How to Get Ahead in Television Page 2

  ‘Now there’s a show it might be fun to work on, Poppy,’ Mum said. ‘Maybe you could try that? There’s an open audition in Exeter next week, you know?’

  ‘Mum, I don’t think that’s how it works. The audition is for people who want to be on the show, not people who want to work on it.’

  ‘No, but Louis Walsh would be there, so you could give him your CV. I’ll come with you, if you like? He seems awfully nice, such a cheerful chap.’

  ‘I think I’ll just see how this interview goes first, thanks all the same, Mum.’

  STEP 4 – DRESS FOR THE JOB YOU WANT

  I GOT THE train to London on one of the hottest days of the year. I’d opted to dress smartly on my father’s advice, in a pencil skirt, shirt and blazer. I’d blow-dried my hair and put make-up on, so was feeling more like my old self again, ready to tackle anything this interview could throw at me. By the time I’d navigated the torturously hot Tube to Tottenham Court Road, I was beginning to regret my outfit choice. I was sticky with sweat as I tottered in unfamiliar heels through the crowds on Oxford Street to the address in Soho Square.

  The RealiTV reception looked like a futuristic space station. There were white blobs of plastic everywhere. (I wasn’t sure if these were tables, chairs or works of art, so decided it was best not to sit down.) A line of television sets embedded into white blobs on the wall played various RealiTV shows on mute. I recognized Can Your Dog Do Your Job? and realized I’d already seen that episode – it was the one where a Labrador gets to be a nurse. The dog looked really cute all dressed up in scrubs. I wondered if Maddy could be persuaded to wear scrubs?

  ‘Can I help you?’

  A clipped voice pulled my attention from the TV screen. The receptionist, a platinum blonde with dark-rimmed glasses, cocked her head at me.

  ‘Yes, sorry, I’m a bit early; I’m here to see Dominic Green.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Poppy, Poppy Penfold, I’m here for an interview.’

  The girl flashed me an insincere smile. ‘Well, good luck with that. Take a seat.’

  The only possible chairs were the white blobby things, so I deduced they must be seats and perched carefully on the corner of the sturdiest-looking one.

  Several minutes went by and I realized my shirt was soaking with sweat, visibly so. In fact, I think it had started to turn see-through. People walking through reception were all wearing casual clothes; one man was even wearing board shorts and flip flops. Evidently I’d totally overdressed. Should I put my blazer back on and look like I’d come for an accountancy position, or risk Dominic noticing my shirt had gone see-through and that I was wearing a bra with penguins on it?

  ‘You can go through now,’ said the receptionist. ‘Back there on the right.’

  She pointed behind her without even looking up. I reluctantly tugged on my blazer, wiped my face with the back of my hand (which came away with an ominously colourful array of make-up on it) and followed her directions.

  Dominic Green’s office was the size of a ping-pong table. There was a small desk, behind which sat a short, balding man wearing a green polo shirt, his face positioned dangerously close to a small desk fan.

  ‘Have a seat,’ he said, without looking up.

  Where? There were no chairs in the office, only a very low pouffe, which looked more like a footstool. If I sat on that in this skirt, I would never get out of it. But no other options presented themselves so I balanced myself and peered up at Dominic like a small child.

  ‘So why do you want to work in TV?’ said Dominic, tearing himself away from the desk fan.

  ‘Er…’

  Damn it! I’d done all this research on the economic history of the company to wow them with and I hadn’t prepared an answer to the most obvious question possible. Damn my father and his mock interview that focused almost entirely on stock prices.

  ‘Er… Well, I’m a… er… really creative person, and TV is really creative, so like, I’d like the chance to have my creativity shine through.’

  I cringed at the ineptitude of my answer and sank deeper into the pouffe. I was now basically squatting on the floor, my eyes level with Dominic’s inner thighs beneath his desk.

  ‘Right, and you do realize that being a runner will be quite mundane, lots of making coffee and photocopying scripts? I see from your CV that you have a history degree; you don’t think a job like this will be too boring for you?’

  ‘No, no, I love mundaneness, I love it! It’s great, I mean, simple, relaxing mundanity is just what I’m looking for. I know I have a degree, but I’m not really that clever, you know, I mean, don’t put me down as a great intellectual or anything – they’ll give a monkey a degree nowadays, won’t they?’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I see.’ Dominic wrote something down on a notepad.

  Why was I talking about monkeys getting degrees?

  ‘So, where do you hope to end up? If we were to give you this placement and allow you the chance to try and move up into Production, what area of TV would you like to work in?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘Well, I’d like to do something creative… I’m really very creative. Maybe write, I suppose, or just create something, maybe?’

  Why couldn’t I think of any word other than ‘creative’? My head was throbbing with heat, my mouth had turned to sandpaper; I was being interviewed in a sauna while squatting in a stress position – my very own Guantanámo.

  ‘Right, Poppy, well…’ Dominic looked ready to dismiss me.

  ‘Look.’ I tried a last-ditch attempt at honesty. ‘I love TV. I spent all of last summer doing work experience for Divaah Productions, so I know what’s involved. I’m used to working hard. I realize it will be basic work and low pay and early mornings and late nights and all that. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Always.’

  I pleaded with my eyes. I usually wasn’t bad at interviews, but feeling like a human hotdog had really thrown me off.

  ‘It’s been lovely to meet you, Poppy. We’ll be in touch.’

  Dominic turned back to his desk fan.

  Was the interview over already? My god, what had I been blabbering on about – degrees for monkeys and constant use of the word ‘creative’?

  At that moment, with my cue to get up and scarper with my creative tail between my creative little legs, I realized I was stuck to the pouffe. My skirt had hitched up and my sweaty legs had melded to the plastic material in a disconcerting manner and I really couldn’t un-stick them. Solution: keep talking and hope the problem would resolve itself.

  ‘So, Dominic? How long have you worked here yourself?’

  ‘Um… about six years now. Shall I show you out?’

  ‘And has the company changed a lot since then?’

  ‘Well, it was only formed about a year before I arrived, so yes, it was a lot smaller.’

  My sticky situation was gradually resolving itself… Just a little more pressure here, and a foothold there…

  ‘Right, well…’ Dominic was holding open the door for me, probably wondering why I was still squatting on the floor.

  ‘So are you married?’ I asked.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Oh dear, that wasn’t the sort of chitchat you should use in an interview, was it?

  ‘I mean, er, well, I’m not married. Did you need to make a note of that?’

  With a final surge of effort, I was finally free from the evil pouffe’s clutches, but was now lunging towards Dominic in a most undignified manner as I propelled myself upwards.

  ‘Sorry! Difficult pouffe!’ I said, grabbing his arm to steady myself and trying to explain my unexpected surge.

  Dominic looked at me strangely.

  ‘No, no, not you “difficult poof”, just this chair here. I didn’t mean that you were… God, I don’t even think you’re gay! Not in the slightest. Not that I was asking if you were married for me, no, no, you’re far too old for me… Not that you’re old, as su
ch. I mean, you can’t be more than, what? Thirty-nine?’

  ‘Thirty-seven.’

  ‘Ah. Well, very nice to meet you, Dominic. I’ll see myself out.’

  STEP 5 – ALWAYS BE PROFESSIONAL

  ‘POPPY, DEAR, THERE’S a Damian on the phone for you,’ my mother shouted up the stairs.

  Damian is one of my best friends from Bristol, currently travelling around Brazil planting rainforests for some charity called ‘Free the Trees’.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get it!’ I picked up the upstairs receiver, excited that Damian had taken the time to call me from abroad; it must have been one in the morning in Brazil.

  ‘Damiannnooooo! How the hell are you? Saved the bloody world yet?’

  ‘Hello, Poppy, it’s Dominic Green here.’

  Dominic Green? Bloody mother!

  ‘I haven’t saved the world yet, I’m afraid. Was I supposed to?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘No, god, sorry, I thought you were someone else. Sorry, Dominic. Hi, um, how are you?’ I tried to regain a professional tone.

  ‘We’d like to offer you the runner placement if you still want it?’

  ‘WHAT?’ They were giving me the job? How on earth did that happen?

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes?’ said Dominic.

  ‘YES! Yes, oh thanks so much, you won’t regret it, definitely… yes.’ I forced myself to stop speaking for fear of an instant retraction.

  ‘So can you start on Monday?’

  ‘Can I!’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can.’

  Dominic didn’t say anything.

  ‘Sorry, that was more of a rhetorical “Can I?” that I just did there,’ I explained.

  ‘Well, I’ll email you the details and we’ll see you at nine a.m. on Monday.’

  ‘Fantastic!’

  ‘And Poppy, you won’t answer the phones at RealiTV with “How the hell are you, have you saved the bloody world yet?”, will you?’

  ‘No. No, I definitely won’t do that.’

  Dominic hung up and I ran downstairs to the kitchen, where my mother was ironing Dad’s underwear.

  ‘Mum, I got the job!’

  ‘At Lloyds?’ my mother asked. ‘Oh, I am pleased. I knew Ian would sort you out.’

  ‘No, not with Lloyds, Mum – the runner job at the TV company! By the way, Mum, you really have to be better at listening to who’s on the phone. You told me that was my friend Damian when it was actually Dominic about the TV job and it was really embarrassing.’

  ‘What kind of name is Dominic?’ My mother wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  ‘That’s not the point. It doesn’t matter what his name is; just try and listen properly in future.’

  ‘Sounds like a game of dominoes or something. So is he enjoying his travels?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Dominic.’

  ‘No, no, that’s Damian. Damian is my friend who’s travelling, Dominic is the man at the TV company.’

  I sat down at the kitchen table, exasperated. Sometimes, talking to my mother was like having a conversation with somebody on a five-second delay, in a wind tunnel.

  ‘Well, it all sounds very confusing.’ My mother shook her head.

  ‘So they want me to start next week, isn’t that great!’

  ‘Up in London?’

  ‘Yes, up in London – the job’s in Soho.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s good, dear. Well done, Poppy, all your perseverance paying off at last. Maybe you could meet up with Ian while you’re there?’

  STEP 6 – DON’T BE AFRAID OF SOME HEALTHY COMPETITION

  WHAT TO WEAR for my first day at work? I wasn’t going to make the mistake of dressing like an accountant again but, equally, I did want to look professional. I opted for smart black jeans, black cowboy boots and a pretty white shirt: smart – but low-key.

  I was staying at Natalie’s parents’ house in Greenwich until I could find somewhere more permanent to live, so it was a long commute into town. Walking from Oxford Circus to Soho Square, I bought myself a cappucino and a chocolate croissant from Pret a Manger. I felt like an imposter, playing at being a real Londoner. I wondered if people on the street could tell I had never done this before, that it was my first day.

  I buzzed the entry phone at RealiTV, heard a muffled voice and leant on the door to speak, just as someone opened it for me. I lunged forward and poured the remains of my coffee all down my white shirt.

  ‘Whoops!’ The man standing the other side of the door smiled.

  ‘Gah!’ I screamed.

  ‘Not a good look,’ he laughed.

  I looked up to see a gorgeous blond man grinning down at me. He was over six foot with broad shoulders, a light tan and sparkling, mischievous green eyes. The shock of the hot coffee on my chest and being suddenly confronted with someone so imposingly attractive made my cheeks flush scarlet.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ I glared at him, trying to hide my embarrassment.

  ‘I’m sorry, it was quite funny. I kind of saw it all happening in slow motion. Here, let me help you.’

  He reached out to take my half-eaten croissant and handbag.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’m okay, thank you.’

  I charged past him, turning from scarlet to a darker shade of puce, and marched through reception to the disabled bathroom.

  The shirt was a wreck. I took it off and tried to wash it in the sink, then spent ten minutes trying to dry it under the hand dryer. I was now officially late. Back in reception, my shirt still rather beige and damp, the sultry platinum-blonde receptionist wordlessly pointed towards a meeting room to her left.

  In the meeting room, Dominic Green was talking to a small group of people: a short brunette girl wearing DM boots with a nose piercing, a balding man in his forties wearing a Jaws T-shirt, and the blond guy from the coffee incident.

  ‘Ah, Poppy, better late than never,’ Dominic said, raising an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I had a coffee-related drama.’

  The blond guy gave me a subtle thumbs-up, as if to say, ‘Well done, you totally managed to get that stain out of your shirt’.

  ‘Let me introduce you,’ Dominic said. ‘This is Helen, she heads up the post room. She’ll show you the ropes and get you sorted out with IT.’

  The short brunette girl gave me a friendly wave.

  ‘She’s from Yorkshire, so if you have trouble understanding all her by ’ecks and by gums, just plug her into Google Translate.’

  ‘Funny.’ Helen sighed.

  ‘This is David, our permanent runner.’ Dominic indicated Jaws T-shirt guy, who gave me a Star Trek salute. ‘And this is Rhidian, who’s starting on the runner placement today too.’

  Blond guy. Great.

  ‘Hi,’ Rhidian said, getting up to shake my hand.

  ‘We’ll put you both in the post room for the first couple of weeks, while you get your bearings, then you’ll be farmed out to various productions that need an extra pair of hands. Helen will tell you the rest as I’ve got to go. Any problems you have, don’t come to me, work it out for yourselves.’

  Dominic started to leave, then added, ‘Obviously I’m joking. You can, of course, come to me if you absolutely have to. But I would think more highly of you if you didn’t.’

  Dominic left the meeting room and I realized I hadn’t even sat down yet.

  ‘Is he always like that?’ Rhidian asked the others.

  ‘Yup,’ said Helen. ‘He’s a funny ol’ fish is Dominic.’

  ‘Sorry I was late,’ I said.

  ‘Do you like movies?’ David asked me with an intense stare.

  ‘Me? Yes, sure, who doesn’t like movies?’ I shrugged.

  David looked at me as though I’d just stepped on his pet cat. ‘A lot of people say they like movies, but they don’t really know about movies,’ he said, unblinking.

  ‘Rule one of working ’ere,’ said Helen, ‘don’t talk to David ’bout movies.’

  David looked dejected.
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  ‘So you’re Poppy Penfold then?’ said Rhidian. ‘I saw that on an email and wondered if that could be a real name. Is it a stage name?’

  ‘No, it is not a stage name. Do I look like I’m on the stage?’ I said crossly.

  ‘So your parents really thought it was a good idea to call you Poppy Penfold?’ He smiled.

  ‘This coming from a guy called Rhidian?’

  ‘That is true. It’s not often I have the upper hand in the silly name game, so I have to play an opening when I see one.’ He grinned again.

  ‘Oh great.’ Helen sighed.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I ’ate it when the new runners fancy each other. The post room is way too small to deal wi’ any kind o’ soap opera.’

  David laughed, I blushed, and Rhidian and I both spoke over each other to protest she couldn’t be further from the truth.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m just messin’ wi’ you. Come on,’ Helen said, leading us back to reception and through to the post room.

  The post room turned out to be an office not much bigger than an ant’s nostril. It had two desks, wall-to-ceiling pigeonholes and a hatch out onto the street for deliveries.

  ‘There are only two desks?’ I said. ‘But there are four of us?’

  ‘No shit, Sherlockina Holmes,’ said David, rolling his eyes at me.

  ‘Yeah, you won’t be doing a lot o’ sittin’ down,’ said Helen. ‘Basically, whoever’s in ’ere can jump on a computer, check emails ’n’ look after post, but most o’ time you’ll be out on errands or on a production. We’ve just gotta make sure we never leave post room empty after nine-thirty. There’s always got to be one o’ us in ’ere, so if someone calls for you to do somethin’, don’t leave till someone else comes back, all right?’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Rhidian said, looking around the room and inspecting the names on the pigeonholes.

  ‘So you’re on the runner placement too, then?’ I asked, attempting to make normal conversation with Rhidian after the embarrassment of earlier.

  ‘Indeed I am, Poppy, and may I just take a moment to say now: may the best man win.’