Ian Briggs (pictured) hit the audition trail to see if he could get on the TV show Pop Idol and be the new Gareth Gates.

Manchester, Monday, 10am. A grey, gloomy day in the former cotton spinning capital. Not much to cheer about then as I parked my car in a multi-storey monstrosity. Well think again.

Opposite Victoria Station, outside New Centry House, a crowd of guys and girls are forming a snake-like queue, each wearing the latest designer fashions.

As the queue lengthens a team of casually dressed staff carrying cameras, microphones and notepads emerge from the building. A girl starts to sing and the cameras are on her like a flash as she belts out a tuneful chart number.

"What are you here for?" asks the man with the microphone after the one- minute cameo. "To impress the judges and become a star on Pop Idol," replies the teenage wannabe.

And that's why we're all here. To impress those judges by singing just a verse and a chorus of a track of our choice.

I am finally ushered into the building's reception where my identification is checked and I'm given a number - 7289. For today that's me. With around 10,000 people being auditioned around the country, the organisers have decided to identify people with figures instead of names for simplicity.

Then Dan, from the Pop Idol research team, addresses the trembling participants, telling us that, to be a Pop Idol, you need confidence, that special look, and, of course, an amazing voice. His next segment of news is a bit of a killer and brings groans from the crowd.

He explains that this is the very first audition stage and the panel of judges that everyone loved to hate on series one - Simon Cowell, Pete Waterman, Dr Fox and Nicki Chapman - aren't judging until the next round. Instead, because of the sheer volume of numbers, contestants are being split up and each will sing a solo in front of a panel of three music producers in one of four rooms.

And then my number is called. The room I have to perform in is huge, with a star painted on the floor in the middle and the three judges and a camera looking straight at me about ten yards away.

"Tell us your name and which song you're going to sing and then you can start," bellows the female judge.

After stuttering out my name and my chosen tune - ashamedly a Ronan Keating hit - I get going and after a few minor wobbles start to relax and belt out one of the Irish crooner's classics. As I finish my final note, still trembling but feeling pretty proud of myself, I get the feeling I may have a chance.

"Thanks for that," bellows the woman again. "But you won't be going onto the next stage."

"Oh, er, thanks," I manage to mumble as I make my way out of the room.

Oh well, I think as the grey skies descend again, there's always Pop Idol Three.