Scarlett Says

by Scarlett Moffatt

  My friends who smoke probably find me quite annoying because I’m desperate for them all to quit. When they light up I’ll say, ‘Ooh, that’s a little bit more of your lung you’re damaging there.’ At the end of the day I can’t force people to stop. It’s got to be their choice, but I do try and help where I can, even if it does come across as a bit irritating. I don’t want them all getting ill and shit. I care about them too much, and who will I go to the champagne bar with?

  Electronic cigarettes

  I also disagree with people smoking electronic cigarettes while I’m eating. It’s no different to having a fag. People are so obsessed with them and there are shops everywhere now. I don’t understand it. I heard the government were going to start giving out e-cigarettes on the NHS. I really hope that’s not true. It’s ridiculous.

  It’s being really glamorized and there are so many flavours, like pear drops and raspberry sorbet. Why would you want a fag that tastes like a dessert? What’s going to be next? Cheese and onion?

  They had those TV adverts a while back which made it look all sexy and they banned them, which I think is right.

  Toilet friends

  Like the smoking area, toilets are a goldmine for new mates on a night out. I always end up being people’s best friend after a chat by the hand dryer. I’m forever saying hello to random girls when I’m out, and when my mates ask me how I know them I nearly always say, ‘I met them in the loos.’ They’re my toilet friends.38

  Venturing further afield

  If my friends and I decide to go further afield than our local town on a night out, we’ll generally get dropped off in the centre of somewhere – say York or Doncaster – and we’ll just see where our legs take us. I love going out in Durham but everything’s so spread out we have to have a bit of a plan if we go there. If we’re not feeling too lazy, we’ll go to the bottom end and then to the Gala at the top. It all depends on whether we can be arsed to do both. If we don’t want to walk, we go straight to the Gala, which has got places like Fat Buddha, Ebony, Slug and Lettuce, Lloyds and Love Shack in it.

  Love Shack is so cool. It’s got an old VW camper van with a table inside and you can sit in there and have drinks. It’s also got cages that you can dance in, but only idiots go in them. People always think they look really sexy in the cages, but they’re usually mortal and they end up looking like zoo animals flailing around.

  Random nights out

  My mates and I have really random nights out sometimes, and someone suggested a while ago that we go and see the Dream Boys at Love Shack. It seemed like a great idea on paper, but in reality it was mortifying, and of course I had to get really pissed to get through it.

  We all sat quite near the front of the stage and one of the strippers kept trying to drag me up to dance with him. No fucking way, mate. I think he thought I was being coy so I had to give my ‘I’m really not fucking joking’ face.

  Another dancer was supposed to do a sexy routine with a chair, and he walked into the audience to grab one but when he tried to pick it up it was connected to about six others so they all moved together in one long row. He spent ages trying to unfasten it while the music was blaring out and we were all like, ‘Come on now, the moment’s gone.’ In the end two blokes from the bar had to come and help him and it was so awkward. Everyone was pissing themselves, and when he did eventually do the dance it was the least sexy thing you’ve ever seen, bless him. We were supposed to fancy him but instead I felt dead sorry for him.39

  A lot of my nights out are random, really. One of the most random ones was when Shannon and I went to the bingo. It cost a bloody fortune! It was hilarious and we were one number off of winning a grand. It’s all electronic now so you don’t have dabbers, which I was gutted about. But on the plus side they sell wine.

  You know when you have those nights where you go for food and then you end up out until a stupid time and none of you know how it happened? My mates and I will end up in a club and girls will be there in bandage dresses with their hair backcombed to the ceiling and we’re in jeans and jumpers.

  Those nights are what I look forward to most because they create memories and we still talk about nights out we had years ago. I love impromptu nights like that. My friend Hannah and I went to curry night at Wetherspoons recently and we had so much wine and then went on to this pub called The Merry Monk that does five Jägerbombs for a fiver. We stayed out until three in the morning and we ended up dancing on the tables. That would never happen if you went out with a lad. It’s not really the kind of thing you want to do with your boyfriend. They’re called girls’ nights out instead of ladies’ nights because you do not act like ladies.

  Some of my most random nights out are with my drag-queen friends. When I did ballroom dancing, funnily enough quite a lot of gay men did it too. We often went out to gay nights in local clubs and I met more of their friends, and now I’ve got a big group I hang out with. A lot of them are drag queens, and one of my really good friends, as well as his actual name, is also known as Janice Dickinyourson. He didn’t do drag when I first knew him but one day he came down the stairs in a wig with massive boobs and I was like, ‘OK . . .’

  There’s also Emma Roid, Miss Cara, Roxy Tart, Felicity Bean and our posh drag-queen friend Gucci. She’s really well-to-do. I’m also really good friends with a guy, whose drag name is Tess Tickle. He teaches at a school and quite a lot of his pupils know he dresses up but they’re cool with it. He’s who I got me dog Bonnie Blue from.

  I once went out to a gay night with some of my mates and I wore this bright red Little Mermaid wig with a teddy bear T-shirt and a see-through poncho and people thought I was a drag queen. When I told them I was a girl they were like, ‘Well, we meant you’re an attractive drag queen,’ but it still wasn’t a compliment. I would love my friends to do me up with proper drag make-up when we go out on our next Mon-gay, though. Imagine how many pairs of false eyelashes I could wear.

  Queues

  No one likes bloody queuing, do they? It’s always the worst part of any evening. Lloyds in Durham is good for a night out but there’s always a massive queue so you’ve either got to get there early, or hope you spot someone you know and pretend you want to have a conversation with them so you can basically push in. I’m saying that, but at the risk of sounding really twatty, I don’t generally have to queue much any more. That’s the power of TV! I usually tweet to say I’m going somewhere and someone will get back to me and say, ‘Let us know when you’re here and we’ll sort you out.’ The two best things about being on the telly are free alcohol and no queues.

  I always think it’s weird that the people who get the free alcohol are the ones who can afford it. It doesn’t make any sense. Famous people get so much free shit but they’ve all got loads of money. Sadly I won’t be buying a private island any time soon but I have noticed that really big celebrities don’t have to pay for anything even though they’re loaded.

  If I’m feeling a bit shy, I’ll get one of my mates to tweet a venue because I’m so worried about looking like I’ve got a big head and I’m expecting free entry. I’m friends with quite a lot of the people that run the bars we go to regularly so usually they’ll invite me along anyway, but sometimes I’ll get Sarah to message them so they don’t get the wrong idea. I would never just turn up somewhere and expect the bloody red carpet to be rolled out. Can you imagine if you arrived with a smug grin on yourself all like, ‘Yes, it’s true, it’s me, I’m here.’ AWFUL. I cringe just thinking about it.

  There have been times when I’ve been waiting to get into a bar and people have asked me why I’m queuing and I’m like, ‘Because I’m a person.’ Then they’ll try and blag me in, and blag themselves in at the same time!

  Clearly if someone does offer me quick entry in, I’m not stupid, I’m not going to queue, but equally I would never throw my weight around or expect anything. The day I hear someone say, ‘Who the fuck does she think she is?’ is the day I properly check myself. I say that abou
t other people so I would hate to be like that myself.

  Double life

  Sometimes when I’m out now I feel like I’m living a double life. I get free entry into clubs and I get asked for photos non-stop at the weekend, but obviously I have a day job as well. I’ll go and do my nine-to-five all week, and then when the weekend comes I morph into Victoria Beckham. I look like I can’t be arsed from Monday to Friday, and then on a Saturday I’ll get my nails done and maybe get a blow-dry and all of a sudden I’m fucking Rihanna. I think it’s cos now if I didn’t make an effort then people would tweet about it and they’d probably @ me in as well so I’d read it. ‘Saw Scarlett looking minging this weekend.’ Cheers.

  It’s dead weird that everyone wants to talk to me and buy me drinks on a night out. I’ll have a weekend of selfie-ing my arse off with people, and then come Monday morning I’ll have to get up at 6 a.m. and go and sit behind a desk for eight hours. It’s a proper crash down to reality.

  Table whores

  One thing I can’t stand on a night out is table whores. It seems to happen a lot in Newcastle, where people try to make friends with other people if they’ve got a table and free booze in a club. If I go out with my mates, I stick with them for the evening. I’m not interested in sucking up to someone so I can sit at their table and try and blag some bloody vodka. Some people will make friends with anyone if they think there’s something in it for them, and they’ll just leave their mates to their own devices. They properly pimp themselves out.

  There are also people who use other people’s names to get into places. They’re so blatant about it. They’re all like, ‘I know so and so, and my mate knows them too.’ So what? I met Tom Jones when I was nine but I’m not asking for free tickets to his concert.40

  Being recognized

  I think I’ve got one of those faces that’s quite recognizable, and the tan probably doesn’t help, so I do get spotted quite a lot. Sometimes people will just randomly shout my name out or bellow ‘Gogglebox’ at me. I think that’s quite strange. If I saw someone from EastEnders, I wouldn’t shout ‘EastEnders’ at the top my voice and start singing the theme tune.

  A lot of people also shout ‘Gogglehead’ instead of ‘Gogglebox’, or say to me, ‘You’re that girl out of Gogglebox,’ as if I don’t know! Admittedly, I have pretended to be someone else before too. Sometimes when people ask me if I’m Scarlett from Gogglebox I’ll say, ‘No, but I get that a lot. I’m going to have to start watching that show.’

  Another odd thing people do is ask for photos even though they don’t know who I am. They’ll see loads of other people asking for pictures so they join in, but they haven’t got a clue why they’re getting a selfie with me. I’ll say to them, ‘Do you watch the show? Who’s your favourite?’ and they’ll reply, ‘What show?’ There’s nowt as queer as folk. I didn’t realize how strange people were until I was on telly. There are a lot of nutters out there.

  I saw someone go up to a guy from a TV show at a train station recently and ask for a photo with them, and the ‘celebrity’ turned around and told them to fuck off. I was fuming. Even if someone is the fiftieth person to ask you for a photo that day, they don’t know they are. They probably think they’re the first person to ask you, and it takes two seconds to be nice.

  The thing that freaks me out is when people tag me in photos on Twitter or Facebook even though I haven’t seen them take one. It’ll be a picture of me sitting drinking with my mates and someone else in the bar will have taken it without me knowing. I find that dead creepy. I don’t let the fact that random people are taking secret photos of me get in the way of a good night out, though, and I still act and dance like a twat. It’s what a night out is for, isn’t it?

  Fake friends

  I try not to be suspicious of people, because I like to give everyone a fair chance, but I am aware that some people just want to be mates with me because I’m on TV. I am pretty good at spotting it when it happens, though, and I know who my real friends are.

  Quite often people I haven’t seen for ages, and who would have walked past me in the street two years ago, will say to me, ‘Do you remember the time we did so and so when we were seven?’ and then ask for my number. I’m pretty upfront about not giving my number out. Sometimes I’ll make a joke about someone potentially being a mass murderer, and other times I’ll just say I don’t want to. I don’t want to look like I’m being arsey, but equally I don’t want loads of random people I don’t know texting me. Who does?

  Sometimes I’ll hide my phone on a night out because otherwise you’ve got no excuse, and I have given fake numbers to people before. The best thing to do is say your real number but change just one digit. That’s my usual trick and it works. Unless I’m too pissed, and then it gets dead confusing.

  What’s in my handbag?

  Always a pair of eyelashes and some spare glue

  They’re a necessity. If ever the pollen count is high or you go and see a sad film, your eyelashes get ruined, so you should always have a spare pair.

  My phone

  For emergencies, Twitter, Facebook, and also if I need to take a photo and put it on Instagram.

  ID

  I literally look twelve and often get ID’d when I’m buying things like razors and party poppers. I once got ID’d for plastic cutlery. Because if you’re going to stab someone, it’s clearly going to be with a plastic knife.

  Contactless card

  I never tend to keep money in me bag because of a tragic incident where I threw £20 out, thinking it was a receipt. I’m still bitter.

  Phone charger

  Because iPhone batteries last about an hour, and I may need to make an emergency call. Or send a good tweet.

  Bronzer and bronzer brush

  For obvious reasons!

  Tangle Teezer and hairspray

  Because when you have a lion’s mane it needs brushing at least five times a day.

  Dancing

  Once we’re inside a bar or club I properly go for it on the dance floor. I swear, I think I’m a member of Diversity when I’m drunk. I’ll do a bit of everything, from hip-hop to robotics, and I’ll try and get my friends to copy me. How geeky is that? Funnily enough, they rarely do.

  I think anything goes when it comes to dancing. I love doing the worm on a night out even though I’m really shit at it. My friends and I have actual dance moves to certain songs and we think we’re mint when we’ve been drinking. But if I’m being brutally honest, none of us are good dancers. We do a lot of lunges, squats and jogging on the spot. It looks like we’re doing an aerobics class and it’s the only time I actually do any gym moves. If some of my friends are at the bar and some are on the dance floor, we’ll all look at each other and lunge at the same time. It may look ridiculous but it’s the funniest thing, and sometimes other random people will join in. I love it when that happens.

  My technique is to move my feet and hope my arms do something good on their own. I like to dance until I drop. It makes you feel really good. I think dancing gives you the same high as you get when you eat chocolate. It’s my main reason for going out and it doesn’t matter how shit your day at work has been, dancing makes you feel amazing.

  I’ve danced on a lot of tables over the years, and the occasional bar. I usually get told to get down, but for that brief moment I’m up there I’m Britney, bitch. All the really posey people will look at me like I’m an idiot, but I don’t care. If they’ve got time to look at me like I’m being a twat, they’re obviously not having a very good night!

  Not many men can dance and it’s so embarrassing when they think they’re good but they’re not. There was a real trend for lads shuffling a while back and it looked bloody ridiculous. You’d go out and every fucker would be on the dance floor shuffling and they looked deranged. They’d have these big chunky trainers on and they’d be literally shuffling around the floor like dickheads, all doing exactly the same moves in a pack. I honestly think they thought they looked cool. I mean, it�
��s hardly going to become a ‘thing’ on Strictly, is it? We’re not going to hear Len Goodman saying, ‘Well done, thingy from Holby City, you’ve done some quality shuffling there,’ any time soon.

  Also, if you like a lad and he’s doing the shuffle, how are you supposed to make a move? You can’t really go up and start shuffling next to him, can you?

  I do like it if lads dance funny, though. I think if a bloke can take the piss out of themselves and he doesn’t mind dancing like a twat, he’s probably a funny person. I like anyone who can laugh at themselves. I think if you can’t laugh at yourself, you’ve got serious issues.

  BO

  There’s one thing you must always do when you’re on a night out, and that’s wear deodorant. I call deodorant BOdorant. There is no need for anyone to have BO in this day and age. You can watch films on your phone and Skype people on the other side of the world, so there’s no excuse for people to smell. It’s not like we’re living in Victorian times with tin baths. Soap and water are quite readily available.

  When I was seventeen I worked with someone who had terrible BO and I had to have that awkward conversation with my manager about it. I didn’t dare open my mouth when I was near that person in case I tasted it. Sometimes people smell like their clothes have been in a cupboard for weeks on end and I don’t get that either. I don’t understand why people can’t smell themselves?

  Some people really embrace their natural scent but I just couldn’t. I’m sure even cave people rubbed flowers on their armpits. I’m sure they wouldn’t have put up with that stench.

  Whenever I’m on a train I can guarantee that someone near me will have BO and I get paranoid that it’s me and I’m one of those people who can’t smell themselves. I do that thing where I stretch and try to smell my armpits without anyone seeing. Or I’ll spray deodorant straight onto my top while no one’s looking, just in case. I’m dead cunning.