Waiting outside room 3077, two women come out and one tells me that the band want five minutes rest. As she shuts the door I see Tom Kaulitz walk into another room He’s so tall in real life! I turn around as the door closes; my mouth drops open and a burst of nervous girlish giggles break out. The journalist glances at the closed door, and confides in me:

“It’s a bit intimidating; there are so many people in there.”

Without much explanation she struts off down the corridor, leaving me contemplating scary thoughts. “Suppose they’re snobbish and hard to talk to?” I wonder.

A murmur of German and raucous laughter escapes the walls as the people within the room shout and call each other. I’m invited into the room by the same woman that shut me out, and gaze around eagerly, seeking out Tokio Hotel. Spotting them I walk into the room in what I think is a sophisticated, “Do you think I’m bothered?” mode. I’m amazed at how small and plain the room is; although on second thoughts perhaps that’s because there are twelve people crammed into this unpleasant Travelodge-style room.

I totter towards Tokio Hotel; uttering my name and where I’m from in barely more than a whisper. Bill Kaulitz immediately – as if sensing the bombs going off in my chest – puts me at ease by getting up to shake my hand (the others remain lounging around in their chairs). Over by the table, next to Georg, there’s a tray full of around 8 glass coke bottles. Have they been shut in this room all day?

As I take my seat next to the woman from the record label, a camera and Dictaphone are placed in front of me.

“It’s okay, the lens cap is on,” as voice from behind me says. It makes me calmer, and I take a deep breath and begin.

The first words from my mouth – straight from the script – sound robotic and unnatural. The woman next to me urges me to talk slower. Thankfully the boys understand my question and answer at length. Comforted by their enthusiasm I lean forward in my chair and prepare for my next question.

What the boys can’t understand they ask the translator. She also translates what the boys are saying to me. Coming to my fourth question, I ask TH how they are coping with singing and giving interviews in English. I lean backwards and prepare for another detailed description from Bill, when Tom interrupts with his first spoken English sentence, which summarises:

“Our English teacher was bad!”

Any other tension or strain disappeared as I (and all the other twelve in the room) burst into hearty fits of laughter.

I now begin to regard my script as a friendly conversation instead of a question and answer session – adding my own dialogue and treating the boys as old friends. An answer from Gustav in German makes perfect sense to me, so I tell the translator that she needn’t translate that part for me. Eyebrows are raised in the room – with many of them thinking,

“She can understand German and HTML?!”

I smile shyly back and look forward to telling my German teacher the good news!

I touch down on a sensitive, but necessary topic. “Are you single?” I ask coyly. Bill launches into a speech on how, sadly, they have no time for girlfriends, but one day would like to find true love. His comment at the end makes me burst into another fit of girlish giggles – Tom manages to find different girls for all the different countries he goes to! Once my giggle have subsided I look at Tom for confirmation – he gazes back embarrassed and shakes his dreadlocked head with a boyish grin.

 Glancing down at my watch I realise that most of my time has run out. I quickly announce that I’m going to move on to the fans questions. The woman beside me looks devastated – have I just ruined her evening schedule?! One question particularly stands out on the page and so I ask Tokio Hotel:

 “Are you religious?” I bet you didn’t know that Gustav was baptized Protestant?!

It dawns on me that I can’t spend my evening (or life, unfortunately) with the boys. I wrap up my session briskly, to the relief of the woman next to me, and timidly ask for a picture with them. My sister leaps in too, unable to resist the chance for five minute fame; with Bill’s hand resting on her shoulder a content grin spreads over her face. What’s the German word for “Cheese!? We all holler “Käse!” at the camera and laugh like best friends.

It occurs to me that this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience; who cares about that woman’s schedule? I jump out of our photo pose and grab some photos and a fine-line marker.

“Will you sign these for me?” I blush – how many of their interviewers have asked for their autograph?! Bill asks my name – he’s the only one that does – and tries to sign the photo with my unreliable pen. The bodyguard rushes over with a fat marker-pen and asks him to use that.

“It might rub off on laminate,” I remind him. He stares stonily back and replies,

“It never rubs off.” I look away, unable to think of what to reply. “Uh, okay” I falter.

Bill finishes his signature with a flourish and hands the pictures on to Tom. He saunters off to the sofa and kneels on it; as if preparing to jump. Curiously I stare at him; surely his own words, “Spring Nicht”, told him not to jump? Didn’t “Leb’ die Sekunde” tell him to seize the day, not the window ledge? He reached out beyond the curtains and opened the window. Pulling the curtains aside he gazed out interestedly into the street below.

“Bill, do you like London?” I ask him, as Georg hands me the last of the photos. “Yes,” he nods and grins. The translator interrupts this meaningful and heartfelt conversation by telling me how TH would like to do some more sightseeing here.

“Byeee!” I call cheerfully, wishing it wasn’t over and leaving the in Room 3077. The door closes. What a brilliant half hour. I trudge towards the lift and make my way home.