In fact, I had a double date, as we were recording 425 at 2pm, with Rhowena as Producer. And then, to complicate matters, both Dave Compton AND Jonny Gould turned up, due to a misunderstanding! It was soon settled, and Compo hobbled off - and I do mean hobbled. He has done his knee in, the muscles have torn away from the ligaments or somesuch, and he's on crutches. Cue ribbing. And how did he do that? A football injury, he says, to which I retort that he's a little old for that game. "No, I was watching it on TV, and Spurs scored, I jumped up from the armchair to celebrate and done my knee in". Well, I know Spurs don't score often, but that's ridiculous.
Anyway, Rhow then tilts me up. I asked her how the Roland interview came out, "rubbish" she says. Eh? "You did not do the 2-shot, so it looks naff". Grr...... I'd asked the Producer at the venue to do the 2-shot, and the cameraman, but they said no, a 1 shot was fine. Unlike Gouldy, who's very professional, and very experienced, I never argue with the Producer. If he says do this or that, I do this or that. But Gouldy digs his heels in, as, I suppose, he has the right to. But I just cant. Never mind.
What's a 2 shot? (Wormster will kill me for giving away the trade secrets, but I'm probably gonna get shot anyway, so too bad). We use one camera at venues, and sometimes we do a one-on-one, other times both participants are in view the whole time. A 2 shot is when the camera is on the subject the whole time, and then, when the interview is complete, the camera now films the interviewer asking the questions again. Finally, a little set of 'noddies' are done of the interviewer nodding, shaking his head, looking thoughtful, even intelligent, though the latter is tricky for me..... Then, back at the studio, it's all cleverly spliced together by the techie peeps, and it looks as if we had 2 cameras on the job. Clever stuff. Ah well, we are off to a bad start.
When Wormster is the venue Producer he's the tops, and I have to do noddies, it's a killer. It's important that the interviewer looks in exactly the right spot, where the subject HAD been, so Wormster sits in the subject's seat, the camera is on me, and Wormster gives me all sorts of verbal grief. They want a "yes, I agree" nod, so Wormster gives it the "so you are a fish then tikay?", and for the shake of the head, it's usually, "so have you had sex in the last 25 years?" and I shake my head dolefully... He's not wrong, mind.
Anyway, eventually we go into the studio, and lo and behold, we have our new 'set' - well, poker table. What a big difference it made too, those stools were so awkward to look relaxed in, but now we are all laid back and comfy. My chair is a bit low, so I look like a little shrivelled up old man. And they say the camera never lies?
Eventually, we get the show recorded, and are done for about 5pm. Jen had asked me to play the £200 Freeze at Gutshot, but with my PNL gig booked, that was a no-no, so we agreed to meet for some dinner. Jen told me to meet her at Oxford Circus, so I jumped the tube, and she took me down some back strreets to the weirdest restaurant you ever saw - a sort of American-style Diner, with a life size plastic cow in the middle, I kid you not. We had 'burnt ends' for the main course. "What are burnt ends, Jen?" I asked. "Well, it's kinda a whole cow cut into chunks." Right... I had ice-cream for afters, and, get this, Jen had a bowl of sliced, pickled, gherkins, and ate the lot, though she did pull a face like a bulldog stung by a wasp. Well, you would! The lass is conpletely loopy, I tell ya.
Heaven knows what peeps made of us. Me in my 'TV Uniform' - suit and tie, and Jen in a pair of super baggy jeans and T-shirt. Who cares? She's such wonderful company, and a more interesting conversationalist than I've yet to meet.
So then it was off to my Poker Night Live gig, and I realised I'd forgotten to book a hotel. Too bad, worry about that later. The adrenelin was running.
Arrived nice and early.
Dr Tom Sambrook was waiting for me, and the production crew ambled in soon after - a lovely lady by the name of Ali, and two young guys, sound and vision I guess.
Wired me up for sound, a lapel mike and a battery pack, and an earpiece, so I can hear the Director's promptings from the gallery. I don't have an earpiece on 425, so this was new to me, but well handy. "7 minutes left," "30 seconds, counting", "10, 9, 8, 7..."
Even more important was the 'feedback' it gives from the crew in the gallery. TV is weird - you try and chat and have a laugh, as if you were talking to your mates in a bar, but your mates laugh, or not, as the case may be. But a TV Camera just stares at you. However, via the earpiece I could gauge reaction from the gallery, and the odd chuckle was encouraging, just as the sharp intakes of breath that followed a touch of xenophobia was telling.
Eventually, we are ready to roll, & I have cleared with The Suits what I can and can't mention. 425? No way. blonde? Of course. William Hill? A little. Sporting Odds? Ditto.
We (Tom and I) each had a computer and monitor, upon which we can do pretty much what we want, though it's intended to be so that we can see the e-mails as they come in and pick out the interesting (readable) ones. In fact, Tom was busy playing 5 card stud cash, and I was surfing, even posting on blonde, as the show progressed. How cool was that?! Doing Live TV and posting on blonde at the same time!
But I had a problem with the TV monitors in front of us - out of shot, one above the other on the floor, and the 2 cameras. One monitor was what only WE could see, to prepare us for the next segment, the other was what the viewers could see. But my eyes were not good enough to see them properly, I had to squint, or wear my 'bins'. Later, ifm wisely told me, "put your bloody 'bins' on." Quite right I suppose. And the cameras, what a cods I made there to start with. On 425 the rule is NEVER look at the camera. On PNL, there are 2 cameras, one records the 2 shot, where I look at the other presenter. The other was 'mine', & I was supposed to look directly at it when I was blathering away in reply to a viewer's question. Well, that WAS a problem, I was not used to that, kept getting the two mixed up, and could barely see where they were in the darkened studio (Only the desk is lit).
Then I had to play an online STT, which, after a 10 minute delay, would be shown live, with all the hole cards exposed, and I was supposed to comment upon my plays. Not easy when I busted out 6th of 8, oh deary deary me....
But we rambled and blathered on, and every hour, we got a 10 minute break, for adverts and poker news, which is pre-recorded, so it was down to the loo for a leak then outsuide for a quick ciggie.
I warmed to it gradually, but never overcome the eyesight-problem, I just can't see the graphics on the monitors properly, end of.
And suddenly, after what semed about an hour, it was all over - 4 hours of live TV done & dusted! And, somehow, I'd got through. Who'd have thought it - 4 hours LIVE!
And after being de-wired, that was that, out onto the deserted city streets at 2.30 am. At which point I suddenly remembered - I had not booked a hotel - damn and blast! Thewy and Jen do most of my travel booking, I am hopeless at that sort of thing. What to do then? Well, Gutshot was only a mile away, and with the first train home not due until 06.15, I had 4 hours to kill. It was a lovely dry and mild night, and I was as happy as Larry as I walked the empty streets. I got to Gutshot within an hour, but despite the warm inviting lighting, and the sight of Derek Kelly scurrying hither and thither doing his mother-hen thing, for some reason, I was loving the walk - the fresh air, the rare chance to have a good think. So I walked on, past Mount Pleasant Sorting Office - I'd LOVE to look round that place! - eventually to arrive at Kings Cross/St Pancras at around 0430. 90 minutes soon went by as I did a tour of the now restored St Pancras Hotel - surely the finest building of it's type in the world? - and the new British Library, which, in the way these things happen, is surely the worst!
Eventually, I boarded the 06.15 plastic train to Derby, and fell asleep wondering what my Dad was thinking about all this. He's proud as punch, I can tell ya, so that's all that really mattered. Happy days.