Monday was a long day... The trip to the BBC in the morning, where I was shown to a small studio with a microphone and a pair of headphones. Headphones on, a voice comes over the line, saying, "We'll be putting you through to the studio in one minute." With no clue as to the format of the interview, or how long it will be. First up was a one to one with a presenter, which went OK, but I didn't know how long it would be going on for, and just as I hit my stride, the interview came to an end...
Second one. Over the headphones, I heard a phone-in discussion about experimenting on animals, where a contributor is told to ,"Stay on the line, because in a strange sort of way the next story links to what you've just said, so I know you'll be interested."
The caller had been talking about decompression testing on goats, so I was rather confused and concerned as to how I was going to make my story 'link'.
Thankfully, it didn't really, but instead I spoke for a few minutes, only to hear a neurology consultant come on the line who sounded much more uncomfortable than me. He'd probably been expecting to talk about exploding goats, only to hear about some guy who'd fallen out of a tree, which probably doesn't really count as decompression. It worked out OK in the end, and he did give the book a really positive plug.
The last one turned out to be a pre-record for later in the week, which made me feel much more relaxed, and by this stage I'm a seasoned professional (media whore).
Interviews over, I waited for my car (oh lah-de-dah!), sitting next to Paul Morley. I took a moment to tell him,
"I just wanted to say that I really enjoy your writing."
"Oh, right. Thanks."
Awkward silence, during which I should have mentioned that I've got a book out. You know, the 'I'm a writer too' conversation, but I didn't , and so we sat and stared straight ahead, while The Wombats got picked up from reception for a live slot on BBC 6Music. I'm guessing that's who it was, unless it was a bunch of fashionably dressed young men clutching guitar cases that, according to the description stenciled on them, actually contained wombats.
Home again, in time for the morning coffee to fully wear off, and by late afternoon, I was feeling pretty shattered. I managed to start work on a piece I'm writing (more nearer the time), and tried and stay awake, but it was a struggle. The old pain was really kicking in by the evening, and so I had a small glass (or two) of Shiraz flavoured complimentary medicine, which didn't help on the button-bright alertness front.
Finally, at about 11.15pm, I had and extended interview with Radio New Zealand which I'm just listening to now, as I have no idea what I babbled about. Maybe it's better if I don't...
Second one. Over the headphones, I heard a phone-in discussion about experimenting on animals, where a contributor is told to ,"Stay on the line, because in a strange sort of way the next story links to what you've just said, so I know you'll be interested."
The caller had been talking about decompression testing on goats, so I was rather confused and concerned as to how I was going to make my story 'link'.
Thankfully, it didn't really, but instead I spoke for a few minutes, only to hear a neurology consultant come on the line who sounded much more uncomfortable than me. He'd probably been expecting to talk about exploding goats, only to hear about some guy who'd fallen out of a tree, which probably doesn't really count as decompression. It worked out OK in the end, and he did give the book a really positive plug.
The last one turned out to be a pre-record for later in the week, which made me feel much more relaxed, and by this stage I'm a seasoned professional (media whore).
Interviews over, I waited for my car (oh lah-de-dah!), sitting next to Paul Morley. I took a moment to tell him,
"I just wanted to say that I really enjoy your writing."
"Oh, right. Thanks."
Awkward silence, during which I should have mentioned that I've got a book out. You know, the 'I'm a writer too' conversation, but I didn't , and so we sat and stared straight ahead, while The Wombats got picked up from reception for a live slot on BBC 6Music. I'm guessing that's who it was, unless it was a bunch of fashionably dressed young men clutching guitar cases that, according to the description stenciled on them, actually contained wombats.
Home again, in time for the morning coffee to fully wear off, and by late afternoon, I was feeling pretty shattered. I managed to start work on a piece I'm writing (more nearer the time), and tried and stay awake, but it was a struggle. The old pain was really kicking in by the evening, and so I had a small glass (or two) of Shiraz flavoured complimentary medicine, which didn't help on the button-bright alertness front.
Finally, at about 11.15pm, I had and extended interview with Radio New Zealand which I'm just listening to now, as I have no idea what I babbled about. Maybe it's better if I don't...
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