Good morning to you, dear reader! I hope that you’ve been enjoying this sunny weekend. Is it barbecue weather yet, d’you think?
If you’ve read this post from a couple of weeks ago, you will already know that my house mate and I recently auditioned to go on the television show Pointless. I am delighted to announce that our audition was successful, and on Tuesday we will potter off to the studio in hopes of being on the show.
Our appearance isn’t entirely guaranteed, because they have to allow for things like a good spread of age groups, specialist subjects, unexpected drop-outs, etc. So basically we’ll turn up on Tuesday, but if the other contestants are all drama graduates in their mid-twenties with an unfortunate propensity to get distracted by shiny things, Ash and I might not make it onto that show. C’est la show business.
Although we’re both very excited, Ash and I have come up with two pretty major concerns. The first is that we’ve been asked not to wear black clothing or patterns; respectively speaking, that screws me (who never entirely grew out of my ill-advised goth phase) and Ash (who loves a pair of patterned tights) over pretty thoroughly. We had a mooch round the charity shops yesterday and found a couple of potential outfits, but we each have to take FIVE clothing options to the studio for the wardrobe people to choose from. FIVE. If we’re not including hoodies and pyjamas, I’m not sure I even OWN five outfits. Although my red hoodie is quite presentable, and it’s very comfy…no. Stop it. I can’t go on television looking like I just fell out of bed.
I know it shouldn’t worry me too much what I wear, since it’s a show about knowledge rather than appearances, but still: we’re going to be on television. We don’t want to look rubbish. Apparently they’re going to do our make-up for us as well, which Ash and I both baulked at. Ash is a connoisseur of vintage make-up stylings, and is more than capable of making her face look its lovely best. I usually go for the Claudia Winkleman/panda look myself, and I think it works for me, so I would prefer to be left alone with my gallons of black eye-liner and vampish mascara, thank you very much.
The second concern (which is actually a bigger one than the clothing issue, I promise) is that I don’t think I actually know anything. Nothing useful, at any rate. If you put me on QI I would absolutely rock out (mostly because I’ve seen every episode a thousand times, but also) because I’m the queen of the random fact. But I don’t know the kings and queens of England, or the periodic table, or ANYTHING about geography. I’ve been watching some episodes of Pointless this week as research, and I can tell you now that if a round about the England cricket team or celebrity culture comes up when we’re on there, I am screwed. Ash is a clever girl and an excellent actress, so if we get a bad topic I’m sure she’ll style it out, but odds are I will just stand there in open-mouthed horror. The other possibility is that I will swear loudly, which is probably not the way to go…
Even stuff that I think I do know about, I’m now beginning to second-guess. When you apply to go on the show, you have to put three specialist subjects on the form. I put Theatre (I have a Drama degree and I run a theatre company- fair enough), Literature (I read a lot) and Dad’s Army (mainly a joke, but I do love that show). I HAVE STARTED WATCHING EPISODES OF DAD’S ARMY AS A FORM OF REVISION. I’m not even enjoying them, because I’m too scared that Alexander Armstrong is going to ask me an obscure question that I won’t be able to answer! My life has turned into this scene from Short Circuit, except that I’m panicky rather than curious.
The obvious solution is to calm the heck down, have a cup of tea and brush up on whatever we realistically have to time to revise. This is perfectly sage and sensible advice. I will endeavour to do just that. But could someone please explain to me why, when I was always terrible at exams, have never had a good memory for general knowledge and am almost twenty-five, I have deliberately put myself into a position where I am forced to revise? Glutton for punishment, perhaps. Or just a subconscious craving to look stupid on television. If that’s the case, I sort of wish I’d just applied to Big Brother…
Enjoy your Sunday everyone. Go to the park or something while the weather’s nice.