Wrap

[raven]

So, this is the end. It's been a strange little three-week interlude, but as Claire said to me this evening, welcome to the next stage of the adventure.

But right now, at the moment of transition, I feel good. I arrived here actually two and a half weeks ago, and I wasn't scared, exactly; I was tiredly expecting to be spending a lot of time hiding in the toilets having anxiety, and counting the days before it was over, but doing it, because I'd regret not having it on my CV. And that is a stupid attitude to go into anything with, but I couldn't help it, that was what Hilary did to me. And I did, it's true, hide in the toilets a lot in the first couple of days, but, you know, I hide in the toilets whenever I start at a new job/educational establishment. I do it until I get used to the place.

And I got used to the place. I didn't have anxiety attacks, or at least not dissociated ones, and I got good at the job, and now I'm honestly sorry to be leaving. I've even slipped neatly into the nine-to-six lifestyle, into getting the Tube every day, into fitting myself into other people's schedules. And I spent hours and hours logging tapes until my brain nearly fell out - over a hundred hours of footage has to become one one-hour documentary - but I also saw Television Centre, walked right past David Tennant, saw a recording at Abbey Road, was patted on the head by various prominent former politicans and, most thrillingly of all, got to use [my name]@bbc.co.uk as my email address for a whole two weeks. It's been wonderful, and I'm so glad I got this opportunity.

Regarding the bit about former politicians - on Tuesday I heard the team were going off to interview MPs and begged to come along. This involved getting out of bed before six to present myself at half eight in front of the Department of Communities and Local Government, there to meet with Baroness Andrews, a Labour peer (and a syrupy-sweet, fake-as-all-get-out one at that). One of the old people who was contributing is called Winifred, and has moved care homes seventeen times. (All the old people in the band have some sort of issue - one hasn't left home in three years, another is so bored from lack of intellectual stimulation that his greatest pleasure is winding up Jehovah's Witnesses.) Anyway, to get her in, we gave her headphones and a boom and pretended our sound recordist just happened to be a hundred years old.

Following which we went to Westminster, to College Green, and I was set on politician-spotting duty. The thing is, most MPs aren't on television enough to be recognisable, and it's not as if I actually own a TV. (Yes, yes, I must have been the only person working in television who doesn't. I'm being investigated by the TV licensing people, if that counts.) So I ended up running up to people who looked vaguely familiar and saying, "Excuse me, [sir/madam], are you a Member of Parliament?"

And a surprising amount said yes. The first person we grabbed turned out to be Kenneth Clarke, who happily talked to Winifred on camera and didn't flinch when she stole his watch. The next one who came by was the Shadow Chancellor - whom I didn't know the name of, because who does? - who was also happy to talk to us. (His name is George Osbourne.)

The others were backbenchers. Martin Salter, MP for Reading, was insufferably rude, but two others, Bob Russell and Peter Bottomley, were terribly charming, spoke on camera, didn't mind having their watches stolen and both gave Winifred a kiss before departing.

(It bothers me that the people who went out of their way to make an old lady's day were all Conservatives and Lib Dems. My issues with the Labour Party have just got yet thornier.)

(No, she wasn't stealing their watches randomly. The point was to showcase the bizarre factoid that prisoners can appeal to the Human Rights Act if their conditions are sub-par, but the HRA doesn't apply to people in privately-owned care homes; consequently, Winifred was trying to get arrested.)

Just before we finished, someone tapped me on the shoulder and hissed, "Douglas Hurd!"

"What?" I said.

"In the striped suit! Run!" And, vainly, behind me as I started running, "Call him Lord Hurd!"

I drew to an undignified halt and breathlessly explained myself. He smiled at me, said, "I don't think so, dear," and patted me on the head before walking on.

Afterwards the rest of the team clambered into a van and went off to shoot elsewhere; I went back to White City on my own, through a ridiculously warm, bright, springlike day, and grinned to myself most of the way.

So I didn't really mind spending the rest of the week logging; I've probably had enough excitement for one week. I went out last night to have dinner with amchau, which was nice, and to get a birthday present for Mani, which I didn't manage until this morning. Today was my second-to-last day in work, and I've been told to leave my email address behind so I can be invited to the wrap party. Tomorrow I'm going back out to Hatfield Heath, spending the weekend frantically doing laundry and on Sunday morning I fly out from Heathrow.

London to New York. Next stage of the adventure...

Comments

[emily-shore.livejournal.com]

I'm surprised that Martin Salter was rude. I got to know him a bit during my Labour Club days, and he seemed like a really nice and really genuine guy. Ah well, shows how much I know.

Have a wonderful trip! Say hello to my native land for me...

[tau_sigma]

walked right past David Tennant I am OH SO insanely jealous. But ooh, go you. *g*

Also, chasing after Douglas Hurd. And and and generally everything that you have done: wow. I am too incoherant to manage much other than 'go, you!' but, well, well done. It sounds like you've had a great (and weel-deserved) three weeks. I hope the rest of your holiday is as good. :)

[calapine.livejournal.com]

Oh, I love Kenneth Clarke! Not his politics, for they are rotten, but he is quite good and shiny, I think.

And hurrah and such for your contribution to telly!

[hathy-col.livejournal.com]

And I did, it's true, hide in the toilets a lot in the first couple of days, but, you know, I hide in the toilets whenever I start at a new job/educational establishment. I do it until I get used to the place.

I do that too. It helps that, for the majority of my new jobs, I end up cleaning toilets and therefore have a legitimite reason to hide. Ahem.

Have fun in New York! ... send me a postcard? Pretty please?

[anotherusedpage.livejournal.com]

Hey babe sorry we didn't manage to meet up! Enjoy NY.

[gamesiplay.livejournal.com]

Heeeee! How excellent. I worked in DC most of the summers of my teenage life, and I never got to talk to politicians. You, clearly, are Special.

OMG PLEASE GET HERE SOON. I am so ready.

[thunderemerald.livejournal.com]

Heart on your music -- and also, welcome to NY! (Early, but still.)

[tmpe5t.livejournal.com]

Hurd was always a canute. I can never remember who the politicians are now there's no Spitting Image. I vote Libdem but i couldn't pick out leader-guy-what'sisname in a line up...

Thing with New labour, is they're all Boomers. And those who were young and groovy in Ver 60s were notoriously badly behaved towards their parents generation, despite them having saved the world from the Nazis*. Tone wants to be down wiv da kidz, he's like your mates trendy dad who rides a BMX to the pub. Fossils tend to vote either conservative (because of Traditional Values) or Libdem (because it's the nearest thing to the Left now). New labour Boomers are more likely to shove their ageing parents in a home, nick their house and then spend the proceeds on therapy where they whinge that they never had a pony...


*I have a bit of a Thing about this one TBH. Being a musician and a music freak i get really fed up with being told there was 'nothing before the beatles'. There was; they nicked all their ideas off of Cliff Richard & the Shadows, who nicked all their ideas off of Elvis, who nicked all his ideas off of pre-war blues & country singers. And in it's day, Glen Miller was as hardcore as punk rock - when his military band struck up "The American Patrol"** he was nearly court-martialled for 'playing blues on the parade ground'. Really.

**Which contains the root musical phrase used in the intro to 'Walk This Way' and 'Enter Sandman', believe it or not...

[ex-artbox613.livejournal.com]

saw a recording at Abbey Road,

Grrrr. I'm still green.

Patted you on the head? Patronising bastard.

Maybe they're used to pensioners committing various crimes around them for this very purpose ;-) Could be more turning a blind eye to avoid a difficult issue than benevolence on their part...

[foreverdirt.livejournal.com]

That sounds so cool -- I'm really glad you got to do awesome stuff as well as logging.

Enjoy New York! (And did I remember rightly that you're going to see tobiascharity? If so, give her a manly shoulder pat from me! And, hey, if not, you could always run up to random arty-looking women and shoulder pat them just in case.)

[pinkishmew.livejournal.com]

It says something that the thing I most wanted to say in response to this was, DOUGLAS HURD PATTED YOU ON THE HEAD?

That is surely the most obscure "I've met someone you've heard of" story ever, and I have to add - wow, patronising. Even though you insisted to artbox that it wasn't. Just.. how bizarre!

[pinkdormouse.livejournal.com]

Wow you get to have all the adventures at the moment.