Never forgotten

Today's LLFF is brought to you by escapism. I have spent the past 36 hours in a slight haze, but managed to get through yesterday thanks to a backlog of episodes of American Idol, including a gripping Hollywood Week four-part bonanza. And today, despite mental and physical illness, I battled in to work and found my Amazon order had arrived, containing several exciting books (including our next Book Club book and these letters which I can't WAIT to devour) and a new yoga DVD. But the undoubted highlight was volumes 1 and 2 of the Take That hardbacks.

Take That formed in 1990, but I wouldn't have called myself a fan until 1991, when I was 14. It was a slightly tricky time for me: I wasn't doing that well at school, I didn't feel like I had any talent at sport, I was OK at singing and acting but definitely in the B team... I had minimal identity and, as an only child used to walking around my home with a metaphorical spotlight following me, this lack of Ready Brek glow did not sit comfortably. Pop music and American TV gave me something to obsess over - my unbending love of these unknown purveyors of bad songs and bad acting made me feel different. Of course, I didn't think that Take That would find me special. But at school and back in the pub at home, the level of my obsession did make me stand out. Entire friendships were formed on the basis of love for pop culture, friendships with people I still dearly love today (hi Alex!). Good times.

I won't deny that I was a bit mental though. In October 1991, there was a day trip from our boarding school up to Birmingham for the Clothes Show Live! experience. The idea was, we look around, get free makeovers, watch a live catwalk, and then get back in the minibus and return to Wiltshire. Upon arrival at the NEC, my friend Tina and I noticed that Radio One had a roadshow van there. Far more interested in music than clothes, I stuck around, and was soon gobsmacked to find out that Take That would be performing. Forget the models and Jeff Banks in the main arena - here was someone I'd actually heard of. Best of all, when they came on stage, no one else had a clue who these boys were - so when Tina and I were shouting at Jason and Robbie, they could actually hear us and waved. Buoyed, we ran over the edge of the stage when they'd finished performing, and screamed as they ran by. I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen, but it was unexpected to say the least when Robbie, and then Jason, gave me a wet kiss, with tongues, as they ran off towards their changing room. Extraordinary. Even funnier was that Robbie looked at Tina, who, wanting an autograph more than a snog, uttered the immortal line, 'Do you have a pen?' Strangely, he hadn't gone on stage with a biro.

Buoyed further, Tina and I followed 'the lads' to the lifts, where they went up and started shouting at us over a balcony for us to follow. We weren't allowed up in that lift, but managed to sneak up in another one with a cleaner and then spent 45 minutes with the five of them, sitting on the floor and chatting while they gave us their autographs and Howard admired the red bandana I had tied round my wrist (and consequently didn't remove for approx. the next four years). I'll never forget climbing back into the minibus at the end of the day - the other girls looked at Tina and I with shock, disbelief and scorn oozing from every pore. "You missed the CATWALK to meet TAKE THAT?!" they chorused, gobsmacked. "Yup," I said, without a trace of regret.

Five years later, I was at university when the band broke up, and I remember being late for a lecture as a result - urgent conference calls with Eva had been necessary to discuss the announcement and plan for a Take That-free future. I had seen them live five times, waited outside Capital Radio to photograph them when I should have been revising for my GCSEs, and written them countless letters (unsent) explaining why and how they should come to our school to give a unique performance and allow Howard the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fall for me, the most wonderful, lank-haired, pasty-faced, overly-eyebrowed, awkwardly-curvy, posh-speaking girl he'd never love.

Years after that, in fact, I did finally interview Howard, in a pub in Shepherd's Bush, while he was promoting his DJ career. He was a lovely man, but intensely shy and clearly a lost soul. It's safe to say that we never were, and never will be, a match made in heaven. Still think he's fit though. Funny how life turns out.

Since they reunited, my TT obsession has been more muted. To be honest, I don't like much of their music - although I think Shine is a great track. But I do have a fondness for them that might seem absurd to someone who spent their teenage years grounded in reality. Those boys were, for me, an escape from my life. I wasn't depressed back then, but I wasn't really very happy either, and they gave me a focus and a sense of belonging to something, much as following football has given definition and community to generations of men. I don't need that now, my life is full enough and for that I'm grateful, but I spent a happy hour or two reading those books this afternoon and thinking back to those days when five men in terrible outfits could reduce me to a screaming pulp, and if my Dad forgot to video them on Top of the Pops while I was out at the pub, all hell would break loose. God I was a nightmare.