First Day at BBC Production Talent Pool Training

I like gold trousers.

There – I said it. I like gold trousers, and when I say gold, I don’t just mean shiny pants. I mean, these things are the kind of gold that when you walk, sparkles fly out your ass.

Except, that’s not what happens when I wear gold trousers.

Somewhere along the way, I bought into the belief that skinny trousers look good on chunky thighs. Saying it now, outright, I realise the glaring error of my ways, and wonder how I’ve never really thought this decision through before.

I guess that’s because I’ve never really given much thought to my thunder-thighs. As the years passed by and I stopped growing upwards, but my legs continued their epic journey outwards, I decided to simply ignore mirrors. Perhaps that was the problem.

I didn’t try on the trousers. It was an impulse buy. One of those – I have wanted these for too long to turn back now, onwards to the cash-desk! – buys, that, like others preceding it, was doomed to failure from the start.

At home, I emerged from my bedroom to my own personal catwalk – the celebrity front row consisting of my mother, my boyfriend and my cat. There was a hushed silence as I pranced down the runway (stairway corridor) displaying my glorious gold trousers for all to see. I stopped and posed, waiting for the cameras to flash, the model deals to rush in, the autographs and pictures I’d politely giggle away – “Oh no! Thank you! You’re all too kind! But I am no model; I am but a mere writer, albeit in fabulous, fabulous trousers...”

But something very different happened. My mother shifted uncomfortably in her seat. My boyfriend coughed. The cat blinked; a fur-ball lodged in its throat. It was a wake up call. I was certainly no D&G model.

 I had become the elephant in the room.

And it was wearing gold trousers.

I looked in the mirror, at the end of my makeshift runway, at my thighs. It was the first time in years. Suddenly, I felt flushed. It turns out, something else happens when you wear tight, shiny jeans when your legs are a little larger than life.

You squeak when you walk.

It’s for moments like this that led to the decision to go quiet on this blog while I applied for a position on the BBC Production Talent Pool, a process which, quite frankly, terrified me. What if they read my blog and decided, quite rightfully, that I was some kind of moron? An idiot? A frumpy twenty-something with a taste for ridiculous trousers?

There were over 2800 applicants this year, and with each passing round, the blogs got fewer and more conserved, terrified of opening my big, cake scoffing mouth. Social media is a tricky one. Personally, I believe it opens doors, creates links, gives immediate feedback, and bridges you with people you may never have had the opportunity to speak to in real life. It connects the people, unites the weak, and creates leverage for professional stalking... 

But for every great, witty tweet, there’s that drunken one that can ruin your life – and this blog is a lot longer than 140 characters.

So I set up camp. I watched from afar and posted only what I considered ‘safe’ material.

After finally receiving the congratulatory email, yesterday was my first day of BBC training. Sitting in reception I noticed a woman walk past me in a pair of wide-legged, fluorescent pink trousers. I looked down at my own bland pair of skinny blue jeans and felt a pang of envy.

We were directed to the hospitality suite where we were to receive our initial training using a number of different programmes on the intranet. As someone who’s spent a lot of life hours poring over web-pages searching for travel information and vetting hotels, I was thoroughly delighted to discover how organised the systems were, and how user-friendly they appeared to be – a phrase I am sure will be put to the test at some point.

When it came to the topic of social media, I waited with baited breath for the imminent closure of my blog. It was an issue which was discussed at length. Although there are lots of rules and regulations, as I have found with nearly every organisation, it turns out; no one here really wants to silence me.

It was a humbling, yet reassuring moment. For the first time in my life I was surrounded by a group of like minded people, who didn’t really care what colour my trousers were.

So to all my regular followers and a big thumbs-up to all my new ones – here’s to the next part of my adventures. Keep your eyes peeled for my sparkly gold bum poking around on set, it’ll be squeaking away with the best of them.

(These views are all my own, and not that of the BBC. I haven't asked them their thoughts on gold sparkly trousers. Yet.)

Yard Games - Short Story

Yard Games

The name of the hamster, Sir? Yes, I remember the name of the hamster, Sir. It was Carrot.

            I named it.

Why did I name it, Sir? Well, Miss Summers, the Sunday School teacher, she asked me to. She said it needed a name.

Oh, you mean why did she ask me to name it, Sir? I guess I’m not so sure, you’d have to ask Miss Summers. You’re asking me? Well, I’d have to think.  I certainly took a liking to it, Sir. I liked it very much. You see, I’d never had a pet before...

You want to know the name of the boys? But you know the name of the boys? Alright then... the boys were called Jeremy and Fred. I suppose there were other boys there too, Benjamin, but he said he’d grown too old for Sunday school, said it was for kids. He just liked to draw funny women on the desks. He said Jesus Christ a lot too, because he said it was allowed, said it was Jesus’ name, and so it wasn’t a swear.

You want to know more about the boys, Sir?

Did I like Fred, Sir?

Why I certainly did. Fred was about the most popular boy in class, I’d say. He could catch, throw and kick a ball – further than anyone else in the class. He didn’t speak much, and I don’t think he’s very good at reading or anything, but that didn’t seem to stop people following him. I followed him. Yes sir, I liked  Fred.

Jeremy, sir? I don’t really know what to say about Jeremy, Sir. You know what he looks like – scrawny, pale, glasses... like he doesn’t go out in the sun very much. Very different to Fred; he looked like he was out in the sun all the time, kicking a ball or chasing rabbits through the grass.  Jeremy was definitely smarter than Fred though, I used to see him read a lot. He used big words in class, like when Miss Summers would talk about sinning and stuff. Jeremy would say that people have no consciousness of sin, and Miss Summers would tell him to be quiet. She said that people knew when they were being bad, and that they were lying if they said they didn’t. That’s what happened that day of the argument, Jeremy was arguing with Miss Summers, so she told us to pack up our things and go outside. She said had to do something. I don’t know where she went, Sir.

Fred stood up and asked Jeremy why he was trying to make Miss Summers cry. I think Fred liked Miss Summers. Most of the class did; she was a pretty lady. Jeremy just laughed and told Fred he was going soft. Fred looked annoyed and started kicking up dirt. That’s when he found the woodlice.

Jeremy had been talking about something to a group of boys sitting around him. I was there, but I wasn’t really listening. He’d said something about aliens, and that we’d sound stupid trying to explain to an alien that on Earth, something that defied all reasoning was considered to be the highest truth. I didn’t know what he was talking about - so my mind wandered, and my eyes noticed that people were slowly trickling away from Jeremy’s sermon and were drifting over to Fred and his dirt pile.

“I’m going to drown them,” Fred explained to the group, and he started unscrewing the lid of his water bottle. I looked down at the cracked soil at the handful of woodlice. Jeremy looked over at the sound of Fred’s voice and abandoned his remaining small flock to observe the show.

“That won’t work,” he scoffed. “The ground’s too dry. It’ll just pour straight through.” I looked at Fred to see if he had understood. I hadn’t, Sir. I never really knew what Jeremy was talking about, but a funny thing happened when Fred poured the water on the ground.

It disappeared.

Fred said they were the woodlice of God, and they were performing miracles. That’s when Jeremy said we should start playing a game, and we could all be people from the Bible, and the woodlice could be Jesus’ disciples. Fred pinched Jeremy on the arm and said “I bet you want to be Jesus then,” and pushed him. Jeremy stumbled a bit and looked as if he might have liked to kick Fred, but that would have been silly. Fred’s a lot bigger than Jeremy.

Jeremy said that it was fine for Fred to be Jesus, and everyone looked surprised. Then Jeremy started naming the other boys, and a fight broke out when he said the twins would have to be prostitutes. They said they didn’t want to be girls, so Jeremy said it was ok for men to be prostitutes too, and so the twins nodded and carried on with the game.

What name did they give me, Sir? Abraham. They said I was Abraham.

When Jeremy was done giving everyone their parts, Fred asked Jeremy who he was going to be. Jeremy said that he’d be whoever Fred wanted him to be, and so Fred tried to think of a name.  “You can be Mary!” he declared, and the crowd laughed, but Jeremy said there couldn’t be any more boys playing girl parts, so Fred tried to think harder of names from the Bible. There were none left that he could think of. Jeremy smiled.

He said that he would have to play God.

Fred tried to protest, but without knowing any other names he was stumped. Jeremy said he needed a sacrifice, and Fred quickly forgot all about Jeremy trumping his status.

“The woodlice!” Fred cheered excitedly, and prepared for the massacre.

“No!” said Jeremy solemnly. “God does not want woodlice, they are no sacrifice. I want something bigger!” he jeered.

The group quickly scattered, and went in search of objects from the church yard to please their God. When everyone was done, they dumped their twigs, sticks and oddly shaped stones in front of Jeremy. None were good enough. Some boys started emptying their pockets, and a few placed conkers, elastic bands or chewing gums in front of him. He shook his head.

I wandered back in the class to speak to Carrot because he was on his own,  so I decided to take  him outside to join in the quest being as Miss Summers wasn’t around. When Jeremy spotted me, his eyes widened and his arms both shot up in the air.

“Yes! A worthy sacrifice!”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I quickly put Carrot in my pocket and tried to walk around him to try and get to the other side of the yard, but Jeremy put his arm out to block my way.

“The hamster must die!” He screamed, and the other boys began to cheer. They started to chant alongside him, “The hamster must die!” and pushed me into the middle of a circle in front of Jeremy. They pushed me to the floor and someone handed me a stone.  

“I don’t want to...” I mumbled, trying to keep Carrot in my hands without him running away. He must have known what I was going to do.

“Insolent minion!” Jeremy bellowed in my ear. “What is your name?”

“You know my name...” I babbled.

“Not that name,” he hissed. “What is your playing name?”

“Abraham,” I mumbled, and he smiled. He took a step back and looked at me.

“Ah, Abraham.” He sneered, rubbing his palms together. “Abraham, you must sacrifice your child for me.”

“I don’t have a—“

“The hamster!”  He screamed.

I didn’t know what to do, Sir. He said that I had to, that he was God, and I was Abraham, and Carrot was my son. He said that I had to do what he said, because that’s what happened in the Bible. So I held Carrot down with my palm, and with my other hand I lifted the stone.

That’s when Miss Summer’s broke into the circle, Sir. She probably thought there was a fight, Sir, because of the circle around me. I’ve never seen her look more shocked, Sir. Or angry.

But I didn’t kill it, Sir. Miss Summer’s – she broke into the circle, Sir...

You know that, Sir? Well, why do you want me to tell you what happened again?

Was I going to kill the hamster?

Did I know what I was doing?

Why was I doing it?

He told me to, Sir!

God told me to.