a beginner's guide to a tv festival

I’ve not blogged in a while. I always say this. Perhaps influenced by Simon Amstell lamenting the fact that people give material away for free on twitter has stuck in my head? No, there’s no perhaps about it. I am THAT easily influenced. Taking my Sundays to write “proper stuff” instead I’ve neglected you in your tens worried that I would fall into a Sorkin-esque cycle of self plagiarism. Which really only begs one question: Who the hell do I think I am?

I digress.

The path that led me to The Edinburgh TV festival or to be more precise the Media Guardian Edinburgh International Television Festival was an odd one.  I got in an email to my work email telling me that a colleague had recommended me as a “One to watch”. Delighted, I dismissed it to the spam folder alongside emails for weight loss.

A few weeks later I got another email urging me again to apply for the scheme. At a loss and looking for a way out of clearing out the garage, I professed the importance of the application so that no one bothered me whilst I watched Veep. A quick google search later and I realised that this email wasn’t spam though but instead a very good opportunity.

An email popped into my account telling me I had been shortlisted. “Great!” I thought, “I’ve not updated my LinkedIn account for ages”. But this email was overshadowed by who recommended me for the scheme in the first place. It had become soap’s biggest off screen whodunit ever.

I think.

The build up was exciting. I didn’t know who else was taking part and managed to convince myself that five days in Edinburgh alongside the “rising stars of TV” would send me into reality TV type tail spin.

“I’m going to ring you in tears” I told my friend Selina. “OMG yes!” She cried. “It’ll be just like ANTM, and I’ll tell you to stay strong.”

I pretended not to know what she was talking about and nodded sagely. Deep in thought.

I arrived in Edinburgh (via Carlisle although the train had the overcrowding of Delhi Rail) and met a host of genuinely nice people. Haunted by the opening nights of 13 seasons of Big Brother I thought “This isn’t going to last”.

But it did. Perhaps because we only had to stay with each other for 5 days. Who knows?

I enjoyed my time in Edinburgh more each day. The sessions hosted by the scheme were brilliant and when the real TV festival kicked in it all felt very…TV.

There were talks.  Brilliant ones about Modern Family and Sherlock. Talks about upcoming shows in which I spotted an old work colleague dancing in a dating show. There was Grace Dent chatting Charlie Brooker as if they were at a dinner party and you were that really annoying mute. It was BRILLIANT.

And then there were parties.

Parties in museums hosted by Channel 4. Free bar. Parties hosted by Dave. Free bar. And parties hosted by YouTube in the poshest house I have ever been in. Free bar.

Although I’m now sick of Elderflower flavoured water. Vom.

There was a cellist and mirrors. A lady telling me she loved Corrie but it had gone “off the boil” and she’d tell me why later. And other posh stuff. And then I spotted my friend Gareth across the room. (Not a schemey but a proper grown up journalist and everything). He’s spent the day introducing me to people in the most flattering way and said he felt like my mum. More like an older brother.

So the evening was no exception. Tapping a tall gent on the shoulder he introduced me to Mark Gatiss and then Stephen Moffat.

“Don’t say something stupid. Don’t say something stupid. Don’t say something stupid.” I thought.

And I don’t think I did. Hopefully.

It was a rare moment when you meet people who you think are genuinely brilliant.

I was kind of in awe. I’d not been that excited since I met Bill Roache. I wanted to tell Stephen Moffat I loved the episode of Doctor Who entitled “Blink”. But wisely Gareth told me to maybe hold off on that for a bit.

There were after parties and networking and people whispering loudly about controllers they wanted to meet. Taxi Drivers telling me that the BBC Fringe event was not free it was paid for by them. It was like Braveheart in a cab.

Just so TV. But utterly brilliant.

theguyinthebowtie