I woke up after the Brits and was watching Perez Hilton on This Morning with Eamonn and Ruth, always a disappointment when it's not Fern, anyway I was watching Perez Hilton prattle on about how everyone was having kittens because Amy Winehouse hadn't shown up for a rehearsal and that she was drunk and madder than a box of frogs. And none of it was true. None of it.

Amy was there, very together, and she stuck her tongue out at me. She seems to do that a lot these days but I still felt privileged. That's the kind of fun stuff that happens at the Brits. That and being in a dressing room sandwiched between Kylie Minogue and Paul McCartney.

It's not like a festival where it's all muddy and your highlight is spotting the bass player from some indie band. You get to spy people like David Tennant and proper celebs, such as Simon Pegg. He told me that he'd just been filming the new Star Trek - he's Scottie, for gawd's sake. You don't get that kind of chat by a portaloo in a boggy field.

It's an early start, well we got there at eleven. You have to arrive already dolled up, so you miss out on all that getting dressed to go out bit, and feel like a bit of a tit standing by the tea urn, but it's not exactly breaking rocks in the sun, as hardships go. It always makes me laugh when I see the incredibly elaborate grooming parlours backstage, sponsored by some make-up company. What pop star is going to come to the Brits and say: “Ooh, I'll just get my hair done when I'm there.” It's only ever hangers-on in places like that. You don't see Kylie having a hand massage.

Being backstage at the Brits is a lot more fun than you might think. It's not the “backstage” bit that you see on TV, with someone like Denise Van Outen or Fearne Cotton surrounded by a lot of drapery, it's a lot more normal. It's still glamorous though. There's dolled-up dancers everywhere. Huge burly entourages of security. You know, showbiz! There is a bar but mainly you hang about in corridors. I did a lot of loitering with Mark Ronson. We were chatting about how I thought he would win. I guessed everyone's right this year.

I've no idea who came up with the idea to re-create the video for our stage show. It felt as if it went well. I was terrified that having all the skyscrapers rising up would be a bit Spinal Tap. A bit Stonehenge. But my mum rang to say she really liked it. Apparently my dad, who doesn't normally reveal much, had even commented on my suit. So it must have been a good suit.

I really enjoyed the actual performance. I was nervous, but who wouldn't be? I think people who don't get the jitters about being themselves in front of thousands of people are the odd ones out. It all went smoothly apart from when a toy helicopter crashed on stage. It was a good trick, too, to have our stage 6ft off the ground. When you were at the tables you couldn't see any of the other acts because they are in a pit for the cameras. This meant that halfway through the ceremony, everyone lost interest in the actual awards. No one had any idea that [presenter] Sharon Osbourne had told Vic Reeves that he was a bastard. We were just milling about. In that sense, it's a real party. It's still got one foot in rock'n'roll. Which is important.

After we did our performance, we came back and loads of people were at our table, standing on our chairs. It didn't matter. It's not a wedding.No one was hurrying us back to our table either. They weren't bothered where we were, a clear signal we hadn't won anything.

I had the Klaxons and Take That to talk to anyway. Mark Owen was telling me and my girlfriend how wonderful it was having children and that I should have kids. I kept trying to hush him up. They are great, real pros - though I would not have imagined 15 years ago that I'd be losing out on a Brit to Take That. Ridiculous. My highlight and, on reflection lowlight, was playing a song on the ukulele to Paul McCartney. I was a bit drunk and over excited. I don't think he enjoyed it. He was riding out the storm.

After the ceremony we held a secret after-party. We hired out the Notting Hill Arts Club with Mark Ronson. It sounds boring but it was great because it wasn't that crowded, people weren't always looking over your shoulder for someone more famous. It was like going to the pub with friends, except that James Blunt was there. I'd picked Blunt up at a Universal party earlier. He's a nice guy, I mean of course he's not going to be bastard to me. We had a car; he was bored. So he jumped in. Not being a lady, I didn't feel the famous magnetism but you could see it happening. Everyone loves a guy with a pilot's licence don't they?

I get angry now when I see bands acting like they don't care about the Brits. I just think of all the bands that would love to be asked. Everyone wants to go. It's the biggest and best awards ceremony - our Oscars - and I'm so glad that it's music, so we are invited. I'm even more glad that we're relevant enough to be asked to perform. And be nominated, even if we were robbed.

As told to Phoebe Greenwood

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