5.45 a.m. My bedroom
When a comedian doesn’t get any laughs the technical term is ‘dying on your backside’. Wouldn’t it be ghastly if I did just that today? Can’t get that thought out of my brain.
9.10 a.m. Railway station
Arrived at the station about ten minutes ago. I’ve already changed out of my school uniform and into my performing clothes. Now I feel like me! I also bought a ticket without any questions being asked about me travelling alone to London. I put that down to my mature air and the fact that there was a massive queue behind me.
Maddy rang me a couple of minutes ago. She has been to the hell-hole and delivered my absence note. She also assured me that I will not die on my backside today. ‘Don’t forget, you’re a certificated comedian,’ she said. Actually, I had forgotten that and was grateful to her for reminding me. I’ve promised to try and ring her at one o’clock today with any news.
11.25 a.m. Robson Theatre (outside)
One thing I forgot today – an umbrella. As soon as I reached Covent Garden it started pouring down. I also took a wrong turning (despite Maddy’s brilliant map) but I still arrived at the Robson Theatre half an hour early. And I couldn’t believe the sight which greeted me. A massive queue of children and parents stretching for miles and miles.
Right at the front was this boy wrapped up in so many layers of clothes he looked as if he was off to the North Pole. A pair of eyes peeped out at me.
‘Is everyone here waiting for Tomorrow’s Stars?’ I asked him. He whispered something really faintly. ‘Sorry?’ I asked.
‘Actually,’ cut in his mum, ‘do you mind if Sidney doesn’t talk right now. He really needs to save his voice. But yes, everyone is here for Tomorrow’s Stars.’
Took me about two years to reach the back of the queue. In front of me stood this girl in a black cloak, red baggy trousers and black pointed shoes. She also had a black hat on her head. Two adults stood next to her and all three were nestling under a large umbrella (it was still pelting it down).
The girl suddenly turned round and looked at me. ‘Oh dear, you are getting wet.’
‘Nothing misses you, does it,’ I grinned.
The girl flashed her pearly whites at me then stretched out a hand. ‘I’m Serena the Sorcerer.’
‘Louis the Laugh. How are you doing?’
We shook hands, then she said, ‘You can stand under our umbrella if you like.’ So I did. I was introduced to her mum and her grandad, who was dressed all in black, from which this silver head protruded like a spotlight (‘My inspiration,’ Serena said). Serena told me that she’d been performing magic tricks at festivals since she was four years old. ‘I’ve had this itch inside me to be famous for as long as I can remember. I want it so much that sometimes I can feel it just bursting out of me.’
‘Like in the film Alien,’ I suggested.
Her grandad asked me where my parents were. ‘Oh, my mum’s on her way,’ I said vaguely. He didn’t look very convinced.
1.10 p.m. Robson Theatre (outside)
I’ve just called Maddy. She was stunned when I told her I’m still waiting outside. She also wished me all the luck in the world.
2.00 p.m. Robson Theatre (outside)
Shortly after I’d rung Maddy we finally started moving forward. Serena the Sorcerer hissed at me, ‘Your mum isn’t coming, is she?’
I decided to take a chance and tell her the truth. ‘No, my parents don’t know I’m here. I’ve skived off school today.’
Serena let out an excited squeal. ‘I knew you had.’
‘To get in,’ I went on, ‘I’ll need a parent. Can I borrow one of yours?’
Serena laughed delightedly. ‘Oh, isn’t this fun. I think you’d better have Grandad. Yes, he’ll be best. Get him to tell you about the time he played the London Palladium. He loves telling new people about that.’
So Serena walked ahead with her mum while I hung around with Serena’s grandad, who burbled away about that time in 1967 he’d played the Palladium and got a standing ovation. He seemed to remember every detail too. In a minute, I thought, he’s going to tell me what colour underpants he was wearing that night. But it was kind of fascinating, actually.
Once we got inside the reception area my heart started beating really loudly. But Serena’s grandad and I were so deep in conversation it really did look as if we were together. Not that the boy at the door took much notice. He just counted in the next thirty of us in a bored sort of way. I was number twenty-nine. This girl, who looked younger than Maddy, slapped a sticker with ‘29’ on it onto my still soaking wet shirt.
We were told there were three stages being used for auditions. I was in the group herded towards the Ashcroft Room. We seemed to go down about seventeen staircases to get there. But what did I care? I was in.
We had to sit in numerical order in the first three rows. The parents sat behind us. On the stage was a large table with a blue tablecloth on. Sitting behind it were two men from the land of the very grumpy. One looked incredibly fierce, like a bulldog with a perm. The other was bearded and sweaty, and peered at us gloomily with little beady eyes. In the middle of the glums sat this woman, beaming away like a searchlight at us.
She introduced herself as Josie and then told us the two men were from the satellite company. They even had depressing names. The one with the perm was Malcolm and the bearded one was Derek. Josie said how good it was to see us all. She was sorry we’d had to wait so long but they’d never expected such a fantastic response.
Then she explained that we would each be called up to the stage in number order. We had forty-five seconds to entertain – in any way we wanted. Then, after every one of us had performed, the judges would confer and let us know which of us would be invited back for the next round.
Now we’re about to start. Be back soon.
2.50 p.m. Robson Theatre
We’ve reached number twenty-five so it’s nearly time. I hate all this waiting. Makes me nervous.
We haven’t had one comedian yet. It’s been mainly singers. The first girl bounced onto the stage, stared at us in great alarm and then promptly fled. ‘She wasn’t quite ready,’ explained her mum, pushing the girl back onto the stage. The girl was given a second chance and this time gave a remarkable impression of a cat being sick.
‘She’s so not coming back,’ whispered Serena to me.
But a lot of the other singers were really professional. There were a few dancers too, including one tap-dancer. She was dazzlingly good even if she did remind me a bit of a wind-up toy.
3.00 p.m.
Serena’s turn. Only she nearly didn’t go on. Would you believe, she got an attack of nerves. ‘I’ve got all these bubbles in my stomach,’ she hissed as me.
I gave her hand a little pat. ‘Easy, tiger,’ I said. ‘Now go out there and give it some welly.’ That made her smile and then off she had to pop. She’s on stage now, going down well, too – and I’m next.
I’m next!
And yes, I’ve got the collywobbles. Definition of a collywobble – a three-legged sheep dog. Get it? No, it’s not very good but it’s the best I can do right now. Must stop. I’m on . . .
4.50 p.m. Train home
Nearly two hours ago now I clambered up onto that stage. My knees buckled a bit and I was all shaky.
But then I told myself, If the audience smell fear on me, I’m finished. A comedian has to have a lot of front. So I planted a smile on my face and did this bouncy strut towards the audience. And then I was off.
Told my first joke in an Australian accent, didn’t I? Got a laugh anyway. But of course I had to stay in that accent. Still, my second joke got a great roar and some people even clapped. I called out, ‘Don’t clap, we haven’t got time.’ A few – including a woman who laughed like a neighing horse – even guffawed at that.
After that I was on a roll and just bursting with energy. I rattled off joke after joke and I never even heard the whistle blow to say my time was up. They had to blow it a second time before I realized.
I floated back to my seat and Serena whispered, ‘You went down a storm.’ But had the judges liked me? I’d noticed Josie exercising her facial muscles. Not a flicker from Derek the beard. But I think I spotted a smile from Malcolm the perm. Although it might have just been wind. Hard to tell, really.
There was one more girl after me (playing a mouth organ) and then the judges went into a huddle. Serena whispered to me, ‘I want this more than anything else in the world, don’t you?’ I just grinned at her. But actually, I did.
Then Josie got up and waffled on about how we’d worked really hard and she wanted to congratulate us all. But we must also remember it’s a very overcrowded market, blah, blah, blah. Then, just when I’d stopped listening she started calling out some numbers. Those people had to come up onto the stage.
She called out eight, fifteen, twenty-eight (that was Serena) and twenty-nine!
So there were just four of us on the stage. Josie said to us, ‘Congratulations, you are all through to the next round.’ We all jumped about a bit – but not too much because there were all those disappointed children and their parents gawping at us. They were asked to hand in their numbers at reception and to leave as quickly as possible. ‘Hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves,’ Josie called after them.
One man shouted back, ‘My girl’s got sunshine in her voice. This is all a fix.’ His daughter led him quietly away.
I still couldn’t believe that I was one of the lucky few to get that golden tap on the shoulder. And how I wished my mum and dad could have been there, whooping it up with me. Mum could even have given me one of her slurpy kisses and I wouldn’t have minded. Ah well, she’s missed her chance now.
‘This is only the first stage,’ said Serena to me. ‘So we mustn’t get too happy.’
‘Oh, go on, be happy,’ I said.
Serena laughed. ‘All right, just for you I will.’
Josie told us we would get a phone call soon telling us when the next auditions were. At that audition we would have a whole five minutes to perform, so I shall need lots more jokes. She also told us to be certain to fill in the forms at reception.
I grabbed one of them and slunk away to fill it in, unobserved. Two sides of questions about my age, height, weight (had to guess that), then stuff like had I ever been on the telly before (I wrote, ‘Not yet’) and finally, a contact number. I gave them my mobile number.
The end of the form had to be signed by your parent or guardian. So I forged Mum’s autograph again (becoming quite expert at that) and handed it in.
I bumped into Serena and her relics and they gave me a lift back to King’s Cross, which was pretty decent of them. I sat in the front next to Serena’s grandad. He winked at me and said, ‘The call to perform and entertain cannot be resisted, can it?’ He went on, ‘But share your good news with your parents. They may surprise you with their support.’ I wasn’t so sure about that.
As soon as I could I rang Maddy. She went very quiet for a couple of seconds, then let out this gasp. ‘Oh, Louis, all day I’ve been waiting and wondering . . . I’m just really, really happy for you. You know what this means, don’t you? You’re not an amateur any more.’
‘Aren’t I?’
‘No, you’re a semi-professional now.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I said.
Any minute now the train is going to pull into my station. I shall be late home and I don’t know what excuse I’ll give Mum. And right now, I really don’t care either.
All I can do is sit here with a great smile all over my face and think, I did it. I did it. I DID IT!
6.30 p.m. My bedroom
Just to let you know that I got into the house at twenty-five to six, a full twenty seconds before Mum got back with Elliot. She’d been to a special French Club which was due to finish at five o’clock but she’d been held up because Olympia suddenly had this tantrum. She has them quite regularly, apparently. It took both her mum and mine to calm her down. Never thought I’d be grateful to Olympia!
Anyway, Mum finally asked me about my day and I nearly burst out laughing. I really think I’ve got away with today. Of course, the next audition will be trickier. With fewer children involved, someone might easily notice I’m missing a parent – and totally scupper my chances. Perhaps Serena’s grandad is right and I should share my good news with Mum and Dad. They’re bound to be proud of me, aren’t they? I might tell them after tea tomorrow.
12.15 a.m.
Just can’t sleep. Too happy. This has been an unbelievably brilliant day.