Still Got It, Never Lost It!: The Hilarious Autobiography from the Star of TV’s Pineapple Dance Studios and Dancing on Ice
Still Got It, Never Lost It! tells the story of Louie Spence, star of Pineapple Dance Studios and ruthless judge on Dancing on Ice.‘I did everything my sisters did, that’s how my dancing days started – they went dancing, I went dancing and I just kept on dancing.’ - Louie SpenceFrom a very early age Louie was a little boy who loved to dance and had high ambitions. He attended every disco dance class he could and excelled each time, with the constant support of his Mum and Dad. Before long Louie’s blue leotard had become a mainstay of the family home, and soon enough he was accepted into the Italia Conti School of Theatre Arts. And he never looked back.From dancing on the Spice Girls World Tour to becoming BFFs with Emma Bunton and hanging out with Take That (not to mention his performances in Cats and Miss Saigon), Louie lived out his dreams. Now a TV personality in his own right, a judge on Dancing on Ice, the star of Pineapple Dance Studios and his own series Showbusiness, he has become a much-loved household name.This hilarious, warm and compellingly-written autobiography takes us back to Louie’s early days in Essex, with a cast of characters that includes Nanny Lock (who lived down the Enfield lock), Nanny Twinkle and Nanny Downer (with whom Louie, as a kid, would swipe cans of Special Brew). Still Got It, Never Lost It! is the story of the real-life Billy Elliot – a tale that proves nothing can stop you when you think big and hold on to your dreams.
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Louie Spence
Still Got It, Never Lost It!
My Story
Contents
Title Page
1 Nanny Downer and Nanny Twinkle
2 Me and Mr Whippy
3 Doreen Cliff School of Dance
4 Italia Conti
5 A Big Wrench
6 Heaven … and Beyond
7 Panic
8 London Studio Centre
9 Piero
10 Miss Saigon
11 When in Rome …
12 La Dolce Vita
13 Take That
14 Falling Out of Love
15 I’ll Tell You What I Want
16 Spice Boy
17 Cats
18 Angel Eyes
19 Pineapple
20 Bump’n’Grind
21 Cirque de Celebrité
22 The Seven-Year Hitch
23 Celebrity Circus
24 Thirty … Forty
25 TVWs
26 Straddle-him
27 Pineapple Chunks
28 Riff-raff with a little je ne sais quoi
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Nanny Downer and Nanny Twinkle
I’ve never been backward in coming forward, if you know what I mean. I’ve always been able to express myself and get my point across in any way necessary. I suppose I get that from my mum Pat – or Patricia Pamela Spence, to give you her full title. One of my strongest memories of Mum is that she never held back from expressing herself – if she had anything to say, she would just say it, especially when it concerned us kids. Pat was fiercely protective of us when we were growing up – not that she thought we were angels; by no means. There’s me, who you know, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this little book; my sister Rennie is the eldest, then there are 11 months between her and Tania; then I am followed by the youngest girl, Kelly.
Mum had Rennie, Tania and me in the space of three years, and after the birth of each one of us she had a nervous breakdown. It’s not that we were bad babies, you understand – it’s just the family genes. I have never had a nervous breakdown, but I have been on the edge of one all my life! We’ll get to that later in the book – the panic attacks and the hypochondria. It’s really a wonder that I’m still alive, as I’ve had every disease under the sun. I’m a walking miracle.
Thinking about it, considering Dad worked two jobs day and night when we were babies, he must have come home just to do the deed with Mum. I think I must take after him in that respect; it’s a good thing I’m gay and don’t procreate. Honestly, I would be fathering kids left, right and centre. I’m ready at the drop of a hat.
At this time my parents lived with us three children in a two-bedroom maisonette called Keyes House in Enfield, London – Ponders End, to be precise. No wonder Mum had a nervous breakdown after each birth. Did I mention that she had her first child when she was just 17? And each one of us was a home birth.
I was born at 12.01 exactly. There’s a story behind this that Dad always tries to tell, but Mum always chips in with her penny’s worth. I was born on 6 April 1969, and before you try to work it out, yes, I do look good for my age. You can figure it out – I was always crap at maths.
I don’t know if this still happens – I don’t have any kids, so I’m not up on this kind of thing, but never say never. If I were born on 5 April, Dad would have received some kind of tax rebate. As you can imagine, what with having a young family, already with two toddlers, and only 11 months between them, Dad was practically trying to pull me out so that he could claim his rebate. While Mum lay there screaming in labour, Dad was shouting at her like she was some thoroughbred about to win the Grand National.
‘Go on girl, you can do it, push, push, get it out!’
I don’t think you’d get a thoroughbred in a council flat – you wouldn’t fit them in, all that straw and hay, but anyway.
So, she’s pushing and he’s shouting – ‘Push, shout, push, shout!’ – and in the middle of all this Dad’s begging the midwife that if I came out on the sixth, could she backdate me to the fifth? The midwife, a large West Indian lady, who, even though I’ve never met her, I like to think of as my second mum, firmly replied no. So Dad thought, the direct approach isn’t working. Try and charm her, ask her about her family, her husband, children, their names – anything he could think of to get me signed off for the fifth.
Being the bright spark that Dad is (not), he decided that he would name me after the midwife’s husband, having known her only two hours. He figured this would convince her to backdate my date of birth. She was very flattered, apparently, but her professionalism didn’t wane. I finally came out, as I said, at 12.01, a breech birth with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck like a feather boa. I must have been doing a show in there. I’ll perform for anyone and anything, intestines, kidneys – an audience is an audience. Ever the ultimate professional, like the midwife, I wasn’t about to compromise my integrity by arriving early on the stage.
By now Mum had collapsed with exhaustion but Dad, undeterred, was still trying to work his charm on the midwife, who was busy trying to save me from strangling myself with my umbilical boa.
‘So, can we put that as the fifth then?’
He thought it was like delivering Coca-Cola, which was his second job – you could backdate the invoice. Well, no, the midwife was having none of it. The sixth it was, my name had been declared – Louis.
