All Dressed Up To Go Dreaming
We could see them from the window. Who knew that there were so many talented people in Glasgow? Or rather, so many people who considered themselves talented enough to audition for Simon Cowell. The queues snaked out from the SECC but from our vantage point on the third floor of Pacific Quay we couldn't distinguish the talented people from the friends, relatives and hangers-on. There were hundreds of people. Maybe thousands.
I had my back to the window and was talking to our Zones team when Senior Producer, Lizzy Clark, drew my attention to the activity of the other side of the Clyde.
"It's the Britain's Got Talent auditions, " she explained, "why don't you go over there and take part? It would give you something to write about in your blog."
I mulled this over and then gave the team my rendition of Moonlight Becomes You. It's my party piece...or it would be, if anyone ever invited me to a party. I fluffed the first line and the consensus was that I should stay put.
Later, much later, I found myself in the hotel across the river and sharing an elevator with a young woman with a laminated Britain's Got Talent crew-member card strung around her neck. She had unfeasibly blonde hair.
"I bet you've had a busy day, " I said, demonstating my mastery of small-talk.
"I haven't stopped all day, " she told me.
"It must be sad for those people that get booted out."
She looked me over and I could tell she was considering her response. Finally she popped her cork.
"I have never met so many rude people in one day, " she blurted, "I've had nothing but dog's abuse since first thing this morning."
I made sympathetic noises, but I couldn't help but think about how rude Simon Cowell can be with the contestants. You reap what you sow, I suppose. No matter, she wasn't really listening. She shuffled off on the fifth floor, but turned with two final words of despair.
"Birmingham tomorrow."
Then the lift doors closed before I could start singing.
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