Running and more running

I got into Epping about half seven tonight, and my honorary aunt, my mum's best friend, picked me up. On the way back, she said something about a change in plans such that expected relatives are no longer expected, and so "you can sleep in your own bed as usual."

I may still be far from both places I call home, but there's something delightful about being in a house where they refer to "Iona's bed." Once again, I am wonderfully, wonderfully relaxed. And this is in no small part due to the fact I spent an entire day as a BBC runner, and survived, didn't fuck things up and surprisingly, even had fun. I really did. I had a late start, and walked down to the Tube at ten am singing quietly along to my iPod, and got to Waterloo half an hour early, which gave me plenty of time to scout the place out, find a place to get taxis, and even have breakfast, of a sort. And also, make a sign saying "BBC" in big letters, because I am a dork. And I panicked a little bit, but held my sign and waved womanfully and thus managed to retrieve all six people I was meant to meet, get them loaded into taxis, get myself loaded into said taxis, ring base to say I'd got them all, and sink into my seat for a quiet ride across to Putney.

(One of the elderly men I'd been sent to pick up - his name was Dennis - asked, "How long have you been working for the BBC?"

"Five days," I said sadly.

"Be careful," he told me. "I ended up sticking around for thirty-four years.")

Where we ran into problems, as the taxi driver was having fits about being filmed - in vain did I try to convince him he wouldn't be filmed without his permission - but all in all, the morning was a success, and I led my group into the studio and even managed to remember to duck out of shot.

The place we went to today was a studio set aside for rehearsal, and it was surprisingly pretty, with plants and wickerwork everywhere, and low, recording-studio ceilings. My jobs included fetching and carrying, doling out tea and coffee, checking on the health of all our contributors, and generally keeping my eyes open for stuff that needed doing. And it was fun. No, it really was. Dennis, the retired BBC producer, seemed interested in me, and asked me a few questions about how I'd ended up being a runner, and I told him the story; he gave me a few bits of advice for a future career in journalistic media, and generally I just liked talking to him, as I did with all our contributors. They had all come from all over the country, and some had never been to London before, and were delighted by the production team's hospitality and general desire to make everything go well. (Actually, I was impressed; the organisation was very good, with only a few slight hiccups.)

And I even made friends with the other runners, one in particular, who seemed surprised to hear that I'd been put on this location stunt - this one is special, for reasons that will be clear eventually; even for BBC Current Affairs, this project is exciting^[1] - seeing as how I'm a work placement who didn't know what a runner was until yesterday. Which is not to say I did a bad job - it seems the idea of being a runner is expending all your intelligence on making things go smoothly, which is okay as long as you have a vague idea what's going on and try very hard, as I was doing with limited success, not to panic - but still, surprising. And in the middle of the afternoon the coordinator sidled up to us both, slipped me some money and said to get four litres of water, four pints of milk, four packets of biscuits, lots of teabags, eight rolls of toilet paper and a packet of cigarettes. (And if you can't guess, from that list, what all our contributors had in common, then shame on you.) We ambled around Putney for a while until we discovered the Sainsbury's on the high street, and it's only now that I've found out that this was the Sainsbury's balthaser works in, and that she was there when I was!

(Yes, apparently I meet old friends everywhere I go, even when buying toilet paper for the BBC.)

The slight hiccup in organisation involved the unexpected arrival of sixteen taxis, but that was sorted out, and I was so tired on the way home that I got lost on the way to the Tube station and ended up sat on a rainy street corner looking through my fourteen-page-schedule for a map. Following which I fell asleep on a District Line train - which I don't like, in general; they're like New York subway trains, i.e, too big and clanky - and then on a Central Line train, and thankfully Epping is the last stop and so I couldn't sleep through it. I am exhausted. Runners run. I ran across stations, studios, supermarkets, streets, subway trains, and many other things that do not begin with S. I made tea and coffee, I rang up taxi firms, I talked down panicked people and I was very nearly witness to a hit-and-run accident. (Seriously. A coach came within an inch of knocking down one of the contributors, and I was with the runner whom I'd made friends with and we both just jerked forwards and screamed. Bloody useless in a crisis, me.)

Tomorrow I'm just as busy. In the morning I need to go to Chiswick Park to see shipperkitten, I need to go to the real - not rehearsal! - location all afternoon in St John's Wood, and then I am spending my evening with Claire and Ben, probably eating ice-cream in Leicester Square. It sounds good, if I can only get some sleep first.

One thing I don't know if I've mentioned: tomorrow, the location is Abbey Road. I am unbelievably excited. I get to see Abbey Road Studios! And get people to take pictures of me on the zebra crossing!

Ah, I'll shut up. I need sleeeeeeeeep.

---

[1] I realise that I'm being exasperatingly vague here, but honestly, I dare not risk writing all this up in public online; I mean, I've told a few people in person what it is I'm doing, but just in case, you know? Especially as it's one of my own jobs to google the production team and various names and terms we're planning to claim as our own to see what's being said online about them.