I started it as a store manager at Carphone Warehouse and ended it selling two million albums, reaching number one in fifteen countries, and visiting even more countries. If anyone had told me on 31 December 2006 what the next year would hold, I would never have believed them.

*
   
*
   
*

Shortly after recording my first album,
One Chance
, I had been asked by my managers, Richard and Harry, whether I wanted to go on tour. I'd said yes, not really knowing what it would involve. Fast forward six months, and I'd spent Christmas and New Year's listening to a playlist of music that would form my show as I travelled round the world. In early 2008, I was in rehearsal rooms in East London, close to Tower Bridge, wondering just what I was about to let myself in for.

Prior to
Britain's Got Talent
, the most shows I had ever done in a week was three, at Bath Opera and at Southgate College Opera. I looked at my touring programme and started to freak out. My schedule showed me doing fifty-five shows in six months. In the UK and North American parts of the world tour, I was averaging six shows a week.

Not only did this feel like a lot, I was also very conscious of the fact that I wasn't an amateur anymore, and I wasn't playing a part. People were paying their hard-earned money to come and watch me perform. Could I pull it off? I felt nervous and tense, and was on the point of losing my nerve. When I practised the Mario Lanza–inspired
Student Prince
medley that would become a big highlight of my tour, I really struggled with the high notes. I started to panic.

Even worse than the singing was the thought of talking to an audience every night. What would I say? I didn't want someone to come and write speeches for me, as I felt this would be insincere, but the idea of speaking to thousands of people six nights a week scared me more than the singing. I was terrified, and it showed.

In later conversations with my crew, it turned out they were
concerned that I might have a breakdown. This was a real test of how adaptable I really was, a real sink-or-swim moment. The one thing I knew was that I was committed now. I had to go ahead and do my best for the people who were coming to watch me. The show, to use a famous phrase, must go on.

The tour hit the ground running with a UK leg comprised of twenty-four dates in thirty-one days. It began in the classic British seaside resort of Rhyl, on the north coast of Wales. After the rehearsals in London, we took the long drive up to nearby St. Asaph where we were staying. We then headed over to Rhyl's splendid Pavilion Theatre for a last full run through before the first show.

I had a great team of people with me to help calm my nerves. There was my conductor, Mark Agnor; my musical director, Chris Taylor; the core technical team, Mark Littlewood, who dealt with front-of-house sound, and LJ, the engineer who looked after sound on stage. I was also fortunate to have a wonderful guest artist with me on tour. Natasha Marsh was an up-and-coming Welsh soprano whose debut album
Amour
had been released the previous year. She was approachable and lovely, and a real help in guiding me through my early days of touring.

I hadn't liked the term “support act,” and made the decision early on that I wanted my guest to be part of the main show. That brought its own questions. Natasha and I were to perform a duet of “Brindisi” from Verdi's
La Traviata
, and I was unsure what we should do during the piece's musical interludes. Dancing didn't seem an option: firstly, I am reliably informed by Julz that I am a terrible dancer, and secondly, Natasha is much taller than I. Either I would have to stand on tiptoes or Natasha would
have to bend down, making us look like a dodgy copy of
Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
's Roger dancing with Jessica.

In the end, I decided to be a little inventive and suggested we toast and drink champagne (actually sparkling apple juice) with our arms locked. I would then exaggerate the difference in height, which usually got a good laugh. Unfortunately, occasionally some of the “champagne” would get spilt, but I figured it was better than Tash and the other sopranos getting bruised toenails or torn ball gowns.

Meanwhile, I had worked out how to get around my concerns about talking between the music. I decided my approach to the talking would be to try and imagine that I was casually chatting to friends in a bar. Being nervous meant I tended to talk a little too much, which was quite normal for me. But talking too much was probably better than not saying anything at all.

As the UK tour began, I was frightened that people would not enjoy the singing, meaning that I would be considered a fraud. Thankfully, however, my fears were to prove unfounded. The first few shows went okay, although I wasn't especially happy with all of it. I asked Mark Littlewood to record the shows from the sound desk so that I could listen back and correct things that weren't quite right. I have always been one of my harshest critics, and I wanted to learn from the mistakes I was making.

A real critic came for the first time to one of my early dates in Cambridge. He tore the show apart, which left me feeling a little unhappy, but I was heartened by the fact that the audience seemed to enjoy it. For me, they were the most important critics of all.

I knew, however, that I was not singing at my best. I was
thinking too hard about my performance and worried that the running order was causing most of the problems. Originally, when I sat down with Gary Wallis before the tour started to discuss the order, I'd suggested the great Mexican song “Granada” at the start of the show. It was a march, and the overture for the show also began with it, so I felt it was a perfect starting piece. Gary disagreed, and because this was my first tour, I'd gone along with it.

The difficulty was that “Granada” was now coming after “Caruso,” one of the most passionate songs of the first half, as well as having some of the highest and most sustained notes. Following that, “Granada” was just too tough. Because I didn't think I could do it, I was having difficulty with it technically. It was the single issue that led to my beating myself up over my entire performance.

In the end, I had bad weather to thank for making the necessary change. We'd performed in Harrogate, North Yorkshire, before heading up to Scotland for our next show in Aberdeen. High winds, however, were grounding flights, which meant that rather than flying up to join us, Natasha was forced to travel up by taxi. She was busy in Leeds doing interviews for her album, so we had gone ahead in the bus. It was a long journey, and it became clear that Natasha was going to be severely delayed getting to Aberdeen's Music Hall.

I sat down with Chris Taylor, Mark Agnor, and my tour manager, Jake, and made a very quick decision about a revised running order. I moved “Granada” right to the start of the show, because we didn't yet know when Natasha would arrive. It was originally at the very end of the first half. Ending with a long
high C, I wanted to perform it early, when I was fresher. She eventually made it to the venue halfway through the show. As I was singing “Ave Maria,” I spotted her standing there out of breath, so I signalled to her that I would perform one more piece before introducing her. It was a testament to her adaptability and complete lack of an “attitude” that Natasha just got on with things, even joking with the audience that she had not had time on the way up for a toilet stop.

The Aberdeen show was the one that helped me really turn the corner. Chris and I agreed that from now on I'd begin with “Granada.” I became more confident and performed better as a result. That fed into the talking as well as the singing. Jake suggested I make a point of keeping in touch with local and national news, and one story I particularly focused on was that of a BBC news presenter, Jeremy Paxman, who had been bemoaning the quality of Marks and Spencer's underpants. I had spotted a children's book called
Aliens Love Underpants
and suggested to the audience that Jeremy read it, and that in any case, I had hundreds of pairs of M&S pants and they hadn't yet let me down.

I was starting to enjoy myself more and more on stage. The show's reviews improved, and that helped my confidence further. Before I knew it, I was singing the last show at Hammersmith Apollo in London. This I felt was my best performance yet, and we celebrated at the K West Hotel after the show.

While we stood at the bar, Julz pointed out a guy in the corner. He was a comedian, Matthew Horne, who had played the part of Gavin in a hugely popular BBC sitcom called
Gavin & Stacey
. I had missed it, having been abroad for most of the autumn, so I didn't recognise him at all.

Next to Julz was another famous face from the series I didn't recognise: James Corden, the co-writer of
Gavin & Stacey
, who played the part of Matthew's best friend in the series. James was holding a Tesco carrier bag and looking somewhat forlorn.

“That's all they left me!” said James, mournfully.

“What?!” Julz said, trying not to laugh and failing.

“They broke into my car, and all they've left me is my dirty laundry!”

Julz broke into hysterics at this point.

James appeared indignant: “I'm telling you that someone has broken into my car and that all they have left is my dirty underwear, and all you can do is laugh at me?”