How to Get Ahead in Television (10 page)

‘Sorry, no, not excellent for you. I mean, I can tell my mum that, and it might put her off banking as a career for me.'

Ian laughed.

We chatted well into the evening and I ended up confiding in Ian about the runner placement and the fact that I was in competition with Rhidian for one job. I told him about the chart in the post room, and that if it was anything to go by, I wasn't on course to win.

‘Okay, well let's think about this sensibly,' said Ian, in a way that reminded me of my father. ‘What do people value in a runner?'

I looked at him blankly.

‘What skills do you think people admire in a runner?' Ian tried again. ‘For example, in corporate banking you need to know about numbers, how to put them together to assess an investment's viability and the necessary return for the risks, plus, of course, you need to be able to leave your soul at the door.' He laughed. ‘Seriously, though, what does a good runner look like? Who would you employ?'

I thought about his question for a minute.

‘Well, I guess you need to be helpful?' I offered. ‘Good at getting on with things you're asked to do. Being smiley probably helps. Rhidian has this ability to instantly become best friend with everyone… Um, thinking up good ideas?'

‘Okay, so that's the job description. Now, what would you say your strong points were?' Ian asked, embracing his new role as careers adviser.

‘Well, I guess I'm generally quite friendly. Though I'm probably not as good at just bounding up to talk to people as Rhidian is.'

‘Okay, what else? Not the stuff Rhidian does, the stuff
you
can do.'

‘Well, I guess I wanted to work in TV because I like the creative side of it, coming up with ideas. People don't really need runners to have ideas though, they just need someone to make their ideas happen.'

‘Oh, I don't think that's necessarily true, Poppy. Ideas people like people with ideas: they make their ideas better.' Ian stopped me from filling his glass with more wine. ‘No more for me, thanks. I'm not supposed to drink too much with the medication I'm on.'

I drained the rest of the bottle into my own glass.

‘So I need to play to my strengths?' I said, taking a large slug of wine and feeling a new sense of motivation warm my throat.

‘Yes. You need to show people that you aren't just a runner. Anyone can do the photocopying; you need to show them you can go to the next level.'

‘A researcher.'

‘Exactly. Why show them you can be a good runner when you could show them what an excellent researcher you would be?'

‘Wow, you're good at this,' I said, sitting back and nodding at Ian.

I was surprised by what good company Ian was. He was nothing like the boring banker I'd assumed he'd be. His pep talk gave me the confidence to tell him about a couple of TV show ideas I'd thought of.

‘Okay, so I do have this one idea called “Playground Politics”, where politicians have to go back to school, but like primary school…'

‘Poppy, don't ask me about ideas.' Ian held up his hands in supplication. ‘I couldn't tell you what was a good idea and what wasn't. I'm a banker, remember.'

‘Or, or…' I was really excited now. ‘I did have this quiz show idea where you win your opponents' wages.'

‘What about your opponents' bonus?' Ian suggested.

‘Most people don't get bonuses.'

‘Okay, so maybe you just have bankers.'

‘No one likes bankers.'

‘Harsh.'

‘Sorry… Okay, or… or you have normal contestants, but the winner has to pick someone in the audience, and they'll win that person's bonus.'

‘So a few of them are bankers on loads of cash and the rest aren't. It's like “spot the banker”?'

‘You could call it “Bank My Bonus”.'

‘It's very topical,' said Ian, taking the glass out of my hand, which I had sloshed through the air in excitement.

‘We're a great team, Ian,' I slurred. ‘I'm going to write this down on a napkin… in case I forget it tomorrow.'

STEP 19 – DON'T LOG-IN, READ OR REPLY TO WORK EMAILS AFTER 10 P.M. (OR FIVE GLASSES OF WINE)

TO
:

FROM
: <
[email protected]
>

SUBJECT
: Our hero

Dear all,

I'm sure everyone's seen the clip by now (er, bloopers reel, anyone??!) but, and I know I'm embarrassing him now (sorry, Rhid!), but I just wanted everyone to know what an absolute HERO Rhidian Drummond was last week on set. As you know, filming
Can Your Dog Do Your Job?
presents a lot of its own unique challenges (er, getting that husky steering a submarine in series four, anyone??!) BUT it's sometimes the smaller things that can unexpectedly throw a shoot off course – dog, water and a pack of breeding swans in this case!

The way Rhidian leapt to little Horace's rescue was an inspiration to us all. We could all learn a lot from that kind of commitment to production.

Well done, Rhidian. (Or should I say, ‘Obi-Swan Kenobi' as I hear the runners have christened him, ha ha!)

Yours

Viv Reid

Series Producer

Can Your Dog Do Your Job?
Series 8

Because a real workforce makes real TV!

TO
:

FROM
: <
[email protected]
>

SUBJECT
: RE: Our hero

Well done, Rhidian – keep up the good work.

Jack Chamberlain

CEO

Because a real workforce makes real TV!

TO
:

FROM
: <
[email protected]
>

SUBJECT
: RE: Our hero

THAT WAS MY JOKE!!!

© Poppy!!!

STEP 20 – BE READY TO IMPROVISE

‘L
AST NIGHT MUST
have gone well!' Mel purred as I came into work the next morning.

‘What?'

She pointed to a beautiful bunch of red roses sitting on reception.

‘Those are for you. Your boyfriend Stephen Hawking is quite the romantic.'

I picked up the card, confused as to how Ian could have construed any kind of romantic vibe from last night. The card read:
I hope this helps with the Caramac situation at the office. Ian
.

I smiled. I didn't really want Mel thinking I was dating Ian, but the sentiment was very sweet. Actually, why should I care if Mel thought I was dating Ian? Stupid Mel and her stupid Stephen Hawking joke.

I looked up to see Rhidian and JR both arriving in reception.

‘All right, Penfold, you can swoon over your boyfriend's flowers another time, we've got work to do,' said JR, clicking his fingers at me to follow him into the lift.

I grabbed the flowers and scuttled after him, secretly pleased that he thought I'd been sent flowers by a real boyfriend rather than a fictional one. Even the fact that he thought I was the kind of girl boys might send flowers to felt like a compliment.

‘Did you watch
Newsnight
last night, Penfold?' JR asked as we stood in the lift.

‘Er, not last night, no.'

Damn it. The one night I wasn't in.

‘Interesting piece on Afghanistan. I think we should update our round on the latest situation, make it a “2010–Present Day” category.'

‘Good idea.'

We stood in silence for a minute.

‘So what were you up to if you weren't keeping up with current affairs, Dangermouse? Apart from sending incredibly large-font all-company emails. Gallivanting around with boys?'

I cringed. ‘Not really gallivanting…'

‘You've got to keep focused, Penfold. I've spotted potential in you; don't disappoint me.'

We arrived on the fourth floor and I quickly stowed the flowers beneath the desk I'd temporarily been assigned. I didn't want to deal with any awkward questions from the others. My heart was pounding in my chest as I sat down. I felt mortified that JR thought me unfocused.

Alan, the researcher from
Last Clan Standing
, had joined our little team, so now there were four of us working on the show – JR, Jude, Alan and I. Reading between the lines, the stress of being constantly shouted at on
Last Clan Standing
had been too much for Alan, so he'd been transferred to something a little more office-based.

‘Right, team, we're filming the run-through in the BBC newsroom today. Are we all set? Alan, questions? Jude, contestants turning up?' JR asked.

Alan and Jude confirmed everything was set for the run-through. It had been decided the show's location needed to reflect it's highbrow content, so rather than being set in a quiz studio, we'd be shooting the pilot in an actual newsroom. It hadn't been done before, and the channel were excited by the ‘fresh new setting' idea. The only caveat to this plan was that we had to fit filming around the
actual
news, which needed to be broadcast throughout the day. I
wasn't sure how this would work, but JR no doubt had it all worked out.

‘Poppy, can I see those questions you wrote yesterday?' JR asked.

I handed him the neatly printed cards with the questions on Cuban politics. I waited nervously as he scanned them.

‘And you've triple-checked the answers from multiple sources?'

‘Yes.'

‘Very good, Poppy. We'll use these in the opening round today.'

JR handed the cards back to me. I reached up to take them but, instead of letting them go, he kept a tight hold on the cards. It forced me to look up at him, to see why he wasn't letting go. Our eyes locked and he just looked at me, our hands both on the cards. I didn't know how to respond. The look he was giving me, I couldn't quite work it out: a challenging look, a look of approval, but something else as well, something that made me blush. I quickly let go and looked away. He stood there for a moment, celebrating some minor victory, then gently tossed the cards back onto my desk as he walked away.

We spent the morning getting organized and boxing up what we needed for the run-through. After lunch we piled into a people carrier and headed across London to the news studio.

‘I'm going to be pretty busy dealing with the contestants, so are you two okay to set up for studio?' Jude asked Alan and me.

‘Sure, no problem,' I said.

At the news studio, a very serious-looking man called Leonard greeted us and escorted us through security. Leonard had a grey comb-over and wore a thick pin-striped suit. We walked across the news floor with our boxes and a hushed silence descended. The reporters turned to look at us as though we were some strange species they hadn't encountered before.

‘You'll be in here,' Leonard said, opening the door to a broom-cupboard-sized room covered in clutter and dirt.

‘I was told we'd have a proper production office to work from,' said JR irritably.

‘We don't really have “production rooms”.' Leonard shrugged. ‘The news isn't really a “production”.' Leonard made a little ‘jazz hands' gesture to illustrate his point.

‘I see,' said JR, putting down the box he was carrying.

‘Anything you need…' Leonard said, but he'd already turned his back on us.

‘What was all that about?' I whispered to JR.

‘Nothing. They're old school in News; they don't like change. Do what you can in here, I'm going to find Magnus.'

Alan and I did what we could to tidy the place up, but the room was ill-equipped.

‘There isn't even a power socket in here!' Alan moaned.

I walked out to the open-plan newsroom to ask someone for help. Initiative – that's what this situation required.

‘Excuse me,' I said to a girl my age, ‘we're trying to set up for this quiz, and we don't have a power socket in there. Do you know where we—'

‘Busy!' she said, holding up a finger, then pointing to her screen. I turned to the man sitting next to her but he shook his head.

‘I don't think we're popular here,' I whispered to Alan, looking around the room and sensing a lot of negativity aimed in our direction.

‘But we only have thirty minutes until the studio's free! I need to print the changes JR made in the car,' whined Alan.

Looking around the news floor, I found a plug socket behind one of the news team's desks. I carried the printer out of our broom cupboard and plugged it in. Sitting down on the floor, I set to work, quickly making the changes JR had asked for. Just as I was about to finish, I felt a tug on my ankle. I turned to see Leonard flying across the floor, landing in a sprawled heap next to my leg.

‘What the hell!' Leonard bellowed. ‘What are you doing there, tripping everyone up? I knew this quiz would spell no end of trouble.'

People were looking at us now. Another man with glasses and slicked-back hair joined in the attack.

‘RealiTV in a newsroom – what has the world come to?'

‘I said over my dead body they turn this newsroom into a charade,' Leonard growled.

‘There wasn't a plug socket in that room,' I tried to explain, though I feared this hostility ran a little deeper than me using one of their plug sockets.

‘My father would roll in his grave if he knew they were letting you make reality television in the newsroom. The
newsroom
, for God's sake. Is nothing sacred?' said the man with the slicked-back hair.

‘Well, it's not actually a reality show, it's a topical quiz,' I muttered, looking for Alan to back me up, but he'd scuttled away.

‘What's happening here?' JR pushed through the clutch of people standing over me.

‘“No trouble”, you said,' Leonard snarled at JR. ‘“Wouldn't get in the way”, you said.'

‘Poppy, what's happened?' JR asked me.

‘There wasn't a socket in there.' I pointed to our tiny cupboard. JR held out a hand to help me up.

‘Call off the dogs, Leonard,' JR said. ‘I won't have them shouting at my team. We're all just trying to do our jobs here. Let's be professional, shall we?'

JR stared down the braying mob until, one by one, they sloped back to their desks.

‘I'm sorry, Poppy,' he said to me. ‘It's a bit political us being here.' JR put his hand on the base of my back as he guided me back to our little room. ‘Don't take it personally.'

‘It's okay.'

‘You get what you need?'

‘No, I hadn't managed to print the changes yet.'

‘Give me five minutes.'

JR headed over to Leonard's desk and called him into one of the clear-glass meeting rooms. The way JR was gesticulating, it looked as though stern words were being exchanged. After about five minutes, Leonard emerged, his face a rather unusual shade of crimson, and escorted Alan and I into a meeting room, fully equipped with power sockets galore.

‘You can work in here,' said Leonard. ‘I'm sorry for the confusion about the rooms.'

If I'd been in awe of JR as a producer before, he'd now attained superhero levels of admiration.

We were finally organized with everything we needed: upto-date scripts, eager contestants, Magnus Jerome and Magnus Jerome's intimidatingly bushy eyebrows. As soon as the two o'clock news wrapped, we could move into the news studio and begin filming.

‘I won't be able to read those,' Magnus said to me as I handed him the question cards to look over. ‘They need to be printed in Arial; I can only read Arial font.'

With only ten minutes to go, I sprinted back to the office to reprint the cards, but as I ran through the newsroom to get there, people at the far end of the room waved frantically at me to stop. I looked around, trying to see what the problem was. They hit their hands against their heads, astounded at my idiocy. I shrugged my shoulders in an overblown gesture of incomprehension.

‘What?' I asked, utterly confused.

A news reporter sitting nearby grabbed my arm and hissed, ‘You can't walk through the newsroom when the news is transmitting, you moron.'

I looked up in horror. The whole news floor served as a backdrop to the two o'clock news, and I'd just bounded through shot during transmission. Panicking about what to do, I slowly slunk to the floor and began crawling across the carpet, attempting to get out of shot, unnoticed, by keeping below desk level. Watching this back later, it was the worst thing I could have
done – it only served to draw more attention to me. I'd also failed to duck low enough, so as I crawled across the floor, my bottom could be seen bobbing its way across the room like a floating tortoise, swimming its way to safety.

I popped up the other side of the news floor, only to come eyeball to eyeball with Leonard.

‘You do not walk across the newsroom when we are transmitting,' he said through clenched teeth.

‘I'm sorry, I didn't know,' I said.

I really think people should tell you these things when you arrive if they are so important.