‘Oh god, how awful. Poor you. The last thing you probably feel like doing is meeting your neighbour’s daughter to dole out career advice. You should be all tucked up at home with a good DVD and a tin of Quality Street.’
I suddenly felt sorry for Ian, and incredibly guilty that I had taken so long to get back to him. The guy obviously had enough on his plate without me messing him around too.
‘No, it’s fine, honestly. I have been housebound for so long, I thought it time I took this puppy out on the road – NHS’s finest piece of kit. It comes fully equipped with terrible handling and some rather dubious brakes.’
I laughed, suddenly feeling a lot more optimistic about the evening ahead.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ came a voice from behind us, and I turned to see Rhidian and Mel joining the queue.
Shit.
‘Small world,’ said Mel, looking at me as though she wanted to squash me with her shoe.
‘Hi, I’m Rhidian,’ Rhidian said cheerfully, putting out a hand to introduce himself to Ian. ‘This is Mel. We both work with Poppy.’
‘I’m Ian.’
My face must have revealed some indication of what my brain was thinking, namely: SHITSHITSHITSHIT WHY DID I LIE AND SAY I WAS GOING ON A DATE TONIGHT?? GAHHHH! AND OF ALL THE FLIPPING RESTAURANTS IN ALL OF COCKING LONDON!
Mel, like a shark sensing blood in the water, could tell I wasn’t thrilled by this chance encounter, so instantly started to take an interest in it.
‘Hi, I’m Mel,’ she said, bending down to talk to Ian as though he were a child. ‘I work with Poppy too. It’s nice to meet you.’
She looked up at me with a menacing smile.
‘Wow, this queue is slow, hey?’ I said to Ian. ‘We can definitely try somewhere else if you like?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Ian, unhelpfully.
‘It’s usually really quick,’ said Rhidian, equally unhelpfully.
‘So are you guys on a date?’ said Mel, as the penny dropped and she worked out why I might be looking so awkward.
‘Well…’ Ian started to speak.
In blind panic I quickly interrupted him. ‘YOU say dating, I say darrrting, let’s call the whole thing off, da da da,’ I started to sing, then laughed awkwardly and did a little skip to illustrate that this was a spontaneous musical number of my own devising. It actually worked quite well in terms of avoiding the question – my heel caught on the kerb, I lunged forward to try and save myself, grabbing the only thing within range: Ian’s chair. The chair launched backwards under my weight and Ian gave a yelp of pain as he was momentarily lifted into the air on two wheels.
‘Smooth,’ said Mel.
‘Oh god, sorry, are you okay?’ I quickly righted the wheelchair on all four wheels and looked carefully at Ian for signs of damage. The guy had just had a back operation and here I was, yanking his wheelchair around as part of some deranged distraction dance.
‘I’m okay, it’s fine,’ Ian exhaled, squeezing my hand in reassurance.
‘Awww,’ said Mel, with a patronizing little cock of the head.
‘So how did you guys meet?’ Rhidian asked Ian.
‘Our parents live next to each other down in Dorset. Poppy and I used to play together as kids,’ said Ian.
‘So Poppy was the girl-next-door,’ said Rhidian, eyeing me curiously.
‘Something like that,’ said Ian, sounding slightly confused. ‘We used to build dens behind my mum’s garage.’
Rhidian’s eyes lit up at this detail.
‘I wouldn’t have had you down as a den-builder, Poppy,’ he smiled, arching an eyebrow at me. ‘So, what was your den design of choice?’
‘Well, I…’ I started to say something but trailed off as Ian started to speak.
‘Poppy always insisted our muddy dens be fully equipped with scatter cushions and soft furnishings. Something my mother’s drawing room was not best pleased about.’
‘Oh, I can imagine that,’ Rhidian laughed.
Mel tapped her foot impatiently. ‘God, this is taking forever,’ she moaned.
‘How many? Four?’ The maître d’ asked from behind us. We’d somehow reached the front of the queue. ‘You might have to wait longer for a wheelchair spot.’
‘No, NO, NOT FOUR. TWO,’ I said, a little too much panic audible in my voice.
‘Well, I can seat you two,’ the maître d’ said to Rhidian and Mel.
‘That seems a bit unfair,’ Rhidian replied. ‘They were here first.’
‘Come on, Rhidian, I’m cold,’ whined Mel.
‘Honestly, go, don’t wait on our account,’ I said, nudging him into the restaurant.
Once they had disappeared inside, I turned back to Ian.
‘Are you sure you are okay? I’m so sorry I jolted you like that. Is your back okay?’
‘Honestly, it’s fine, Poppy. Your work colleagues seem nice.’
‘He’s okay, but I’m not sure about her.’
‘So are you enjoying this TV placement? My mum said it was just a temporary thing and you wanted to get into finance, find something more long-term?’
‘Not exactly…’
‘I wish I’d done something more creative. I’m just not sure I would have been very good at it. My brain is more numbers than ideas.’ Ian smiled.
The maître d’ was pulling people from behind us into the restaurant now, and I shivered involuntarily.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ said Ian. ‘I have to say, being in this chair has given me a whole new insight into how bad it can be for disabled people in London. It’s not just being in a chair, it’s all the stuff that goes with it – like this.’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get in any second.’
Sure enough, the maître d’ was soon back for us.
‘Sorry about the wait. We have an end table free so we can fit the chair in now.’
He guided us into the restaurant, which had long trestle tables in rows down each side. Arty pictures of noodles from around the world lined the walls and a delicious smell of spicy teriyaki and warm noodle soup filled the room. I walked behind Ian as he rolled along after the maître d’. It was then that I saw where we were being lead to: a space at the end of a trestle table, right next to Mel and Rhidian.
‘No, no. We’ve changed our minds, sorry.’ I scurried past Ian to stop the maître d’ in his tracks.
‘What?’ Ian asked.
‘We don’t want to eat here any more… This… this… this restaurant’s policy on disabled diners is absolutely disgraceful!’ I said, a little too loudly.
‘Poppy, it’s fine.’
‘No, no, it’s not fine.’
My outburst was beginning to attract attention as diners turned to see what was going on.
‘Making disabled people wait in the cold is not on, and I refuse to condone it by eating here. Come on, Ian!’
And with that, we made our exit.
Half an hour later, having failed to get a table anywhere else in Soho, and my prediction about rain being on the cards turning out to be accurate, we found ourselves dripping wet in a grotty pizza place next to Tottenham Court Road. Ian had been a saint throughout the whole ordeal.
‘You know, if you were embarrassed to be seen with me in front of your friends, you could have just said,’ Ian said with a smile as our pizzas finally arrived. ‘I’m probably considered a bit of a geek in the eyes of your “cool media crowd”.’
‘Oh god, no! Is that what you thought?’
I paused for a moment. I’d made this poor man wheel halfway around Soho just so I could escape embarrassing myself in front of Rhidian and Mel. I think the least I owed him at this point was the truth. I took a deep breath.
‘The thing is – and this is going to make me sound like a real weirdo – I was being teased at work today for never going on any dates, or being particularly social, and, well, on the spur of the moment I lied and said I was going on a date with you, which I know this isn’t, by the way, I�
�m not getting all bunny boilerish on you… Anyway, it was a stupid lie just to make me look like I might be a bit interesting, rather than the kind of person who’d generally rather go home, eat Caramacs and watch a boxset.’
‘Oh, I love Caramacs. Do they still make those?’ said Ian, looking surprisingly unfazed by the information I’d just relayed.
‘I know, right? Caramel chocolate is hugely underrated. Anyway, obviously I didn’t think we’d run into my work colleagues while we were out, and I didn’t want you to know I’d said it was a date, or you’d think I was a total psycho… Which I probably am.’
Ian laughed. ‘So, basically, you were trying to make that guy jealous.’
‘Which guy? Rhidian? No! No, I don’t care what he thinks.’
‘Really?’ said Ian, raising a sceptical eyebrow. ‘I felt like there was something going on there. He was very interested in you and your den-building.’
‘No, he’s not interested in me, we just have this weird competitive thing going on at work. But listen, I’m really sorry I made you wheel all around Soho to escape them. Please let me buy dinner to make it up to you?’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Well, anyway, enough about me, tell me about banking. You do know I don’t really want a career in finance, right? My parents aren’t too happy about the TV plan and want me to scope out better prospects.’
I really was going for the ‘honesty is the best policy’ tack tonight. Ian just felt like the kind of person you could be honest with – like Oprah, but in man form.
‘Well, I’m not sure banking holds much safer prospects these days. Since the crash, it’s not as lucrative as people think.’
‘Excellent.’
‘What?’
‘Sorry, no, not excellent for you. I mean, I can tell my mum that, and it might put her off banking as a career for me.’
Ian laughed.
We chatted well into the evening and I ended up confiding in Ian about the runner placement and the fact that I was in competition with Rhidian for one job. I told him about the chart in the post room, and that if it was anything to go by, I wasn’t on course to win.
‘Okay, well let’s think about this sensibly,’ said Ian, in a way that reminded me of my father. ‘What do people value in a runner?’
I looked at him blankly.
‘What skills do you think people admire in a runner?’ Ian tried again. ‘For example, in corporate banking you need to know about numbers, how to put them together to assess an investment’s viability and the necessary return for the risks, plus, of course, you need to be able to leave your soul at the door.’ He laughed. ‘Seriously, though, what does a good runner look like? Who would you employ?’
I thought about his question for a minute.
‘Well, I guess you need to be helpful?’ I offered. ‘Good at getting on with things you’re asked to do. Being smiley probably helps. Rhidian has this ability to instantly become best friend with everyone… Um, thinking up good ideas?’
‘Okay, so that’s the job description. Now, what would you say your strong points were?’ Ian asked, embracing his new role as careers adviser.
‘Well, I guess I’m generally quite friendly. Though I’m probably not as good at just bounding up to talk to people as Rhidian is.’
‘Okay, what else? Not the stuff Rhidian does, the stuff you can do.’
‘Well, I guess I wanted to work in TV because I like the creative side of it, coming up with ideas. People don’t really need runners to have ideas though, they just need someone to make their ideas happen.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s necessarily true, Poppy. Ideas people like people with ideas: they make their ideas better.’ Ian stopped me from filling his glass with more wine. ‘No more for me, thanks. I’m not supposed to drink too much with the medication I’m on.’
I drained the rest of the bottle into my own glass.
‘So I need to play to my strengths?’ I said, taking a large slug of wine and feeling a new sense of motivation warm my throat.
‘Yes. You need to show people that you aren’t just a runner. Anyone can do the photocopying; you need to show them you can go to the next level.’
‘A researcher.’
‘Exactly. Why show them you can be a good runner when you could show them what an excellent researcher you would be?’
‘Wow, you’re good at this,’ I said, sitting back and nodding at Ian.
I was surprised by what good company Ian was. He was nothing like the boring banker I’d assumed he’d be. His pep talk gave me the confidence to tell him about a couple of TV show ideas I’d thought of.
‘Okay, so I do have this one idea called “Playground Politics”, where politicians have to go back to school, but like primary school…’
‘Poppy, don’t ask me about ideas.’ Ian held up his hands in supplication. ‘I couldn’t tell you what was a good idea and what wasn’t. I’m a banker, remember.’
‘Or, or…’ I was really excited now. ‘I did have this quiz show idea where you win your opponents’ wages.’
‘What about your opponents’ bonus?’ Ian suggested.
‘Most people don’t get bonuses.’
‘Okay, so maybe you just have bankers.’
‘No one likes bankers.’
‘Harsh.’
‘Sorry… Okay, or… or you have normal contestants, but the winner has to pick someone in the audience, and they’ll win that person’s bonus.’
‘So a few of them are bankers on loads of cash and the rest aren’t. It’s like “spot the banker”?’
‘You could call it “Bank My Bonus”.’
‘It’s very topical,’ said Ian, taking the glass out of my hand, which I had sloshed through the air in excitement.
‘We’re a great team, Ian,’ I slurred. ‘I’m going to write this down on a napkin… in case I forget it tomorrow.’
STEP 19 – DON’T LOG-IN, READ OR REPLY TO WORK EMAILS AFTER 10 P.M. (OR FIVE GLASSES OF WINE)
TO:
FROM:
SUBJECT: Our hero
Dear all,
I’m sure everyone’s seen the clip by now (er, bloopers reel, anyone??!) but, and I know I’m embarrassing him now (sorry, Rhid!), but I just wanted everyone to know what an absolute HERO Rhidian Drummond was last week on set. As you know, filming Can Your Dog Do Your Job? presents a lot of its own unique challenges (er, getting that husky steering a submarine in series four, anyone??!) BUT it’s sometimes the smaller things that can unexpectedly throw a shoot off course – dog, water and a pack of breeding swans in this case!
The way Rhidian leapt to little Horace’s rescue was an inspiration to us all. We could all learn a lot from that kind of commitment to production.
Well done, Rhidian. (Or should I say, ‘Obi-Swan Kenobi’ as I hear the runners have christened him, ha ha!)
Yours
Viv Reid
Series Producer
Can Your Dog Do Your Job? Series 8
Because a real workforce makes real TV!
TO:
FROM:
SUBJECT: RE: Our hero
Well done, Rhidian – keep up the good work.
Jack Chamberlain
CEO
Because a real workforce makes real TV!
TO:
FROM:
SUBJECT: RE: Our hero
THAT WAS MY JOKE!!!
© Poppy!!!
STEP 20 – BE READY TO IMPROVISE
‘LAST NIGHT MUST have gone well!’ Mel purred as I came into work the next morning.
‘What?’
She pointed to a beautiful bunch of red roses sitting on reception.
‘Those are for you. Your boyfriend Stephen Hawking is quite the romantic.’
I picked up the card, confused as to how Ian could have construed any kind of romant
ic vibe from last night. The card read: I hope this helps with the Caramac situation at the office. Ian.
I smiled. I didn’t really want Mel thinking I was dating Ian, but the sentiment was very sweet. Actually, why should I care if Mel thought I was dating Ian? Stupid Mel and her stupid Stephen Hawking joke.
I looked up to see Rhidian and JR both arriving in reception.
‘All right, Penfold, you can swoon over your boyfriend’s flowers another time, we’ve got work to do,’ said JR, clicking his fingers at me to follow him into the lift.
I grabbed the flowers and scuttled after him, secretly pleased that he thought I’d been sent flowers by a real boyfriend rather than a fictional one. Even the fact that he thought I was the kind of girl boys might send flowers to felt like a compliment.
‘Did you watch Newsnight last night, Penfold?’ JR asked as we stood in the lift.
‘Er, not last night, no.’
Damn it. The one night I wasn’t in.
‘Interesting piece on Afghanistan. I think we should update our round on the latest situation, make it a “2010–Present Day” category.’
‘Good idea.’
We stood in silence for a minute.
‘So what were you up to if you weren’t keeping up with current affairs, Dangermouse? Apart from sending incredibly large-font all-company emails. Gallivanting around with boys?’
I cringed. ‘Not really gallivanting…’
‘You’ve got to keep focused, Penfold. I’ve spotted potential in you; don’t disappoint me.’
We arrived on the fourth floor and I quickly stowed the flowers beneath the desk I’d temporarily been assigned. I didn’t want to deal with any awkward questions from the others. My heart was pounding in my chest as I sat down. I felt mortified that JR thought me unfocused.
Alan, the researcher from Last Clan Standing, had joined our little team, so now there were four of us working on the show – JR, Jude, Alan and I. Reading between the lines, the stress of being constantly shouted at on Last Clan Standing had been too much for Alan, so he’d been transferred to something a little more office-based.
How to Get Ahead in Television Page 9