So there I was at work and I see a Tweet from the Housing Association asking if anyone would mind talking to Sky News regarding the latest struggles for first-time buyers. Slightly apprehensively I respond saying I wouldn’t mind doing it. I had assumed it would be over the phone or a street-side Vox Pox. Wrong! Cut to me sitting in the Sky London offices having had full make-up applied.
Apparently, I’m on at 6…it’s now 6.03. Maybe they’ve forgotten and I can just sneak out? ‘Bring in the guest’ comes a voice over the PA system from the office behind me. Too late. An old gentleman comes and leads me through the office. Trendy media types busily edit together all sorts of footage. I’m led to a room at the back and told to take a seat. The room is dark and in front of me there’s a square bit of card and beneath which is a monitor showing a live feed of the Sky News output. A voice comes out of the walls.
Voice: ‘Hi Nick, thanks for agreeing to do this. The anchor is just going to ask you some questions so just repeat what you told our researcher’
Me: ‘Erm ok’
Voice: ‘Don’t look at the monitor, when you’re on look directly into the square in front of you. We will give you a 1 minute’s warning’
So I guess that’s the media training then! I watch the monitor praying for a breaking news story. ‘World war 3 has broken out!’, ‘Katie Price has been suffocated by her own overinflated tits’ or ‘Roman Abramovich is bored of Chelsea so has bought Southend United‘. Unfortunately no such luck. My palms go to truly Oceanic levels when I hear ‘OK Nick 1 minute’. The VT on the monitor is showing a bird I recognise from the TV. I’m so nervous. I look at the door. The old guy didn’t lock it. I could make a run for it. I try to recall how many have-a-go heroes I passed who would try to rugby tackle me should I make a run for it. I bet they all either Row or play Rugby. Chances of success? Slim! Too late anyway, I’m on. I’m also looking at the monitor. Rule 1 of my training broke in an instant.
Voice: ‘Erm…thanks Nick’
And I’m left to gather my things and leave. The old man isn’t there to see me out. I walk on my own back to the make-up room where I’m met by a solitary pack of baby wipes. As I clean the thick make-up off of my face I consider nicking the wet wipes as a memento and then come to terms with how terrible that idea is.
After this performance, they changed the old adage to never work with children, animals or Nick Bennett. The nervous laugh and impromptu tick ruined my TV career before it had a chance to blossom. The second time they came back to me I realised that I hadn’t been paying any attention to the housing expert or the anchor. Luckily my personal charm and ability to cope under pressure got me out of that tight corner.
So you’d think that I’d be on some media blacklist. Apparently not, I was what the industry refers to as ‘hot shit’. I was offered the chance to take part in an empty home documentary on Channel 4. Which I had to decline as the Mrs has enough of a problem being seen with me out in public let alone on national television. More recently we were offered an interview for The Independant. I felt an article about first-time buyers struggling to get on the rung would be inappropriate a week before a lavish trip to LA and Las Vegas.
So I guess that my fifteen minutes of fame is up, although if by chance you are an agent and fancy a challenge we need to talk. If Nick Knowles can make a career out of this then there is hope for us all.