I was so excited and nervous it felt like a whole flock of butterflies was fluttering in my stomach. I had been dreaming about this moment for weeks – and now it was finally here.
‘Jo,’ he said softly, as he took me in his arms. ‘Look at me.’
I glanced up to find his eyes staring into mine with shocking intensity. Then, without warning, he pulled me to him with such force that I gasped. Our bodies were now pressed together so closely that I was aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin. I just hoped he couldn’t feel my heart, which was now galloping in anticipation.
Come on, Jo, try to focus . . .
Somehow I managed to speak. ‘Is my tummy supposed to be touching yours?’
‘Yes, Jo,’ he said.
‘Are . . . are my boobs meant to be pressed against your chest?’ My voice came out as a whisper.
‘Yes, Jo. That’s one of the perks of my job.’
‘Just go easy on me, please,’ I muttered, as the music started. ‘I’ve never done the tango before.’
He grinned at me. ‘Go easy on you? Not a chance . . .’
In February 2009 I got a call from the BBC asking if I wanted to be a contestant on Strictly Come Dancing. I had already been approached to appear on I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! and Celebrity Big Brother, both of which I had turned down without a moment’s hesitation. The idea of being stuck with a load of strangers, either in a jungle or a house, was highly unappealing. Strictly Come Dancing, though, was different. I’d always wanted to learn to dance properly. I was pretty good at hitting the floor in clubs, so I reckoned I might even have some natural talent, and I’d often watched the Stones on stage and imagined how fabulous it must feel to be up there entertaining everyone. But more than just a chance to unleash my inner show-off, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to do something in the public eye as my own person, not just as Ronnie’s ex-wife. As a friend of mine kept reminding me: in the wake of a split, when one door closes, another opens – and now I felt ready to cha-cha-cha straight on through. After thinking it over for a few months, in the summer of 2009, while I was busy with Mrs Paisley’s Lashings, I accepted the BBC’s offer to appear in the next series of Strictly. My mother was thrilled.
It was a scorching late-summer day when I made my way to Television Centre in Shepherd’s Bush for the first day of filming on Strictly. It was the show’s big press launch, at which we contestants would be introduced to the world’s media – and also to our professional partners. After a quick chat with the producers, I was led to a dressing room where I was told my partner would come to meet me. It would be the first moment either of us knew who we were paired with for the show. I sat there sweltering in the little windowless room (I was wearing a leather jacket but didn’t want to take it off and ruin my carefully put-together look) and all the time I was thinking, Please, please, don’t let it be that guy, Brendan Cole. I’d barely watched the show before, but I’d heard enough about his reputation – how he was an absolute slave driver with a terrible temper – to put me right off.
After a few anxious minutes a camera crew came in and positioned themselves to capture my reaction, and then the door opened and in walked . . . ‘Oh, hiiiii, Brendan!’
As we chatted, I began to think that perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all – little did I know what a good friend he would become.
The first dance I performed on the show was a group dance, the mambo, with the other celebrities. It was during our very first rehearsal that my fantasy of being revealed as a great undiscovered dancing talent vanished in a blur of forgotten steps and flailing arms. I was useless – although at that early stage, I couldn’t have imagined exactly how useless – but I had such a laugh that I didn’t really care. Besides, I felt sure I’d improve with some one-to-one tuition with Brendan.
I know the viewers like to think it’s all bitchiness and diva tantrums backstage, but I got on brilliantly with everyone. There’s such a warm and supportive atmosphere and all the other celebrities and professional dancers seemed to want me to do well – probably because they knew I wasn’t going to be much competition! Among the contestants I grew particularly friendly with were Zoe Lucker, Natalie Cassidy and Ricky Whittle . . . Well, in fact, most of them. As for the presenters, I’d known Tess Daly since she and her husband, Vernon Kay, used to come to the Harrington, so it was lovely to see her again, while Sir Bruce Forsyth was exactly the same off camera as he was on. I was thrilled one week when he told me I was his favourite, even though I think it was probably a sympathy vote.
Then there were the dresses. For a fashion junkie like myself, the show was absolute frock heaven! At the start of production I had a morning in the BBC costume department trying on racks of dresses so that the show’s producers could work out what style I felt comfortable in and how much skin I was happy to expose. It was like the most fabulous dressing-up box ever. I was so excited by all the frills and feathers and flounces that I just said yes to everything.
With the group dance out of the way (pretty shakily in my case) my first solo dance with Brendan was the Tango. They had wanted the two of us to perform to a Rolling Stones track, but I said absolutely no way – the whole point of me going on the show was to leave all that behind – so in the end we settled on David Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’. The music was the least of my worries, though: I couldn’t get the hang of the dance at all. It wasn’t just the steps and intensity of the rehearsals that I struggled with, I was totally unprepared for how close the tango requires you to be to your partner.
I’ve never been a very touchy-feely person, so to be pulled up hard against Brendan’s body while his leg slid between mine was something I initially found very uncomfortable. You don’t usually have that kind of physical intimacy with anyone but a lover, but this was Brendan whom I’d just met and was barely on air-kissing terms with. I would find myself pulling away, but Brendan would just pull me straight back in. It was very intense. I can totally understand why so many celebrities who appear on that show end up having an affair with their dance partner. If I’d been 20 years younger and Brendan had been single . . . Well, you can easily imagine it happening. On our series alone the boxer, Joe Calzaghe, got together with his partner, Kristina Rihanoff, and actress Ali Bastian with Brian Fortuna – and those were just the ones we found out about!
Despite my fears, I couldn’t have asked for a better partner than Brendan. He was so good to me, despite my total lack of confidence and ability. It took me ages to pick up the steps and at one point I ended up in tears of sheer frustration, which, of course, the ever-present camera crew loved. I stormed out of the rehearsal room and they followed me, so I ran out to the car park – and they followed me there, too! (If they wanted tears, they’d picked the right person for the show. I cry at Britain’s Got Talent.) Most of the time, though, Brendan and I had a brilliant laugh, and if it all got too much for me, he would just say, ‘Come on, Jo-jo, let’s go and get a coffee,’ and we’d start afresh a bit later.
It was Saturday, and in a few hours’ time Brendan and I would perform our tango for millions on live TV. Although the show didn’t start until the evening, we contestants had to be there by about 10 a.m. so the team had enough time to get everyone ready. You’d be in Hair and Makeup quite early, which meant you’d be walking around in sweatpants and false eyelashes for most of the day.
There was no official rehearsal time on the Saturday, but Brendan and I stood in the corridor outside the studio frantically going through the tango steps. It was not going at all well.
‘I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I can’t do it,’ I said, stamping my feet in frustration.
‘Jo, yes, you can,’ said Brendan, patiently. ‘We’ve gone through this enough times, so when you get out there your feet will know what to do.’
Feeling far from reassured, I went and got into my dress, a gorgeous red and black lacy number, and tried to think positive thoughts, but then the show’s theme music started and the nerves kicked in like you wouldn’t believe. The other contestants seemed so calm, but they were used to performing in front of people as part of their day jobs, whether they were sportspeople, actors or presenters. I’d never done anything like this before. They would very sweetly try to empathize with me, saying, ‘Gosh, I’m really nervous, too!’ but I’d just think, You have no idea . . .
As the show went on, I sat backstage, staring at the board that lists each couple’s name in the order we were scheduled to perform that night. Oh, God, only three more couples to go . . . Only two more couples to go . . . Only one more couple to go – and I still can’t remember the steps!
My mouth was dry and I had butterflies like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t think I will ever experience nerves like that again.
Brendan kept saying to me, ‘This is just excitement, Jo! You’re excited about doing this!’
‘No, Brendan,’ I said. ‘These really are nerves. Believe me.’
When it was our turn, I stepped out onto the dance-floor and got into the starting position with a terrified smile plastered across my face. I kept reminding myself of what Brendan had said, that I’d be able to do the steps without even thinking, but as the applause died down and the music started I found that my feet didn’t have any more of a clue about what to do than the rest of me did. I was screwed. Poor Brendan ended up throwing me round the dance-floor. Afterwards he told me that he had looked down at my face at the very start and had known in that instant that I had forgotten the whole thing.
He gave me a huge hug when we finished, but the ordeal wasn’t over yet. Now it was time for the judges’ comments – and if anything, I was dreading that more than the performance. The idea of having to stand in front of the panel while they picked holes in my performance (and, let’s be honest, there were a lot of holes to pick) was daunting to say the least.
Craig kicked things off and, as I feared, it wasn’t good. ‘You were a disaster, daaaahling,’ he said.
Alesha and Bruno were a bit more encouraging, saying they were sure I’d get better, and Len, especially, was lovely to me.
‘The one good thing about you is that you have a go,’ he said, cheerily. ‘Have-a-go Jo!’
But despite the mixed reviews, as Bruce gave me a consolatory kiss and sent Brendan and me up the sparkly stairs to chat to Tess and get our scores, I felt weirdly elated. Okay, so I might not have remembered much of the dance, but at least I hadn’t tripped over! I didn’t even mind that the judges only gave us 18 out of 40. Brendan told me that it was better to be at the bottom or the top of the scoreboard: if you were in the middle people forgot you. So, from that perspective, it was better to be terrible than quite good! Perhaps the tango wasn’t my dance anyway, and – as the public voted to keep me in – I vowed to do better next week.
After the show everyone went upstairs to the BBC bar for a drink, which was when Craig came over and said, ‘Just remember, darling, it’s all theatre.’ It was his way of telling me that I shouldn’t take his bitchy comments personally – and from then on I was never offended by his remarks, not even when he told me that the best part of my rhumba was when I was ‘standing still’. I knew it was all pantomime and he was the wicked witch (although he might well have had a point).
I was stunned when Brendan and I were voted through to the next round, as I was convinced I would be out first. It gave my flagging confidence such a boost and made me determined to do a better job next week. In the early stages of the competition I still had high hopes that I’d make a miraculous turnaround and suddenly become this fantastic dancer. I really did try my hardest at every dance, and perhaps that was obvious because week after week the public kept voting Have-a-go Jo back in.
For the next six weeks my diary looked something like this: Monday was the first day of rehearsals and a bit of a high point of the week, as I would be excited about learning the new dance. Tuesday would usually end in tears, as I’d get home and start panicking because I couldn’t remember any of the steps. On Wednesday I would finally start to get the hang of it and feel a surge of hope–Perhaps I can do this after all! Thursday was spent going over and over the steps, trying to perfect them (I never did). On Friday we had the dress rehearsal, and Saturday was the live show, when I would forget everything I’d learnt that week.
I never once got through a dance without making mistakes. Yet throughout the whole process, Brendan remained unwaveringly patient and upbeat. The two of us got on so well. He would occasionally get a bit frustrated with me: ‘We’ve just been through that for 10 whole minutes and now you’ve forgotten!’ but we never had any big rows. I didn’t suffer from any aches or pains, either. It must have helped that I was fit when I started, as I was one of the only contestants who didn’t have to see the show’s doctor – and I was one of the oldest, as well!
I was so touched by all the support from the public during my time on Strictly–and from my family and friends who came to sit in the audience and cheer me on. The only one who didn’t was Jamie: he said his nerves just couldn’t cope. Although Ronnie and I still weren’t really speaking at this stage, I know he was watching at home because he told the kids he was voting for me every week.
At the time I had become friends with Christopher Wicks, a fashion designer from Manchester who now lives in Los Angeles, and he was brilliant at giving me long-distance pep-talks when I got in from another disastrous rehearsal. ‘Come on, babe, you can do this,’ he’d say. ‘I believe in you!’ We used to talk all the time on the phone and now we see each other whenever he comes to town: he’s one of those people I have such a laugh with.
My highest-scoring dance of the series was the Viennese waltz, with 23 out of 40. It was the only time I came off the dance-floor feeling I’d made quite a good job of it, but then Craig burst my bubble by telling me I’d waltzed like ‘a jumping bush kangaroo’. I found I was not the natural dancer I’d hoped, and dancing in a club, when all you’ve got to worry about is moving in time to the music, is very different from Ballroom or Latin where you’ve got to remember the steps, what to do with your arms, whether to carry your weight in your toes or your heels, and a million other things.
On week six Brendan and I danced the samba, which I’d hoped would be a high point after my Rio carnival experience, but on the night my timing went out of the window, and once your timing goes wrong, your feet go wrong, and it’s all over. In Bruno’s words, I ‘dragged poor Brendan into samba hell’. I got just 14 out of 40, which was then the lowest score for that dance in the show’s history. In the bottom two for the first time after the public vote, I was facing a dance-off with Jade Johnson, the Olympic track athlete, and there was no way in the world I was ever going to style that one out. I was going home. And as I walked down the corridor at the BBC on that last night, sad to go but elated that I’d come so far, I promptly tripped and fell flat on my face. Phew, I thought, as I picked myself up. Thank God I didn’t do that on telly.
I was actually quite relieved to go. I knew it was going to get harder when the contestants had to learn two dances a week – I could still barely remember one. But I felt so proud to have been there for six weeks and – despite the nerves and the low scores – I had loved every sequin-sprinkled, fake-tanned moment of the whole Strictly experience.