Ooh! What a Lovely Pair: Our Story Read online

  That’s what it takes to get you domesticated? Live abseiling?

  I think so, yeah. It was incredible, exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. As soon as I got to the bottom, I had a moment where I had an important realization.

  That we’d completed an incredible stunt?

  No – that I’d won.

  It was only in the pub the next day that the madness of what we’d done really dawned on us. A few people came up to us, saying how crazy they thought it was – some of them even bought us a drink, which, odd as it might sound, isn’t unusual when we’re in a pub together. Because we’re matey and laid-back on telly, people think they can just come up and say anything to us. It’s not uncommon for us to be sat in the pub having a drink with friends and for someone to pull up a chair and say, ‘All right, lads?’, join in our conversation and start trying to take the Mickey out of us. After a couple of minutes, they’re telling me how big my forehead is, or trying to crack jokes about Dec’s height. You can always spot those kind of people when you walk into a pub: they clock you early on and then, by the time they’ve had a couple of pints, well, it’s anyone’s game.

  I suppose if we really wanted to avoid it, we shouldn’t stay longer than a couple of pints, but where’s the fun in that? We’d be home by 9.30 every night.

  I was in a pub once and there was an old guy sat on his own, nursing a half of bitter. I felt a bit sorry for him, we got chatting at the bar and I bought him a pint.

  You got a round in – did they put a plaque up?

  Later, as I was leaving, he looks at me and says, ‘Hey, you’re getting fat, mind.’ I couldn’t believe it.

  You were carrying a little bit of holiday weight back then.

  That’s not the point. I don’t go to people’s work place and tell them I don’t like what they’re doing, so it’s hard when they come up to you and say, ‘Your haircut’s s and you’re fatter than you look on the telly.’

  You’re absolutely right.

  That is funny about you getting fat though.

  In November of 2006, we flew out for the sixth series of I’m a Celebrity … and, two days before the show started, I got some terrible news from home. My Nanna Kitty had passed away. Getting the news while I was on the other side of the world was really tough and, of course, I immediately wanted to fly back for the funeral, but my mam wouldn’t have it. My mam was furious when I suggested it, she said that Nanna wouldn’t have wanted me to come home. I thought about it long and hard, spoke to Sarha about it on the phone and had a long conversation with Dec, and I decided to stay in Australia. The first show of that series was dedicated to Nanna. Of all the shows we do, I’m a Celebrity … was her favourite, so I like to think that dedication would have meant a lot to her. You couldn’t hope to meet a prouder grandma than my nanna – when she was in hospital, she insisted on telling every single person who her grandson was, whether they liked it or not. Of course I still miss her terribly, and I know she’d love the fact that she’s in this book.

  Although Ant had a very difficult start to that series, things gradually got back to normal, and that trip ended up providing one of our most memorable TV moments. Wherever we are and whatever we’re doing, there are four words that are guaranteed to put a smile on our faces: ‘Dean’, ‘Gaff ney’, ‘live’, ‘trial’. Live Bushtucker Trials are, to put it mildly, a bit of an unknown quantity, and little did we know we were about to be involved in the greatest one ever.

  It was also the most unprofessional you’ve ever been on telly.

  If you didn’t see it, well, get on youtube and have a look and, if you did see it, then allow me to refresh your memory. Former EastEnder Dean Gaffney arrived in Australia halfway through the series and was thrust into the limelight with a live Bushtucker Trial called Bush Spa. It involved Dean sticking his head, feet and pretty much anything else you can imagine into sinks, buckets and containers full of a wide variety of critters and creepy crawlies. To say Dean went for it would be the understatement of the century.

  Just thinking about it, I’m laughing already. Dean was already slightly in shock because he knew he was about to go straight into the camp, but when he was told he’d immediately be facing a live trial, he went into a kind of weird heightened state that was part shock, part excitement and part madness.

  We were standing in the clearing, waiting for the live show to start, and Dean was already all over the place. Before the opening titles had even been played, he’d been sick in a bush and, after that, things just got worse. He couldn’t stop dry retching, and I thought he was going to faint. Ant had to hold on to him so he could keep his balance – I must say that, throughout the whole trial, Ant was brilliant.

  Well, someone had to be – you were no use. While I was holding up a vomiting soap star, Dec was laughing. And I’m not just talking a little giggle or a snigger, I’m talking full-on hysterics.

  I lost it – I completely and utterly lost it – my face was hurting with laughter even before we started.

  Dean was terrified of everything. He spent the whole trial screaming and yelping and retching, and it was hilarious. We had to try and calm him down, but it was pretty pointless. And, by the way, he swore like an absolute trooper. There’s a slight delay on the TV, so it was dipped as much as possible but, being right there, we got pure, 100 per cent uncensored Gaffney. Halfway through the trial, we threw in a break, which gave us all the chance to have a bit of a breather – quite literally, in Dean’s case, as Medic Bob came in and clamped an oxygen mask to his face.

  Well, that just set me off again.

  No one has ever, ever responded to a Bushtucker Trial like that – not even Paul Burrell – and I’ll be astounded if anyone ever does again.

  Afterwards, it was impossible to know if it had been great entertainment, or a slightly disturbing piece of television. It was either one of the best bits of telly we’d ever done, or a career-ending mistake. I actually felt a bit guilty. I’d spent half an hour laughing solidly at someone else’s misfortune.

  We went back up to our office on site and both turned our phones on. We had over one hundred text messages between us. We often get texts about the show, but this was off the scale – and people loved it, absolutely loved it. I was so relieved.

  In eight series of I’m a Celebrity …, it’s by far my favourite moment. It just goes to show that you can never predict what will happen on that show. Who’d have thought the bloke who used to walk Wellard round Albert Square would provide such TV gold?

  Apart from Dean, the big star of that series was David Gest, who was another great example of how the show can change the public’s opinion of someone. Before he was voted out, he formed a very sweet friendship with Jason Donovan and Matt Willis. It was the most open series we’ve ever done – no one had a clue who was going to win. The last three were Matt, Jason and Myleene Klass, who’d also succeeded in changing what the public thought of her. And she did that by showing the viewers every single side of her. Literally – that white bikini was a masterstroke.

  There was a reason Matt won it. It wasn’t the fact he’s a nice guy, which he is, or that he got on with everyone, which he did, it was the fact that he ate a kangaroo’s anus on national television. If that doesn’t make people pick up the phone, I don’t know what will. It’s amazing how immune we’ve got to the horrible things that are eaten in those trials. In the early days, when Uri Geller chowed down on a wichety grub, it turned our stomachs, but these days we think nothing of watching the celebrities munch their way through eyes, tongues, penises and testicles. And while we’re here, I should just say that what you see on your telly is a very edited-down version of what happens. Trust me, it takes a long, long time to chew a testicle before it pops. And, as for chewing a penis, well, it’s three times longer than it looks at home.

  You might want to rephrase that.

  Right, yeah, I meant the length of the chewing, not the length of the actual penis. Anyway, hats off to Matt Willis – he ate t
hat kangaroo’s anus and he won the show.

  That’s what I love about writing this book – it shows that we’re not just performers, we’re intellectuals too.

  If we thought that, after watching the bass player from Busted chew a kangaroo’s anus, our job couldn’t get any stranger, we were wrong. For most of the previous year, we’d been talking on and off to Simon Cowell’s production company, Syco TV, about a new show called Britain’s Got Talent. We’d been sent tapes of the US version, which we both really enjoyed, but we thought the host’s role wasn’t as clearly defined as it could be. After much to-ing and fro-ing, we agreed to host the show on two conditions: (1) there was a clear role for us two and (2) Simon Cowell was one of the judges. We thought that, five years after Pop Idol had finished, people would be interested in seeing the three of us on screen together again. Even though we love poking fun at him, we respect Simon a lot and enjoy working with him enormously.

  After a while, we all came to an agreement and, before we knew it, we were back on the road, and ready for the most important part of any talent show – the auditions.

  Piers Morgan had signed up to join Simon on the judging panel, and the third judge, a female, was still to be confirmed. The producers were confident it would be Cheryl Cole but, for one reason or another, Cheryl never became a Britain’s Got Talent judge and the job instead went to Amanda Holden. Initially, what really appealed to us about the show was the fact that anybody of any age and any talent could enter, and the uniqueness of the prize – a spot on the bill at the Royal Variety Performance.

  When it came to the auditions, we were very conscious of making sure our own role on the show was clear. As well as doing links and interviewing the acts, our most important role was, again, to stand at the side of the stage, watching the auditions. As with I’m a Celebrity…, our job was to be the voice of the audience – and, of course, to laugh at people when they did stupid things. What can I say? We have a gift. We found that, as we travelled round the country, the audience reactions differed a lot. The further north you go, the more vicious the crowds get. Cardiff can be quite sedate, London’s not too bad but, by the time you get to Glasgow, the acts have got about ten seconds to impress before the crowds starts chanting ‘Cheerio, cheerio, cheerio’ in a thick Scottish accent. Forget Cowell and Morgan – the nastiest judges are always the ones sitting in the audience.

  I dread to think how us two would have fared as teenagers auditioning for the show. If I’d come out with a cabbage on a dog lead while Dec was reciting ‘There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Kathmandu’ it would have been three buzzes in quick succession, a series of no’s from the judges and all sorts of abuse from the audience. I take my hat off to each and every single act who has the bottle to give it a go, or at least I would do, if I wore hats.

  It’s not always easy to look at an act and tell if they’re any good or not. The winner of the first series was mobile-phone salesman turned opera singer Paul Potts, and he didn’t exactly scream star quality. When he went on stage, there was an audible groan from the audience. And, I must confess, from the wings.

  We’d interviewed Paul before he went on, and he didn’t give us much – it was mainly yes or no answers, and he wasn’t exactly overflowing with funny anecdotes about the Carphone Warehouse. So when he shuffled apologetically on to the stage and said he was going to sing opera, we both had exactly the same thought: ‘Let’s go and grab a sandwich.’ We weaved our way through the dark and dusty corridors of the theatre, got to our dressing room, sat down, tucked in, and then heard this sound coming over the Tannoy: it was Paul, and he had the most incredible voice you’ve ever heard. Being as professional as ever, we did the sensible thing – stuffed down the rest of the tuna baguette and legged it back to the side of the stage. We caught Paul on the way off and, that day, we realized two things: it was going to be a great series and, after missing Paul, we’d now have to interview every single act in the competition, just as we had with series two of Pop Idol after we’d missed Will Young in the first one. Hmm, there’s a pattern emerging here…

  During BGT, we’re filmed non-stop in the wings. Somewhere in the bowels of ITV, there are hundreds of hours of unused footage of us two talking absolute gibberish.

  I have to admit, there are days when we get slightly delirious and just try to make each other laugh – mainly with things that we know will never make it on to the telly. I’m afraid I can’t give you any examples, for the same reason they’re not broadcast. In fact, there’s one sure-fire way you can tell that we think what we’re saying won’t be used. If Ant is drinking a latte, then we’re pretty sure we’re in the clear.

  After the auditions were over, we had to give the most important autograph of our entire career, when we signed our latest contract with ITV. By this point, we’d been exclusive to them for seven years and with three returning shows that we loved doing for different reasons, we weren’t interested in going anywhere else. The new contract would take us up to the end of 2009 and it was reported to be the biggest deal in UK TV history. There’s a very good reason we’re telling you that fact – not because we’re a couple of show-offs, but because of the effect it had on one man – Simon Cowell. The previous December, Simon had signed his new ITV deal, which, at the time, was reported to be the biggest ever – at least it was, until we signed our new contract. Simon later told us that he heard about our deal over breakfast one morning, and he swears that the news curdled his porridge and turned his milk sour. Turning that man’s milk sour ranks as one of our greatest achievements.

  Aside from ruining the Prince Of Darkness’s breakfast, it was also an incredibly proud moment for both of us. After our first exclusive deal, that we signed in the car next to the newsagents in between rehearsals for sm:tv, we’d come a long way – we’d worked incredibly hard behind the scenes to get shows like Takeaway, I’m a Celebrity… and Britain’s Got Talent right, and this was recognition of that. The ink was hardly dry on the contract when we headed straight for the studios to host the first live shows of Britain’s Got Talent – where we’d watch dozens of acts, find the country’s best undiscovered performer and, best of all, really tease Simon Cowell about our new contract.

  Chapter 40

  The next project we embarked on couldn’t have been more different - or more heartbreaking - because we made an appeal film for Comic Relief. We’ve done stuff in the studio in the past, but this time we wanted to do something different, and we ended up going to visit some of the projects they fund in Kibera in Kenya. We both remember buying red noses when we were at school, and going to Kibera would give us the opportunity to see some of the projects first hand and try to raise as much money as possible for a very worthwhile cause.

  No matter how many films you’ve watched and how much footage you’ve seen of the terrible conditions people live in, nothing can prepare you for what you see when you go there. One of the most striking things about our trip was just how close poverty and luxury coexisted – they were virtually side by side, and we stayed in a hotel very close to areas that are brutally affected by poverty.

  On our first morning in Kibera, we got into a car with the director and the cameraman. The way they work is very clever – they hardly tell you anything, because the best way is to discover everything for yourself so they get a genuine reaction on camera. The journey to the slums, incredibly, took hardly any time at all. Bizarre as it sounds, we turned left at PC World, then down a dirt track and, suddenly, we were there – in the middle of the biggest slum in Africa. There are one and a half million people there, all living and eating and washing in what is essentially a giant rubbish tip. There were kids going through bins, and people would empty their toilets into a stream that, fifty metres further away, children were washing in.

  It seems obvious to say it, but it was heartbreaking. We were in shock. We spent the first day looking around the place and talking to some of the project managers, but by far the toughest part of it was the second day.


  That was when we met children and families who lived there. You just can’t comprehend how people can live like that – day in, day out. A big part of the film was about the living conditions, and we spent some time in a tiny shack that thirteen people lived in together. Thirteen people. They showed us how they slept at night – lying top to toe with nothing but plastic covering on the floor. The room must have been eight foot by eight foot and, because it was so small, the few belongings they did have were hanging from the ceiling on pieces of string. I just kept thinking, ‘How the hell do they keep going?’ Every night, they just lie together in this cold, filthy environment, starving hungry. I was overcome by the enormity of the situation. They were a large, loving family unit, exactly like the one that I had come from, and yet they had less than the basic requirements for human survival. I had to walk away and try to pull myself together, but I could feel the emotion swelling inside me, and I burst into tears.

  It was a complete tragedy, but the positive thing was that, by going there, we hoped it would make people donate and realize how terrible things are. I think we were both very proud that, in some small way, with that visit, we could draw attention to those people’s problems and try to change their lives for the better.