Ooh! What a Lovely Pair Our Story (35 page)

We’d had a few trial separations before, as a lot of couples do, but we always got back together. This time, though, we decided this was it. It happened around September 2003, but I think it was around November when it hit the press, and that was one of the hardest things to deal with. Breaking up with someone after eleven years is a painful enough experience without having to cope with newspapers and magazines raking over the whole thing.

Plus, a lot of what was reported was wrong – some said that the reason we’d broken up was because I’d had a fling, but that wasn’t the case. During one of our separations, I went to a lapdancing club and ended up having a one-night stand with one of the girls there, but Clare knew about that and we’d got back together afterwards. We were together at least another year after that.

The press was printing all sorts of speculative stories – saying I had a secret flat in Essex, or that me and Clare hadn’t slept together for a year, or that we were more like brother and sister. All these things were completely untrue and very hurtful to both of us. I understood that we were in the public eye and, to a degree, ‘fair game’, but I didn’t expect the media to completely fabricate stories. Throughout all of this, me and Clare would speak almost daily, and it was very hard to have to constantly ring her up about any number of ridiculous stories. My management and press officer advised me not to issue denials on all the stories, because it would just fan the flames and make things worse, but it was incredibly difficult advice to follow. Clare also had to deal with journalists knocking on her door, and putting notes through her letterbox. She was offered large sums of money to do stories about us, which of course she turned down. The most important thing throughout it all was that Clare was okay and that we could stay friends, and I’m proud to say we’re still good friends today.

The other big consequence was that I was now a single man for the first time since I was seventeen, which felt weird at first – I’d been in a relationship all throughout my twenties and, now, everything had changed. To begin with, it felt like part of me was missing, and it took me a good while to recover and adapt to that. One of the hardest things about being single and in the public eye is that, whenever you do meet a girl, chances are she knows lots about you and has probably already formed an opinion of you, but you don’t know anything about her, which tends to put you at a disadvantage.

Things were very tough for Dec, and I did what any best friend would do and made sure I was always there for him. I told him in no uncertain terms that he could borrow my tin opener for as long as he liked.

I’ll never forget that – you’re the best friend a man could have.

Fortunately, we were so busy that Dec had the chance to throw himself into his work – and there was a big surprise coming our way. We were doing rehearsals for the second series of
Takeaway
one afternoon, when Nigel Hall, the very camp and quintessentially ITV Light Entertainment Producer, came into the studio singing, ‘I like to be in America! OK by me in America!’ from
West Side Story.
It wasn’t unusual for Nigel to belt out show tunes in the middle of the studio, but this time he was doing it for a reason. Fox,
one of the big TV networks in America and home of
The Simpsons, The X-Files
and
24
had secured the US rights for
Saturday Night Takeaway
and wanted to make a pilot. Nigel told us that, if the pilot went well, they’d do a series and that we’d all move to Hollywood and live happily ever after. On hearing those outlandish claims, we did the only thing we could – we started singing ‘I like to be in America! OK by me in America!’

Once the singing had stopped, and we’d finished all the other stuff we call work, we got on with the American pilot. Fox sent over an executive – let’s call her Kimberly-Jane – to oversee the running of the show and be the network’s eyes and ears in London. We and the senior members of the production team held a meeting with her and attempted to pick her brains about the direction, the feel and the content for the show. For instance, we knew American one-hour shows are significantly shorter than in the UK because they have more advert breaks, so we wanted to make sure the structure of our show fitted their template and timings. She said we shouldn’t worry too much about all that and we should make it as long as we want and put whatever we want in it. At this point, it may be beneficial to know that K-J spent most of the rest of her time in Harvey Nichols, Harrods and Selfridges.

The decision was also taken to shoot the pilot on the existing
Takeaway
set in London. It would be very expensive to build a whole new set in America, so the plan was to record it in our studio, and bring in an audience of Americans who lived in London.

Bad idea. Very bad idea. Call me old-fashioned, but if you’re making a TV show for America, it’s a good idea to film it in America. Not doing that meant we lost that American feel that American TV needed. We filmed the pilot and sent it to Fox for their approval. The first thing they said was ‘This is far too long.’ It had ended up being one hour ten minutes, without ad breaks. In the US, an hour-long show is around forty-three minutes, so we had to lose half an hour of stuff and it left us with a show that didn’t make any sense. Unsurprisingly, it never got commissioned
although, on the plus side, K-J did get some lovely dresses – and that’s the main thing, isn’t it?

So we didn’t get the show, although we did get to have one of the most brilliant meetings we’ve ever had. Before we shot the pilot, we went to LA with Paul Jackson, a very experienced British executive, who was running Granada America at the time, to meet the Fox Network Head of Alternative Programming, Mike Darnell.

Mike is probably five foot tall. Yes, that’s right, he’s the only person in telly (apart from Jeanette Krankie) who’s smaller than us two. He wears skinny black jeans, cowboy boots and a leather jacket. As well as being a former child-star, he was also a cocktail pianist before he worked in TV. We resisted making a joke about him being a tiny pianist – he was in charge of our show, so we decided that wasn’t a good idea. As you’ll have gathered by now, Mike is a maverick, but an incredibly successful maverick. For instance, he’s the man in charge of
American Idol,
which sort of makes him Simon Cowell’s boss.

We arrived ten minutes early, and just being at Fox Studios was a thrill – there were huge
Simpsons
pictures everywhere, it was a baking-hot Californian day and we walked into the offices, took off our sunglasses and felt good: we were in LA and we were having a meeting about our own TV show.

Behind reception there was a giant Bart Simpson picture, there were
X-Files
and
American Idol
posters on every wall, and glamorous people seemed to be gliding in and out of offices at ten-second intervals. Mike Darnell is notorious for keeping people waiting, and he kept the three of us in reception for forty minutes, which apparently isn’t too bad. Plus, we were served chilled water and a fruit platter while we flicked through copies of Hollywood’s trade paper
Variety.
This was most definitely LA, baby. Eventually, Mike was ready for us. The moment we walked into his office, he screamed, ‘Ant and Dec – I love you guys!’ We went to shake hands with him, while, in an effort to make small talk, Paul Jackson said, ‘I was just telling Ant and Dec about how you used to play piano in a wine bar before you got into TV.’

Our hands were still stuck out waiting for a handshake, when Mike turned his back on all three of us and, while we exchanged bemused glances, made his way over to a piano in the corner of his office and started playing it. I didn’t have a clue how to react. We were standing there, jackets still on, open-mouthed, while Mike tickled the ivories as if his life depended on it. After a few familiar bars, he stopped suddenly and spun round in his chair.

‘Do you guys like Elton John?’ he enquired.

‘Er… yes… of course,’ we replied, hoping that was the right answer.

‘I LOVE Elton John!’ he cried, then spun back around, took a deep breath and launched into ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me’ at the top of his voice. This was getting seriously weird. Should we laugh? Was it a joke? Should we clap out of respect? Or should we hit him with the dance moves from ‘Rhumble’? We were stunned and, at the same time, desperately trying not to laugh. We still hadn’t been invited to sit down, so we carried on standing there, dumbstruck.

I started looking for the hidden cameras. I was convinced Simon Cowell was getting his own back – this had to be a wind-up.

After what seemed like about four years, Mike finished the first verse, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. We were about to start applauding when Mike pulled out his trump card – the second verse. We waited what seemed like another four years until he’d finished and then burst into applause. Mike said thank you – and, I’m sure, took a bow, but that may just be my memory playing tricks on me. Surely we would grab a seat and start talking business now?

Wrong. Mike had a test for us. He said, ‘Hey guys, what’s wrong with my desk?’ This was getting ridiculous – first we’d been treated to his live Elton John tribute, and now we were talking furniture.

We looked at his desk, and all thought the same thing: ‘It’s had the legs chopped in half.’ Mike was so small that he’d had his desk customized. But none of us had the balls to say it, so we all started making guesses we knew were wrong:

‘
Er, is it antique?’

‘Has it got lots of drawers?’

‘It’s not another piano, is it?’

Eventually, after a few more guesses, Mike put us out of our misery. He looked at the three of us.

‘No man, the f
g legs have been chopped off – I’m only five feet tall!’

At exactly the same time, all three of us said, ‘Oh yes! So it has!’

After that, I think we actually got down to the meeting.

One good thing came out of it: the moment we got home, we both sawed down the legs of all our furniture. Try it – it makes you feel like a giant.

On the subject of home improvements, just before Christmas 2003, I finally won a battle I’d been waging with my mam and dad for years: I bought them a house. When I first suggested it, they’d been very resistant, but I started leaving a few brochures featuring new properties around and, one day, my mam said she’d seen one she liked the look of, and we went to see it. This happened a few times until we found the right house, and I had an offer accepted.

The whole Donnelly family spent every day that Christmas holiday stripping wallpaper, knocking down walls and getting the place ready. My brother Martin, who’s a builder, was brilliant, and it was great for me to throw myself into this project and feel like I was helping my family out. Plus, I don’t have to fork out for a hotel when I go home.

You’re all heart, aren’t you?

That’s me.

Chapter 33

Here’s a question for you – what connects one of the best-known ex-couples in Britain, a punk icon and a disgraced member of the aristocracy? Yes, you guessed it,
I’m a Celebrity… Get Me out of Here!
If we thought the first two series had been big, then the third instalment of the longest-titled show on TV was absolutely enormous. Of course, I’d like to say that it was all down to a quite brilliant and hilarious performance from us two, but the truth was that it was due to the most intriguing line-up so far
.

The cast of 2004 had something for everyone – there was Kerry (as she was then) McFadden, Lord Brocket, Neil ‘Razor’ Ruddock, Jenni Bond, John ‘Johnny Rotten from the Sex Pistols’ Lydon, plus a man called Peter Andre and a lady called Jordan. And they didn’t disappoint.

This series was also when we started working with a writer who’s been stuck with us ever since, Andy Milligan. Andy’s from Newcastle so, as well as working together, the three of us always spend plenty of time talking about football, but there are happy times too. In fact, Andy’s helping us with this very book – say hello to everyone Andy.

Hi, everyone, I’d just like to say…

Shush, you, that’s enough. Keep typing and button it.

John Lydon was the most exciting booking for us. These days, you might know him as a wildlife presenter and a bloke who advertises butter but, back then, he was just a plain old living legend of punk, and watching him in the jungle was fascinating. Right up until the night before the celebs were due to go in, no one believed John would go through with it. We all thought it would be the ultimate punk gesture to pull out at the last minute – but he surprised us all. Once he got in there, he actually made a lot of friends. Most of them were animals and insects, but he was very popular with those animals and insects.