Linda Nolan
Speaking from the heart
THIS time 10 years ago I was sharing a bed with Jim Davidson.
Let me put that into context swiftly. I was handcuffed to Jim Davidson. Nope, more context… In the Big Brother house. And I think I’m suffering now? Good lord.
No, I joke. It was a rollercoaster ride, quite obviously. If you recall, Jim and I were the feuding housemates that year for many a reason I won’t dwell on, and there were tears and boos (I was told “Go back to Blackpool” by a baying mob hyped to the hilt when I walked out. Gladly!).
But what an opportunity to go in there and experience it. It was a cultural phenomenon and I was part of it. I loved it. (And the cheque). I’ve continued to host a one-woman pity party in bed this week as my lurgy rumbles on, not helped by chemo on Monday.
So, while giving thanks for Jim Davidson’s absence here beside me, I’ve been having a good old chuckle reflecting on the whole Big Brother rigmarole.
Simply getting in there was like being surveilled by the FBI. The day after New Year’s Day the car arrived for me at 8.30am to bring me to London. “The driver will not knock at the door,” I was told. Once we got to the hotel (led in with hoods up and scarves on) we all had codenames. Mine was Lamb Chop. Not even Fillet Steak. The cheek. We were all cuts of meat.
Our phones were confiscated, our cases had to be emptied and everything labelled. Belongings had been misplaced on previous series, apparently. On the show, there were moments that were truly awful. And the diary room was such a let down – just a chair and a camera.
But I do remember laughing...
A group of us dancing on the beds to I’m in the Mood; walking the housemates who had to dress up as wolves around the garden on leads.
I loved the camaraderie. I grew up never being alone, with five of us in a bed until the age of seven.
I liked being around people. And I came out stronger. I think that’s a strength I’ve always kept inside me. January 2024 is proving a tough one. But, hey, I’m not handcuffed to Jim Davidson.