Up on stage, Womb 101 were doing the nana-nana chorus at the end of ‘What Makes You Beautiful’. As the song closed, the lead singer moved to the back of the stage and did a full somersault, climaxing with his arms spread wide and two band mates kneeling on either side.

‘Thank you,’ the big guy shouted, as the stage lights caught beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

There weren’t enough people in the hall to call it an eruption, but there was loads of clapping and a bunch of parents stood up and cheered.

‘Nice footwork, Andre!’ a woman shouted.

Alfie and Tristan made retching sounds as Mr Currie walked off.

‘Currie’s got a point though,’ Jay said. ‘Boy bands are dreck, but they’ve all got good voices and they must have rehearsed that dance routine for weeks.’

Tristan shook his head and tutted. ‘Jay, you always agree with what Mr Currie says. I know half the girls in our class fancy him, but I’m starting to think you do as well.’

Alfie stood up and shouted as Womb 101 jumped off the stage and began walking towards the back of the room to grab drinks. ‘You suck!’

Jay backed up as two of Womb 101’s backing singers steamed over, knocking empty plastic chairs out of the way. They didn’t look hard on stage, prancing around singing about how great some girl’s hair was, but the physical reality was two burly sixteen-year-olds from one of London’s toughest schools.

The one who stared down Alfie was the Asian guy with a tear-you-in-half torso.

‘What you say?’ he demanded, as his chest muscles swelled. ‘If I see any of you boys on my manor, you’d better run!’

The boy slammed his fist into his palm as the other one pointed at Alfie before drawing the finger across his throat and stepping backwards. Alfie looked like he’d filled his BHS briefs and didn’t breathe until the big dudes were well clear.

‘Are you mental?’ Tristan hissed, as he gave Alfie a hard shoulder punch. ‘Those guys are from Melon Lane estate. Everyone’s psycho up there.’

Mr Currie had missed Alfie shouting You suck, but did see Tristan hitting his brother as he got back holding a polystyrene coffee cup.

‘Hitting is not cool,’ Mr Currie said. ‘And I’m tired of the negativity from you guys. You’re playing after this next lot, so you’d better go backstage and get your gear ready.’

The next group was an all-girl trio. They dressed punk, but managed to murder a Paramore track by making it sound like bad Madonna. Setting up Tristan’s drum kit on stage took ages and the woman judge made Jay even more nervous when she looked at her watch and shook her elaborately hatted head.