Walking down the road I knew that this wasn’t just a normal walk in. I knew, as I was walking down that road at half nine, that I probably wouldn’t be walking back until about six the following morning. That was the worst thought. That I was going to be at university for a full day. No sleep. No break. No decent food, nothing but the vending machine, the studio and the newsroom.
So, I finally arrived at about 10am, not that the time is important. Why bother looking at the time when I knew this room was going to be my new friend for the next, well what seemed an eternity.
The hustle and bustle had already started. Surprising, usually its dead at ten. The room seemed to be filled with excitement at the upcoming event, a feeling that would switch throughout the day from excitement to stress, stress to dread, dread to exhaustion, then back to excitement again.
12pm. Ten hours to go till we started our LIVE coverage. Everyone was starting to settle in to their individual roles. I think the anticipation of what was going to happen made people panic more than actually doing it. OB’s were being planned and tested all over the shop. First years were working on camera skills, whilst presenters were sitting around just waiting for their time to shine. How had people prepared, early nights? Coffee? Sugary food? Sending your body into sudden shock by breaking away from normal routine was insane. I decided to keep mine normal lots of water and a late night. This felt better. I had pushed my body clock back to a time my body could accept. Not quite six am, but now my body was used to staying up late rather than think it was getting an early night.
The night grew closer and closer and with going live looming ever nearer the mood turned into stress. What still needed to be done? A big sign on the board saying rehearsals at 7.30pm meant that it must be close. This still needed to be done. That still needed to be done. In actual fact, everything was done. The studio was up running. All skype connections had been established. We had OB’s. We had presenters. We had cameras. It was ready. Everyone returned to the newsroom. All sitting together there had already been tension within the group. Catherine was right. The last thing we needed was to fight with each other, for the sake of the coverage running smoothly it was important to listen to one another and not get touchy when we were asked to do something. At the end of the day we were all doing a job, and trying to get it done.
The sun was finally disappearing. People were playing various sports games out on the field. People were drinking in the terrace bar. People were going home. Not us. We were there still in that newsroom probably being watched by the site stewards on the little camera. OB reporters had left for their posts, people were now coming back and forth between the studio and the news room all the time keeping their eyes on the big screen that had constantly been playing BBC live coverage of the election watching for any inkling there might be.
9pm. The smell of Chinese food had absolutely stunk out the newsroom. People were hungry and desperately eyeing up the vending machine for anything they hadn’t eaten that day. Please. No more teas, crunchies and mini cheddars.
10pm. This was it. That edgy tense music started. Graham Bell took to the presenting like a duck to water. There was not a single nervous energy coming off him. Sure there was sweat, but those lights, the whole room was boiling. Stress, bodies and lighting made sure it was like that all night. The first two hours I was too excited, too nervous, for any tiredness to even come into the equation.
I can remember thinking how uncomfortable the poor first year lying on the floor with the boom mic must have been.
Shit. My concentration slipped, the autocue froze, I panicked but managed to find where I was. Saved myself. Couldn’t let that happen again, I MUST concentrate.
12pm. The studio was even hotter. A couple of minutes break as the top of the hour rolled forward. Adverts were playing; I can’t even remember what they were the only advertisement I remember that night was from the Pudsey bear on Graham’s towel. He switched with Claire. The only person who could follow his lead, I swapped with Kayleigh. I was now presenting the OB’s and was terrified. The one thing I remember thinking. What If I can’t understand any of them!
The talkback in my ear ALWAYS hurts. Talking both to Brian, the director and listening to Claire while she was throwing over to me was hard, and sometimes I was nearly caught out on camera. I knew my friends were watching.
The final two hours or so we thought. We’d completely lost autocue but Graham had done this enough to know exactly what he was doing. At this point I had changed into a large hoodie. The studio just smelt of sweat and bodies. It was too hot. Too tense. We just wanted the result. Who was going to be Winchesters representative?
As OB’s dried up and Southampton ordering a recount it was down to Stu, our reporter down at the Winchester count. 6am. The sound had gone. I was literally on the edge of my seat waiting. “What’s happening Stu? Stu? Can you hear me Stuart?” No one knew what to do. Deathly silence filled he studio. Everyone was in there now.
“IT’S BRINE. STEVE BRINE’S GOT IT!”
We had got through it without falling asleep. People were complaining about stomach aches, the smell in the studio and the fact it was daylight outside. But it was done.
We had done it. The only student live election coverage.
And we had done it.
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