The journey passed quite quickly. Tony talked at length about the various types of fastenings used in carriage construction, a monologue I can best describe as 'Riveting'
A short ride on the tube and a pleasant walk (including history lesson) later, we arrived at the studio. It was housed in a nondescript, office block type building. We made our way through a labyrinth of stairs and corridors to a small office, which housed a couple of desks with computer terminals; there we met Rhowena, and Dave 'Compo' Compton.
Rhowena, even sans makeup, looked gorgeous. She was wearing a light tan jacket, a cream sweater, and the tightest blue jeans you ever saw. For some reason, I have no idea what Compo was wearing.
After a few pleasantries, Tony told me that it was traditional for him and Compo to go outside just before they recorded the show to discuss content and running order etc, so on this occasion I accompanied them. I found out that what they really did was have a fag and talk about women and horse racing. Compo smokes cigars, as he lit one up I toyed with the idea of doing the old “You look like a film star with that in your mouth” joke, he says, “Really, who?” I say “Lassie having a crap!” I chickened out though, Compo’s a big bloke, and anyway, I would be sitting in a chair opposite him in a few moments, and I would be completely at his mercy
The next thing I knew, we were in a small soundproof room surrounded by cameras and powerful lights. Microphones were attached to lapels, and as Tony and Compo chatted nonchalantly, I polished the seat of my chair to a high gloss with my quivering backside. At some point, Compo was given the cue to start and he instantly fell into presenter mode, looking into the camera he introduced the show in a loud, confident voice. He was in his element, guiding the viewer from one segment to the next, giving Tony the cues he needed, and following the director’s instructions via an earpiece. He made it look so easy, and that I suppose, is the trademark of a true professional.
Tony was amazing. Without any kind of script or rehearsal, he picked up any subject on offer and ran with it. My God that man can talk, his head must be absolutely stuffed with information about the poker scene and the players, and he has opinions about all of it. He’s like a clockwork toy with a very large spring, just wind him up and off he goes, if he does get into trouble, he has this knack of somehow steering the conversation around to trains, Compo’s eyes glaze over and he is happy to move on to something else
From my point of view, it was all a bit overwhelming. Surrounded by all the technology, I felt like a rabbit in the headlights. It was hard not to be distracted by the surroundings and the knowledge that everyone could see and hear me all the time. At one point, I noticed a monitor showing a view of the back of my head that I had never seen before, I saw that my hair was sticking up at an alarming angle. I became totally absorbed with spitting on my fingers and trying to smooth it down until I realised that I looked like a mental case on the monitor showing me from the front
All in all, it was a scary but exciting experience, I loved it. After I had done my bit we went to a break and I was taken to the control room to watch the rest of the show being recorded. The control room was an amazing place, packed to the gills with knobs, dials, buttons, screens and gauges. The bloke in charge (I forget his name, Tarquin or Rupert or something) sat in front of a huge array of switches, hands flying from one to the other with astonishing speed, he directed Compo via a microphone while having a conversation with his sidekick about wine bars, one with Rhow about shopping, and one with me about sticky up hair.
Telly land is like another world, everything is unfamiliar, but the aliens are friendly.