High art

Twenty-four hours before my time slot – 10am on 10 July – it nearly derails an interview with Tracy Chevalier, author of The Girl with the Pearl Earring.

We're in a club on Shaftesbury Avenue, ostensibly discussing her new novel, Remarkable Creatures, but she keeps returning to the plinth, and when we finish she frog-marches me round to Trafalgar Square. "You have to go see it before tomorrow morning," she wisely counsels, "otherwise you'll be too nervous."

I've been obsessed with the live stream on www.oneandother.co.uk since it began at 9am on 6 July. It cleared up a few misconceptions. For instance, when Anthony Gormley described the project, saying participants could only bring what they were capable of carrying on and off, I pictured backpacks and ladders.

I also had the barmy notion that I'd be able to see for miles. Clearly I'd confused the fourth plinth with Nelson's Column, despite having made innumerable trips to Trafalgar Square since first visiting London when I was 13.

Gormley's project came at a critical time. I was flush with success after shedding a few stone, feeling full of beans and keenly aware that in October I turn 50. I felt that this milestone year ought to contain a monumental something. How great to be able to crow that in my 50th year I became a work of art!

My initial reaction was that an hour on the plinth would afford time for mediation, and an amazing vantage point from which to watch others. Much later I realised that people would be looking at me, and near enough to notice, since the configuration of the square means the distance from ground to plinth at its rear isn't that far.

I read about others' elaborate plans and panicked. When Chevalier and I rounded the corner we found a gorilla-suited plinthee flinging bananas. There'd been a dancing lady – who found her band busking on South Bank only hours before her slot. A bassoon player captured my interest, as did the person at 4am who pitched a tent, climbed inside, and wasn't seen again for 60 minutes.

My favourites did nothing at all. The first I spotted was a Welsh chap who planted his flag and stood, facing north, south, east, and west, in the due course of time. Phew! I won't be the only one. Though after Chevalier left, I nipped into the National Gallery and found a tiny blue badge bearing the word "Art", to affix to my coat. That pretty much sums it up, I reckoned.

I don't know if anyone appreciates how much courage this took. In this age of reality television it seems perfectly normal to make a spectacle of yourself. But I'm not of that generation. Surely it's enough to exist, I thought, reasoning that this was part of an ongoing effort to convince myself that I'm pretty damn fabulous just as I am.

In other words, this was a big, freaking deal for me. I nearly rejected my place. I'm glad I didn't. I decided: if it's horrible, it's only an hour out of your life. If it's wonderful, you'll have it all the rest of your life.

Arriving early I signed releases and answered questions. Is there anything you're afraid of, asked the helpful young team? Hell yes! Fainting, vomiting and falling, I replied honestly and instantly.

All too soon you're wheeled at a sedate pace on and off the plinth via a mechanical device that made me look, according to a friend, like Marie Antoinette in the tumbrel.

Once ensconced, I acclimatised quickly. I set up my folding chair and then stood, looking out in every direction. I felt cocooned by the ring of buildings that make Trafalgar Square more nest than open space.

It was the most glorious of days – the gods smiled upon me. I stood under the bluest sky, with great cotton-puff clouds that, thankfully, kept scudding past the sun.

Yes, people stared. Some shouted – the worst was a tour-bus yob who screeched, "DO something." I ignored him and stood, imposing and majestic. I felt blissfully alone and wonderfully amazed – at myself, at the beautiful day, at the remarkable experience I was sharing with just 2,399 other human beings. I couldn't have been calmer. I never wanted to leave.

VIEW FROM THE TOP

LEE Randall wasn't the only Scottish participant that first week. Some of the others told her what they thought of their experience.

Bill Coles, from Edinburgh, went on at 4pm on the 9th, dressed as Lord Lucan to promote publication of his novel Lord Lucan: My Story.

"I remember feeling that I'd been on there for quite a long time and then I saw that it had been 15 minutes. I had placards: 'I'm Lord Lucan, Arrest Me', and 'Lord Lucan Plinth of Darkness', so people could see I'd come out for first time in 35 years in very public place. Then suddenly along comes this model wearing a very small white bikini with a huge pair of balloons done up to look like breasts. I'm trying to look statue-like, and she's cavorting around my plinth! My friends thought I'd arranged it as a stunt."

William Windram, from the Borders, had a slot at midnight on the 9th.

"Because it was dark I couldn't see how far away the ground was. I was representing the Penguin Book Collectors' Society and took a Penguin deckchair and read an old Penguin detective story, The ABC Murders, by Agatha Christie. But the plinth's not very wide, so stepping around my chair was difficult and the hour seemed a very long time.

"I was surprised to discover that people watched it all over the world – I had messages from total strangers in New Mexico and Vienna. People who do know me now feel engaged with the process themselves, and even if it's not high art, what's interesting is the phenomenon of people debating, 'What is art?'

"One friend said it's totally absurd, why would you want to do it? I said I wanted to be part of this big project, this reflection of contemporary life in Britain. Another friend said, William in 20 years PhD students will be coming to interview you."

Scott Sutherland, from Edinburgh, had 7am on the 10th.

"I wore my kilt. I started off thinking, why am I doing this, and by the end of the hour I didn't want to come down. A few passers-by asked, 'What's under your kilt?' Typical English comment to a Scotsman. I told them it was classified information. I was glad it wasn't too windy. The best bit was in the second half, as I became comfortable. I realised that I was still enjoying it and still had half an hour left. It's once in a lifetime – I'm never going to be here again. It's quite a privilege."

Gay Hickey, from Edinburgh, works for Relationships Scotland, and was on at 1am on the 11th.

"One thing I missed was being able to take the square in (visually]. But I did find the enormity of the occasion threw me. I wasn't expecting to be so moved. I went up with big bunch of helium balloons with labels indicating things that had made me who I am. But vertigo kicked in, so instead of setting them off every few minutes I let them all off.

"My legs went to jelly. I preferred the bit where I just was. I had a big red cloak with a huge hood and for some periods I put it right over my face to be a red shape.

"How often would you get this kind of chance? I'm 63. I probably wouldn't have had the confidence to do it 20 years ago. It grew out of my awareness that women of certain age get kind of invisible. I swithered about whether or not to do it: I wasn't sure if I had enough to give. But regret of not doing it would have lasted longer!"

Neil Scott, a learning support assistant from Perthshire, had 7am on the 9th.

"I took drawing materials as it was too good an opportunity to miss, sketching from such a unique vantage point. I'd planned to hand out drawings to spectators, but there weren't that many. and the one person I tried to pass to, it got caught in the net.

"It turned out to be really beautiful morning. I forgot about the cameras and the whole public exposure and got really into drawing. It felt relaxing, which I didn't expect. I could have stayed all day and missed it when I was coming down. Up above the level of the pavement you feel in a different realm."

Morven McAlister, an art student from Paisley, was on at 7pm on the 11th.

"I studied make-up artistry so I aged myself. On a board I wrote 'Thanks for watching me grow older,' to make a point about how I'd gotten older even in that hour, and how time passes. I feel quite confident now, it was a good boost. It's a wee story to tell and I've been showing my friends the footage. People were watching live and texting me, being encouraging. It's one of those things that teaches you to do things that scare you because you'll get something good out of it."

NB: You can still apply to take part in the project. Two more draws will be held, on 1 August for spots in September, and 1 September for spots in October. Visit www.oneandother.co.uk/competitors/new. As of this writing, there are 101 spots remaining to be won by Scottish participants, for appearances in September and October.