"We're standing in a beautiful landscaped courtyard. I'm in a group with three strange men - one is singing me a love song, one is pretending to be rapper Ice-T, and the other is doing his best to impersonate a TV presenter. Before I know it, we're all singing about a product we've just invented called the iLove.
The watching crowd applauds wildly, my face goes bright red and as I walk to my seat, I almost clonk my head on a sound boom attached to one of the many cameramen who are following my every move. Welcome to the first night of reality TV camp.
I'm spending three days at the New York Reality TV School, founded by film producer and director Robert Galinsky. He launched his reality TV workshops last June to help wannabes make it big in the competitive world of reality TV. His trick? Improving their confidence and story-telling abilities, apparently. Simple.
So far his success stories include Jorge Bendersky, who came third in Animal Planet's Groomer Has It (nope, I've never heard of it either), and Jonathan Fable, who won $10,000 (£6,100) on the US version of Hole In The Wall.
This is Robert's first $795 (£487) weekend residential course, which he says focuses on: "Bringing out your inner potential and giving you the edge on the competition when you audition for a reality TV show."
Okaaaay. So far, all I've discovered is that I can't sing, but I've only been here two hours.
Like most people, I avidly watched Big Brother from day one and sneered from the safety of my sofa as the crazy antics unfolded: "How can people who have just met declare they're best friends? Do you really have to run to the diary room to bitch about your housemates?"
But as I soon find out, normal rules do not apply when you live your life on camera 24/7.
This course, held at the isolated Center For Energetic Healing in Simi Valley, California, has been designed to mimic life inside a BB house - the aim is to immerse us wannabes in reality TV-land. There are shared dorms, secret challenges and four camera crews roaming the grounds, all there to catch every moment - be it dull or explosive.
Before I even step out of my car, a camera is shoved in my face. I immediately feel uncomfortable, but strangely, after just a couple of hours, I start to forget they are there.
I was expecting my fellow classmates to be desperately fame-hungry, but during our first session, called Triumph And Tragedy, it becomes clear that although everyone has a story to tell, the craziness level is nowhere near as high as I thought it would be.
During the very honest introductions, a flood of personal information pours out. I share with my housemates that I've had spinal surgery (my tragedy) and that I've won a short film competition (my triumph).
Our group of 15 include a recovering anorexic, a recovering alcoholic, a police chief who'd seen his partner killed, a dad with an autistic son (who I had to make dance with me during my first secret challenge - sorry Pennel!), a single mum supporting three kids, and a businessman who had been adopted. Oddly, not everyone is desperate to feature in a reality show, but like many, they are intrigued by the potential of reality TV fame.
Later, we are shown the diary room where we are encouraged to
talk freely. I go in on the first evening and sit there like a lemon mumbling about how nice the grounds are. Not exactly riveting stuff.
After dinner, however, things kick off when one of the group, David, a 34-year-old New York computer consultant, has an argument with Ian, 25, a singer from Florida and probably the most fame-hungry of us all. "If the universe wants me to be a celebrity, that will happen!" Ian trills.
I'm not sure exactly what is said, but there's a screaming row and every cameraman comes running. I watch from afar until Robert the director steps in to calm Ian down. It is hilarious to see how quickly the cameras pounce on a dramatic moment.
The next morning at our 8.30am physical fitness session (star jumps on camera - wobbly bits for all to see) we are told that three people are self-evicting after deciding 'it isn't for them'. Cue dramatic gasps and gossipy whispers and, of course, a queue for the diary room.
Interestingly, things gel better within the group once the three naysayers have gone.
Saturday is busy. We meet with US reality star Marcellas Reynolds, 42, who's been brought in to give us his words of wisdom after he got down to the final five of US Big Brother in 2002, and then hosted his own show, Shop Like A Star, for the Style Network.
"Think very carefully about going on a reality TV show," he warns. "Particularly about whether or not you want to lose your privacy." Gulp.
Later in the day, I start hanging out with Sigi, a 23-year-old actress from LA, and Renee, a 31-year-old cocktail mixer from New York.
Recovering alcoholic Renee reveals: "I'm an artist, but I'd be interested to see how far I could go on Big Brother."
Sigi, a recovering anorexic, is equally candid. "If I can put myself outside my comfort zone I know I'll discover new things about myself," she says. "That's how you become a better actor."
By now the cameras have become window dressing, so when it comes to Saturday night karaoke, I grab the microphone and blast out an off-key rendition of I Will Survive. And it may be the yummy cocktails that Renee's made (although she isn't drinking), but we end up declaring we were each other's BFFs.
It seems bonkers but I now have a better understanding of why people on these shows form such close bonds - if you go from 0-80mph in a pressure-cooker environment, it's going to speed up friendships. So hugs-a-go-go!
The next day kicks off again with physical fitness, but I get upset that three of the group hasn't bothered to get out of bed in time. In fact, I'm so annoyed I go to the diary room to have a rant. In two days, I've become a reality-TV cliché - moaning in private but hugging in public.
After a session where we have to tell two truths and a lie to see if we've been listening to our classmates closely enough to root out the fib, it's time for graduation.
We whoop with joy as we receive our certificates. We've graduated from New York Reality TV School 'with all the rights and privileges thereto pertaining'. (No, I haven't figured out what it means, either!)
Before I leave, I speak to Woody, a 57-year-old dairy farmer from Michigan who has applied many times to be on Survivor, a Robinson Crusoe-style show where teams of wannabes are left to live on a desert island.
Having completed the course, he's convinced his chances of getting picked next time have increased.
"I've sent off a lot of tapes, but now I can be more specific as to what will make me a great contestant," he says.
I glance across at course guru, Robert, who is beaming with pride.
Wannabe Woody gets some tips from guru Robert
"What I have tried to create here is a learning experience that can get difficult sometimes but with room for the 'students' to grow - and I think we achieve that," he tells me with satisfaction.
After one of the most surreal experiences of my life, I still have no ambition to go on a reality TV show but, worryingly, when I wake up at home the next morning, the first thing I look for is a camera. New habits die hard!"And then it's time to leave. The hugs seem to last for hours and we all swap business cards, promising to request each other as friends on Facebook, and vow we will stay in touch.
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