When I left university I didn’t think the world owed me a living. I’d graduated in philosophy, theology, film and television studies. But 1993 was the worst time for graduate employment. I applied for jobs in the civil service, but part of the application was a logic test, and I was never much of a mathematician. So I worked as a verger at Bristol Cathedral for three months, and then at another church for a further three months. Then I found a job at Tesco in Bristol. I’ve always been prepared to roll up my sleeves. But when I was moved on to nights it was like living with permanent jet lag — your body can’t switch off.

I did about four years of night shifts, which I hated. I was working from 10pm to 6am every night, five or sometimes six days a week. Because I couldn’t sleep well in the day, I used to hardly rest at all. By the time night came I was ready to go to bed again. My job involved filling shelves on two aisles — mostly wines and spirits. Sometimes frozen foods. I lifted tons each night. When I finished my section they would move me onto another, usually fresh fruits.

Sometimes I would get so tired I would literally fall asleep standing up in front of the shelves — always when a manager was right behind me, too. At Christmas it was not unknown to do a 22-hour shift. It’s your choice, of course, but overtime is about the only way you earn proper money. Our regular rate was about £6.50 an hour. I didn’t feel bitter.

Through most of it I carried on singing in amateur productions. When I was doing productions in Bath, Tesco would allow me to start late on Wednesday nights so I could attend the rehearsals. I would cycle to Bath, finish rehearsing at 10pm and cycle back to Bristol, a round trip of 34 miles, to start work.

It was Christmas 2002 when I ran into health problems. I had abdominal pains and eventually went to the doctor. He diagnosed acute appendicitis and I was operated on that same day. I was in hospital for five days. But by New Year’s Eve I was being sick again. My fiancée, Julie-Ann, called the doctor out and I was sent back into hospital. They found a 7in benign tumour. I was off for 81/2 months. Four days after I got back to work, someone knocked me off my bike and I broke my collarbone and got whiplash. That meant I was off for a further nine months. I think my body just shut down, because the collarbone refused to heal. I only got sick pay for a couple of weeks, because I’d used up all my allotted leave during the previous illness. That meant I was on incapacity benefit of £55 a week. I disliked that. I’ve always been proud of paying my way.

But the benefit paid for the electricity and gas. Julie-Ann’s job paid for our mortgage and the car, which meant we had to pay for all our food and clothes by credit cards. We even had to put the council tax on credit cards. It got worse as time went on. I couldn’t borrow money off my family, because they didn’t have any. In terms of food, we were eating cheap-label things, the cheapest you could get. Tesco Value beans, bread, cheap cuts of meat. But the cheapest stuff is not always healthy, so I put on a couple of stone. I ended up with over £30,000 of debt. It completely stressed me out. I spent a month when I didn’t get out of bed. My singing was finished, as far as I was concerned. I had no money. I couldn’t afford to travel to take part in any productions.

Winning Britain’s Got Talent has been like a dream. It almost makes all the struggle worth it. Sometimes I think you have to go through tough times to appreciate the good times, and I think it’s helped me be more grounded. I don’t take anything for granted. I only entered on the toss of a coin. I was sitting in front of the computer after midnight one night, and Britain’s Got Talent flashed up on the screen. I filled in the form and then was asked if I wanted to submit it. I only had one coin in my pocket, a 10p piece, and when I tossed it, it came up heads. So I applied.

I hadn’t sung a note for four years — which in some ways is worse than never having done anything. I was concerned that the four years would have had an effect. As I walked on stage for the audition, I could feel myself shaking. When I got to the end, I wasn’t very happy with the performance. I never had winning on my mind at all. At the finals, when my name was read out, that was the biggest shock. Standing in that studio singing Nessun Dorma live with the London Symphony Orchestra was fantastic. I had spent years

listening to opera, and that aria in particular, imagining that that voice on the recording was me. Actually singing it was one hell of an experience. It was like being able to be truly who I am. It’s nice having something go my way for once. I’m not used to it. I would go back to shelf-stacking, if I had to. Whatever pays the bills

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