by James Argent
Looking back, considering that I had problems with both breathing and hearing, I suppose it’s amazing that I ever managed to take up singing in later life.
The other medical problem that I encountered as a child still makes me blush. I occasionally wet the bed – and it stayed with me right up until I was in the early stages of secondary school. At first, Mum just assumed that it was something that I would grow out of, but when I reached the age of seven or eight my family decided to send me for some tests.
The doctors said that I was going into such a deep sleep that I was simply failing to wake up when I got the urge to go to the loo. They tried fitting me with a special alarm that was placed into my underwear at night. A little buzzer would go off if I made a call of nature in my sleep, but, unfortunately, I just slept right through it!
It caused me quite a bit of embarrassment and, when I was approaching my early teens, it meant that I was nervous about going on sleepovers with friends in case I had an accident in the night. It made me feel like the odd one out. Thankfully, I eventually grew out of it. I suppose it was just one of those embarrassing things that affect some youngsters!
I got my love of music from my dad, but it was my grandfather, Tom, who awakened my other big passion while I was growing up: a love of theatre.
Granddad Tom lived in Brighton with my grandmother, Diane (whom I called Nanny Brighton for obvious reasons). Granddad Tom was a member of the Magic Circle and at Christmas he would keep everyone amused by putting on magic shows and performing conjuring tricks with cards and doves. His act was called Silvere the Magician. Nanny Brighton would act as his magician’s assistant and together they would keep us captivated for hours on end. Granddad Tom would wear a bowtie while he entertained us, which is something I have copied from him and it’s why you often see me wearing one on TOWIE.
When I was about six, we were staying down in Brighton when Granddad Tom revealed that he had a very special treat in store for me.
‘Now listen, James. Tomorrow I’m going to take you to the Theatre Royal, where you’re going to see a show called Barnum,’ he said.
‘Wow – I can’t wait! I’ve never been to the theatre, Granddad. Will it be fun?’ I asked.
‘The show’s all about the circus and you’re going to love it,’ he explained. ‘There’ll be actors and acrobats and lots of singing and dancing.’
It sounded fantastic. When the big event came along it was everything that I’d hoped for and more. The huge theatre was so posh and impressive, with its plush seating and grand stage. I was glued to the entire show. The performance whizzed by before my eyes, including an amazing tightrope scene, during which I was convinced the acrobat would fall off (but of course he didn’t). When the curtain finally came down the applause was thunderous. From that moment I was hooked.
I remember thinking, Wow! I’d love to go on the stage one day.
I imagined being up there on the boards with all the other performers in their outfits in front of the audience. Even at that young age, I hoped that one day I would be able to appear in front of an audience.
It was around this time that my interest in Michael Jackson took off. I would practise doing his dance routine from Moonwalker at home for hours on end, and I even had a little black top hat and white gloves just like his. Whenever there was a party at home I’d take to the dance floor and do my Jacko routine, dancing to all the hits from his album Bad. I thought I was so cool, although, to be honest, I probably looked like a bit of a donut!
The house where I was raised in Woodford Green was always full of children, because Mum gave up being a receptionist to work from home as a childminder. It meant that there were always lots of other kids to join in with my Michael Jackson routine. I also used to love going off on adventures on my BMX bike or playing tennis in the park with my mates. My dad is tennis mad and it rubbed off on me and my sister (who is now a professional coach for the Lawn Tennis Association).
I attended St Anthony’s Roman Catholic Primary School in Woodford Green. My mum’s side of the family is Catholic and I was raised in the Catholic faith. I was baptised at the age of nine months and had my holy communion at eight, which was followed by my confirmation at fifteen. As a youngster, I was brought up knowing right from wrong, and, even though I don’t go around spouting religion today, I continue to believe in God.
My friends Richard and David were both really good at football, but I’m afraid that I was useless, which was partly due to my asthma.
‘Come on, James, get stuck in,’ I can remember one of them yelling to me during a match in the playground.
‘I can’t keep up, boys. I’m too out of breath. It’s my asthma,’ I explained.
The pair of them played for the Cubs and for Sunday sides, but I couldn’t get into any of the teams.
‘I’ll come and cheer you on instead,’ I promised.
Richard was very handsome and all the girls fancied him, but I didn’t have a lot of luck in that respect, either; at least I can’t remember kissing anyone behind the bike sheds. I didn’t show much interest in dating until I was much older.
Even though I didn’t make the football team, I used to take part in all the other activities at Cubs and Scouts. There was one occasion when we all went up to Gilwell Park in Epping Forest near Chingford, where there was a big scouting centre. One day we were paid a real honour: the Queen came to visit.
I was sitting at a computer screen when she was shown into our room and she came over to speak to me.
‘Hello, young man. What are you doing today?’ she asked.
‘I’m playing on the computer, Your Majesty,’ I explained.
I spoke to her only briefly, but the funny thing was I never told my mum and dad about it afterwards. It wasn’t that I tried to keep it a secret: it was more just that I assumed it was fairly normal for royalty to drop by! It was only when my mum and dad were watching the Queen do her Christmas speech years later that I told them.
A lot of my happiest childhood memories are of our family gatherings at Christmas. It was always a grand occasion because we’d be joined by both sets of my grandparents and my aunt and uncle. My mum would always go over the top in decorating the whole house. We’d have an enormous Christmas tree with all the works, including mountains of tinsel and lots of cherubs. I used to love coming down on Christmas morning when we’d be treated to ‘pigs in blankets’, which are little sausages wrapped in bacon. Lunch would be a gargantuan affair, with a giant turkey that one of my best friends, Big G, would bring round from his dad’s meat stall!
We’d all tuck in heartily, especially my Granddad Seamus, on my mum’s side, who loved his food. He came from a tough farming background in Ireland, so he was very down to earth. He loved football and we’d always watch it together on TV on a Sunday.
Seamus was also a big darts player and was quite skilled at it, having played against the likes of Eric Bristow and Jocky Wilson. I think I get my love of food from him, although, as a younger child, I still wasn’t particularly big, and it wasn’t until the end of secondary school that I started to fill out.
I was very close to Granddad Seamus. He lived locally with my grandmother, Nanny Colette, and there was a big park near their house where we used to go and climb trees. I used to love listening to all his stories about his early life in Ireland.
‘Life was very different back in my day,’ he’d tell me. ‘People used to work on the farm from morning until night. If I misbehaved I’d get the belt. You youngsters are very lucky today to be able to enjoy yourselves so much.’
‘Tell me what it was like, Granddad?’ I’d ask.
‘We had to earn our keep. There were no fancy video games or colour television sets for us. We had to make our own fun.’
Seamus was from a small town called Carrick-on-Shannon in County Leitrim and was what you might call ‘proper Irish’. He knew all about the land and farming. His favourite time of the week was on a Sunday, when Nanny Colette would cook the most amazi
ng roasts, which they’d share with their son, my uncle, Gerry. I’d get on my BMX and cycle up to their house so that I could get there early and join them.
Seamus was a big fan of Tottenham Hotspur, and, even though my own dad supports West Ham, I became a Spurs fan too. My granddad used to leave a 20p coin on the shelf for me during the week to go and buy a copy of the Sun, and then we’d read the sports pages together and discuss all the football news.
We also used to watch Muhammad Ali documentaries on video and talk about boxing. Seamus was one in a million: he could add up numbers in his head like lightning due to all the darts. He would chain-smoke one cigarette after another, pausing to share little bits of wisdom about the world.
I remember one year we bought him a George Best video. We thought he would like it because he was from Ireland, but he moaned like mad, asking why he’d want watch to the likes of George Best.
‘He’s a drunk and a loser,’ he complained.
A few hours later he had us all in stitches because, after a few drinks while watching the video, he reckoned George Best was a hero and one of the greatest players the world had ever seen!
There were lots of opportunities to show off my Jacko impersonation when we went on holiday. The best times were always in Spain.
‘We’re all going to Ibiza together and your Granddad Seamus and Nanny Colette are going to be joining us,’ my mum told me one day.
Wicked! Two weeks in the sunshine with Granddad Seamus to help with all the fun, I thought.
Then a bit later on I had an idea.
‘Can I bring my Michael Jackson gear?’ I asked.
Mum said it would fine and we packed my Jacko hat and gloves in the case. When we arrived in Ibiza, Seamus was on great form, keeping us all amused with the natural comedian in him. He used to spoil me a lot and would give me mint humbugs.
Seamus was determined to enjoy his food on holiday and he could eat loads! He would always put lots of pepper on his lunch and on one occasion I couldn’t resist playing a practical joke on him. We went for something to eat together in a restaurant and, while he wasn’t looking, I loosened the top of the pepper pot. When our plates of food arrived, as usual Granddad Seamus grabbed the pepper and began to shake it over his lunch. Of course, the top came flying off and a heap of pepper went all over his food.
‘What the hell! Those bloody waiters must’ve thought they could make a mug of me by unscrewing it!’ he bellowed.
I felt very guilty about it at first, but, looking back, can see that it was kind of funny. Thankfully, Seamus soon forgot about the pepper incident.
Seamus taught me a lot about life. I remember sitting on a balcony with him one evening and looking out at a gorgeous sunset. As we gazed out at the mountains and the sea, Seamus said something to me that I will never forget. ‘Picture this moment – for you will never see this night again,’ he told me as we gazed at the beautiful surroundings.
It was a pearl of wisdom that I still say to myself today whenever a special moment comes along. My mate Mark Wright later nicked the sentiment off me and he said it in the jungle while he was on I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here!
One night while we were all down in the family bar on holiday, the DJ put on a Michael Jackson record. I grabbed my top hat and gloves and went onto the dance floor to do my Jacko impersonation. Then, as I danced and glided up and down, something unexpected happened.
The rest of the dance floor began to empty as the other holidaymakers stopped to wonder who this little kid was who thought he was Michael Jackson. I suppose I was showing off, but it must have had the desired effect, because afterwards everyone cheered and the bar manager came up to speak to my mum.
‘I will give you ten euros tomorrow if you let him do exactly the same again,’ he suggested.
At first Mum thought he was joking but he was serious, so she accepted and the next evening I performed my first paid gig! Of course, it was only a bit of fun on holiday, but it had a bit of an impact on my parents.
When we got back to Britain they sat me down for a chat.
‘James, I want to suggest something to you,’ said my dad. ‘We think you might have a bit of a gift. The way that you love to put on a performance is very impressive.’
‘What do you mean, Dad?’ I replied.
‘When you entertained everybody in Ibiza by being Michael Jackson it showed a lot of talent. We think it might be time for you to take things further by doing some drama classes.’
My mum was in agreement.
‘You obviously love entertaining people,’ she said. ‘You’ll have a great time and you might be able to turn it into something positive for the future. Let’s see how you get on with some acting lessons.’
‘OK, Mum, I’d like to give it a go,’ I replied, feeling very flattered.
Looking back, I realise that it was an important conversation, because it paved the way for me to have the confidence to sing in later life.
My parents telephoned around and arranged for me to attend a drama group in Woodford called WOADS, which stood for Woodford Operatic and Amateur Dramatics Society. I was about eight when I started and I carried it on for several years, well into my teens.
While I was at primary school I also dabbled at playing instruments. I played the recorder and for a while I also practised the tenor horn during my lunchtimes. I wasn’t particularly good at either, but it was all good experience. I was also in the choir.
Of course, back then I had no idea that one day I’d end up singing on telly.
2
BEATING THE BULLIES AND TREADING THE BOARDS
My time at primary school was mainly happy, but there was a horrible period when I found myself being bullied by a couple of older boys. I was popular with all the children of my own age, but these two kids were both in the year above me and for a while they tried to make my life hell.
I don’t know why they singled me out. Maybe it was because they knew I spent my lunchtimes practising the tenor horn. I wasn’t a goody-goody in school, but I guess that they got it into their heads that, because I played an instrument, I was somehow different from them, and it made me a target. It started off with calling me nasty names and it went on from there. One of them was big and stocky, the other slimmer, and when they were together they were a nasty pair. I can’t remember exactly what names they would call me: it was just childish stuff like ‘dickhead’ or whatever. Then one day they grabbed hold of me in the cloakroom and pinned me up against the wall.
‘You’re a little prat and we’re going to teach you a lesson,’ the stocky one hissed at me.
‘Leave me alone, I haven’t done anything to you,’ I protested.
I was terrified because they were older and bigger than I was and I couldn’t defend myself. I stood there cornered while he put his face right up close to mine and I could smell his breath.
‘You think you’re special but you’re a moron and if you’re not careful we’re going to give you a good kicking,’ he threatened.
‘Please! Let me go. I promise I’ll keep out of your way,’ I begged.
I stood there quaking in fear and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. One of them then shoved me hard in the ribs and they gave me a few painful slaps on the side of my head.
‘You’re a useless wimp. You better watch yourself,’ snarled the slimmer one.
When it was over I ran off in tears.
I was confused and upset because I hadn’t done anything to encourage them – but, then, kids don’t need an excuse to be bullies. I think they probably just saw somebody they thought they could take advantage of and decided to go for it. It was their way of having a bit of cruel fun at my expense.
I tried to stay away from them, but if they spotted me they would nick my school bag and chuck it around while I was glued to the spot like piggy in the middle. My books and all my possessions would end up scattered all over the floor.
‘Ha ha, look at you now, you little idiot,’ they’d gloat
. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’
It made me feel worthless and small.
At first I was too scared to tell anybody because I thought I’d be labelled a grass and it would only encourage them. I felt they had no right to be treating me in that way, but I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never been one for getting into fights, but I knew that I would have to do something about it sooner or later.
The two boys in question lived close to Woodford Station, which I had to walk past in order to get to my grandparents’ house, so I also had to be on my guard against them when I was outside school. If the bullies saw me in the street they would push me around or chase me away. I was very scared of them and after a while it started to really get me down.
I tried to stay alongside my friends Richard and David as much as I could, but whenever I was alone I felt threatened. It was the fear of what would happen next that I found upsetting. I thought that if I let it continue it would only get worse, but bullying robs you of your confidence to do anything to fight back. It got to a point where I was starting to become afraid of going into school and I would do anything to avoid them at all costs.
In the end I plucked up the courage to tell my parents.
‘Mum, I’m really upset,’ I confided one night after school.
‘What’s the matter, James?’ replied my mum, full of concern.
‘There are these two older kids who’re picking on me and I’m frightened of them. I’m really scared, Mum.’
I could see the shock on her face. No mum likes to hear that one of her children is being bullied.
‘That’s terrible, James. Who are these boys and what do they do to you?’
‘They call me names all the time. The other day they stole my bag off me and hid it. They take things out of my pencil case and threaten to beat me up.’
I felt relieved to be finally telling somebody about it and my mum put her arms around me and gave me a big hug.
‘Have you tried standing up to them?’ she asked.
