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Spin , who bounced back from a nervous breakdown to land firmly in the driver’s seat on the judges’ panel of Britain’s highest rated TV talent contest. And I can see he hasn’t changed a bit. Now, let’s catch up with some of tonight’s contestants …’
    Another team of handlers escorted Jackie and Darkus to a separate entrance.
    Inside, the auditorium was strangely silent. Crew members shuffled equipment around, air-conditioningunits whirred from all sides, but the seats and aisles were empty, awaiting the influx of excited audience members.
    Jackie and Darkus were shown to their seats in the wings, adjacent to the judging panel.
    An array of colourful spotlights and towering Jumbotron screens flickered to life. Clive strode on to the stage and took a moment to behold the spectacle, then patted down the pockets of his shiny suit, searching for something.
    ‘This calls for a selfie,’ he muttered. ‘Debbie? What’ve you done with my phone?’
    An anxious twenty-something assistant appeared at the edge of the stage. ‘I don’t think you gave it to me, Mr Palmer?’
    ‘Are you calling me a liar, young lady …?’ Clive pointed an accusing finger.
    ‘I’ll go and look for it right now, Mr Palmer.’
    ‘Well, hop to it, dear. Chop-chop.’
    ‘OK, five minutes, people,’ a stage manager called out over the PA system.
    ‘Mum, I’ll be right back …’ Darkus told Jackie, and slid out of the row, jogging down the aisle with a sudden sense of purpose.
    ‘Darkus?’ Jackie called after him as he approached the base of the stage.
    Clive glanced around anxiously, only to see his stepson waving from below. ‘Yessssss?’ he hissed.
    ‘Er, Clive?’ Darkus spoke up. ‘About your phone … I’m no tailor, but judging by the “bunching” in your jacket enclosure, I think you’ll find that –’
    ‘Guess what? I’m no tailor either, but zip it . I don’t have time for your nonsense, Darkus. Can’t you see I’m working? If I’d known you and your mother were going to be this much of a distraction I wouldn’t have given you VIP seating. Debbbbbieeee?’ Clive marched offstage.
    Darkus sighed and turned to his mother with a shrug. She waved him back to his seat sympathetically, as a thundering noise approached the chamber. A dozen security guards unlocked several sets of double doors, ushering in a flood of audience members of all ages and ethnicities: pensioners with walking sticks and wheelchairs, young children, even a newborn.
    The stampede spread through the auditorium as bodies bumped into each other, clattering into their seats. Darkus examined the rows of eager faces staring at the empty stage. Lights panned and strobed the crowd, which responded with a sea of mobile phone screens, held aloft to capture the moment.
    Seconds later, the heavily synthesised Winner’s Circle theme music pumped through the sound system, accompanying a giant graphic of a microphone in a goldhalo. The halo exploded into smithereens, coaxing the audience towards fever pitch. A series of words flashed up on the Jumbotron screens, one after the other: Talent. Looks. Determination. Who will YOU choose to join … The Winner’s Circle?
    Then a deep, sonorous voice echoed overhead: ‘Welcome to week three. Who will enter the circle to win big cash prizes? Who will get ejected …? Let’s hear from our three judges …’
    An explosion of white light stunned the audience as three figures appeared silhouetted on the stage: a short man with white hair and a blazer; a statuesque woman in a barely-there sequinned dress; and Clive, striking a pose in his shiny suit, complemented by a dazzling pair of white trainers. All three judges waved to the audience as the music reached a crescendo. A camera on a crane swung past, taking in the scene.
    ‘Please welcome …’ The deep voice announced the first two celebrity judges – before reaching Clive.
    ‘And … Cliiiiiive Paaaaalmer!’
    Clive bowed deeply, almost touching the