Two weeks later, I was stood on the stage at the Hammersmith Apollo with Ant & Dec giggling on the sidelines, Simon Cowell firing questions at me and a rowdy Hammersmith Apollo audience desperate to deliver the "Off! Off! Off!" chant.
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Suddenly I was feeling a twinge of guilt for the scathing reviews and Twitter jokes about the clowns and clueless BGT auditionees that I've written down the years.
After much heated debate in the Digital Spy office about who should audition for the show, we realised that we were a fairly useless bunch. Not one singer. No breakdancers among us. And nobody owns a dancing dog. The best of the bunch was someone with a double jointed elbow and people offering to disco dance in exchange for beer money.
So it all came down to me and my guitar. Correction: my air guitar. An instrument that I have mastered over several years at festivals, my bedroom and nightclubs that I am no longer welcome at.
Weirdly, I didn't feel nervous. Standing in the backstage room with Ant & Dec, I was surrounded by two irritating Jedward wannabes, a man who did face dancing in a picture frame and a 60-year-old disco dancer. There was also a member of the technical staff chuckling about an act involving a real sheep at the Cardiff auditions, where the animal refused to go on stage because of the booming judges' buzzers.
"You are not going to be the worst act they see today," I kept repeating to myself.
After a two-minute chat with the judges that covered everything from my personal life to my dream of performing at Finland's Air Guitar World Championship (it's amazing how much you can learn from five minutes on wiki), I was given the thumbs up from Ant & Dec and the music was lined up for me. After unzipping my air case and twiddling my air strings, it was the moment I'd been trying not to think about for two weeks.
I was about to make a right idiot of myself in front of the most powerful man and harshest judge on British television.
Maybe it was the sight of Simon Cowell tapping his pen to the opening bars of 'Welcome to the Jungle'. Maybe it was Alesha Dixon's cackle at my every move. Or maybe it was the audience members jumping up and down at the back of the hall (I slipped them all a fiver afterwards), but any fear I had evaporated in seconds.
Suddenly I was back in my bedroom again, pretending to be Slash. I was on my knees flailing my arms around. I was wobbling around the stage chugging my arms and kicking my legs in ways they haven't moved for at least 15 years. It was bloody awful. It was out of time. I was struggling to breathe I was jumping around so much. But importantly, I was having fun.
At the end of it all, I'd made a few people (including myself) smile and that was enough for me.
Carmen Electra, a woman who likes a guitarist, didn't think I cut the mustard. Cowell was no longer tapping along. David Walliams didn't find it funny enough. And even Alesha, my biggest fan, couldn't find it in her heart to give me a yes. The Britain's Got Talent dream was over for Digital Spy.
Now, I just to need to work on my fingering technique ahead of those Finland World Championships.
Britain's Got Talent airs on Saturday at 8pm on ITV1.
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