How to Get Ahead in Television (16 page)

‘Why does everything have to be a competition with you, Rhidian? I can tell you now, I'm not eating any squirrels. I would have stopped at M&S to get supplies if I'd known we'd be living off roadkill for two days.'

‘Hi, I'm Trace,' came a voice from behind me.

‘Oh, er, hi,' I said, turning around to see Trace in all his tanned, toned, bearded splendour. ‘I'm Poppy.'

‘I don't use roadkill in my cooking. I caught the squirrels earlier, no cars were involved,' said Trace, no hint of humour in his voice.

‘Aha, I was only joking, sorry…' I said.

‘It takes a long time to prepare a squirrel for human consumption, so don't feel you have to force it down. All the more for those of us who appreciate the process of catching and preparing the food we eat.'

‘Oh yes, absolutely, I mean, don't think I don't respect the art of, er…'

But Trace had disappeared back into the darkness.

‘I think he likes you,' said Rhidian, handing me a sleeping bag.

After a revolting campfire meal (Trace glaring at me for picking at my squirrel tagine), the production team turned in for the night. I was already feeling cross with myself for getting off on the wrong foot with the presenter, but Rhidian only managed to make me feel worse by instantly establishing himself as everybody's new best friend. He regaled the production team with funny camping stories over dinner, to the
point where Trace declared, ‘This kid is a riot, he should be on the show!'

‘Poppy, here, you'd better have the torch,' said Rhidian, as we were about to turn in to our respective tents.

‘Why would I need the torch more than you?' I asked.

‘I don't know, fending off badgers or bears or whatever decides to crash into your tent in the middle of the night.'

‘There aren't any bears on Dartmoor,' I scoffed.

‘Okay, suit yourself if you don't want it,' said Rhidian. ‘I'm going to read for a bit anyway. You know, if you do get scared in the night, I'm just a bear's swipe away.'

I lay awake in the dark, conscious that I could hear Rhidian turning the pages of his book, just yards from my head. Our tents had been laid out at the far end of the car park as a last-minute addition, so we were slightly removed from the rest of the team. It felt strangely intimate to be sleeping so close together.

‘Poppy, are you awake?' Rhidian whispered.

‘No.' I sighed.

‘I just wanted to say goodnight… And I hope the bears don't bite.' He chuckled. ‘Or the spiders… or the marauding wild boar… or the…'

‘Shut up, Rhidian.'

Sure enough, in the middle of the night, I woke to a snuffling sound outside my tent. Something large was moving through the long grass right next to my head. Oh god, maybe there
were
bears on Dartmoor? This was like being on one of those arctic expeditions where a polar bear paws through the canvas and rips somebody's head off before they can get the tent zips undone. I tried to suppress a squeal and searched around for my phone as a light source. The battery was dead. Typical.

I quietly crawled out of my tent, careful not to alarm whatever beast was stalking me. I felt in the dark for Rhidian's tent and slowly unzipped the outer flysheet. This was going to have to be a pride-swallowing moment, since both our lives
were in imminent danger from a marauding polar bear (or whatever the Dartmoor equivalent was).

‘Rhidian,' I whispered. I could hear him lightly snoring. I felt around for the torch in the dark, but grabbed an arm by mistake.

‘Hey,' Rhidian said in a sleepy voice, taking my arm and pulling me towards him. ‘Come back to bed, it's early.'

Before I knew what had happened, I found myself lying down next to him, enveloped protectively by two strong arms. I was in my colleague's tent, he was still asleep, topless and, most crucially, clearly thought I was someone else.

‘Woah, no, no, I'm… it's Poppy. Rhidian, wake up!' I said, pinching him on the arm.

‘Ow! Hey…' Rhidian took a few moments to get his bearings, turn on the torch, and establish the identity of his tent intruder. ‘Poppy, what are you doing?'

‘I'm sorry. There is a marauding bear outside and I need the torch,' I hissed. ‘And also for you to deal with the bear.'

‘Poppy, there are no bears. If you're just inventing ways to get close to me—'

‘Hardly. Shhh, listen!'

Rhidian was quiet. We were still lying close enough together for me to feel the body heat radiating from his skin. He smelled of musky warm cinnamon, which made me think of Christmas. As we lay quietly, sure enough we could hear what sounded like a large animal still moving around outside.

‘See!' I whispered.

Rhidian crawled lazily towards the tent door, grabbing some tracksuit bottoms as he stumbled out into the cold night air. As he stood outside, pulling on clothes, I glimpsed his half-naked body in the moonlight. His torso was slimmer than I had imagined: lithe but still well-defined. I caught myself staring and quickly averted my gaze, crawling out after him.

‘Don't let it eat you,' I warned.

Rhidian shone his torch out into the grass and we soon saw what was making the noise – people. Comedian Graham
Gilbert, dressed in full camouflage gear and a bandana, was stalking through the grass, followed by Trace and a camera crew filming with night-vision lenses. Trace started talking to the camera in a whisper, as Graham darted towards the smouldering remains of our campfire.

‘Graham is sussing out the production team's camp, looking for scraps from last night's dinner. Little does he know, he won't find a thing. We're always careful to dispose of any food the contestants might find. Will he still have his sense of humour when he finds that crock pot empty?'

‘So not bears then,' Rhidian whispered to me, turning off his torch so as not to interfere with the filming.

‘Well, how was I to know they'd be filming at night?' I whispered back.

‘They film whenever the contestants are awake,' said Rhidian.

Over by the campfire, we heard some clanking as Graham discovered the discarded cooking pots. We couldn't see anything in the dark, but we could tell from his screams that he'd found them empty.

‘No, no, no! Bloody bastards! Don't leave anything for me? Give me something to eat, you bastards, I can hardly stand up, I'm so weak…'

Then we heard Trace ambush him.

‘It looks like Graham might find stand-up difficult if he's having trouble standing up! Graham, you're not losing your sense of humour, are you? Tell us a joke.'

This was basically the aim of the show – to bring the comics to their lowest point in terms of hunger, physical hardship and sleep deprivation, and then ask them to be funny. If they couldn't, they were off the show.

‘Um, what's the difference between a squirrel and a plate of food,' Graham said, trying to sound upbeat, but his voice was straining, as though he might cry.

‘That's the spirit, Graham,' said Trace. ‘I don't know, what is the difference between a squirrel and a plate of food?'

‘I don't know!' Graham screamed, breaking down into sobs. ‘I don't, my brain doesn't work, I can't think properly, I don't know any more jokes. This isn't funny – please just give me something to eat. I don't want to be here any more.'

In the embers of the campfire we could see Graham rocking on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, sucking on a clump of grass.

‘That doesn't sound very funny to me, Graham,' chimed Trace: ‘Are you saying: “I'm a comedian, but I'm not funny”? That's all you need to say to be out of the game and go home.'

‘Yes, yes, that's what I'm saying.' Graham was crying now, ‘I'm just so cold… I… Does anyone have a jumper?'

‘You have to say the words, Graham,' said Trace.

‘I'm a comedian and I'm not funny! I'm not funny, okay?' Graham sobbed.

‘Well, that's one more comedian OUT here at
Survival of the Wittiest
. Graham Gilbert, the latest contestant to crumble. With four contestants left, who will be strong enough to retain their sense of humour and be crowned
King of Wits
?'

The camera crew stopped filming, and Graham was led back wailing to the ‘recovery zone' at the far end of the campsite.

‘Sorry to disturb you, guys,' Trace called over to us as he left. ‘We never know where or when these guys are going to lose it.'

‘No problem,' Rhidian called back.

We stood in silence next to each other for a minute and then Rhidian suddenly roared in my ear, ‘RRRRRRRRAWWWWW, BEARS!', making me jump out of my skin and let out a strangled squawking scream.

‘You okay back there?' called a member of the crew.

‘Yeah, fine, Poppy thought she saw a bear,' Rhidian called.

‘Oh my god, you're such a dick!' I said, pushing Rhidian away and trying to scramble back into my tent. ‘Not funny.'

‘Oh, come on, Poppy, it was quite funny,' said Rhidian, chuckling to himself.

This was obviously all part of his master plan, to make me look like a scaredy-cat girl in front of the production team. I mean, I knew he was competitive, but that was a low tactic. I was going to have to up my game.

STEP 28 – BE PREPARED FOR EVERYTHING TO GO TO SHIT

I
WAS WOKEN
by the light at some hideous time of the morning. I emerged from my tent, blinking in the daylight, to see half the camp already up and about. Some people were cooking at the campfire, others were brushing their teeth by the water station, and a few were sorting through camera kit and setting up power cables. At the far end of the camp, Trace Armstrong was performing some kind of yogic tai chi on a rock, wearing just a white bandana and a small pair of neon-green shorts.

I found my towel and headed over to the Portakabins to have a shower. I was quite conscious of the fact that I hadn't seen a mirror in a while and must look an absolute wreck. My hair had developed a nest-like quality overnight, and make-up without a mirror was just not worth attempting.

‘Hey, Poppy, production meeting at the campfire in ten, okay?' called Mark, who was sitting on a rock, skinning an animal that looked alarmingly rabbit-like.

Washed and changed, I headed over to the campfire where I was offered a pile of blueberries and suspicious-looking meat on a stick.

‘You know, it's very healthy eating paleo like this,' one of the cameramen said. ‘I love doing this show – I always lose so much weight.'

‘Me too,' said a girl sitting next to him. ‘I was sick so many times last series, I lost a stone and a half. It was great.'

‘Morning!' chirped Rhidian, sitting down next to me.

Having glanced at myself in the car wing mirror on the way back from my tepid shower, I could see that, as suspected, camping had given me the look of a bedraggled Neanderthal cave woman. Rhidian, however, appeared to be effortlessly pulling off the ‘rugged and dishevelled outward-bound look', which only served to irritate me further.

‘Did you sleep bear-ably, Poppy?' he asked.

I made a face and offered him my meat lollipop.

‘Okay, team.' Trace had put on some clothes and was striding over to the group. ‘How lucky are we to be alive on this glorious day?'

People in the group responded that they did indeed feel very lucky.

‘And what more do we need than what nature has provided us with? Sunshine, food of the earth and the love in our hearts,' Trace cried with a stretch. ‘So last night we had a great moment with Graham, really powerful stuff. I was moved. Anyway, he admitted defeat and is now out of the game,' said Trace. ‘This morning I want A team to head up to the river mouth where two comics are camping out, and B team to climb High Wilhays Tor, where Bev Sillican is probably going to be the next comic to crumble. Ideally we want to encourage the comics to congregate near base camp so we get some conflict and drama. We might even throw in some food for them to fight over. Is everyone feeling good about this?'

The team all cheered.

Mark turned to Rhidian and I. ‘Runners, you can both come with B team as it's going to be tough getting all that kit up the rock escarpment.'

Everyone leapt into action and I tried to be helpful rounding up camera kit to carry.

‘Beats sitting in an office, hey?' Rhidian said, throwing a rucksack of camera batteries onto his back.

I would actually have loved to be back in the office – JR
might have emailed me. Perhaps he had tried to call, but I had no way of knowing with a dead battery and no reception.

Trace, Mark, two cameramen, Rhidian and I set off out of camp at quite a pace. After half a mile or so, I was struggling to keep up and Rhidian lagged behind to walk with me.

‘You want me to take one of those kit bags?' he asked.

‘No, I'm fine, thanks.'

Rhidian started chatting to me, but I had to choose between saving my breath to keep pace with the others and being able to speak. I opted for the former.

Mark was looking at a little screen, following a small red dot on the map as we climbed. The contestants were all fitted with tracking devices so the crew could keep tabs on them. A few miles up, Mark held up a hand for us to stop.

‘Cameras up, guys – looks like we're close,' he said.

The cameras started rolling just as Bev Sillican emerged from a rocky outcrop twenty yards ahead of us. I didn't know much about Bev, except that she was a rather overweight northern comedian who I'd only ever heard tell jokes about food, periods or how much food you eat when you're on your period. She looked surprisingly pleased with herself for someone who'd been living wild for a week and a half.

‘It's another day on
Survival of the Wittiest
, and Bev Sillican is still in the game,' said Trace to camera. ‘Will she still see the funny side of—'

Mid-sentence, Trace was hit in the neck by a lump of mud. He turned around to see where it had come from, and saw Bev flinging clods at him from further up the hill. On closer inspection, perhaps it wasn't mud… By the smell of it, it was lumps of…

‘Don't throw shit at me!' Trace yelled, his voice reaching a hysterically high pitch. ‘That is totally out of order, Bev!'

‘Everyone loves toilet humour!' Bev danced around gleefully.

I stifled a giggle as I dodged another piece of flying excrement.

‘Cut, Mark. I won't have this, I won't.' Trace flounced off, out of range. ‘I mean, we're not animals, Mark. This is unacceptable.'

‘I know, I know, I'll talk to her,' said Mark.

Mark and Trace had a quiet chat out of earshot, then Mark headed up the hill to talk to Bev.

‘Bev, we can't use any of that on the show, I'm afraid. It's against our Health and Safety guidelines. Are you going to stop throwing stuff and do something we can actually use?' Mark called.

‘I'm not talking to you. You're the biggest shitwit of them all!' Bev screamed at Mark, flinging more faeces in his direction before ducking back behind her rock.

I searched around in the supply bag for some wet wipes to help Trace clean his neck.

‘This is so out of order,' he whined. ‘I'm trying to help these people learn how to survive and this is what I have to put up with?'

‘I know, it's terrible,' I said, trying to sound sympathetic.

Bev emerged from behind her rock again. She'd taken her boots off and was clapping them together with her hands, singing, ‘Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere'.

‘Oh bollocks, she's properly lost it,' said Mark. ‘Trace, you need to come and talk to Bev.'

‘I'm not going on camera with shit on my neck, Mark!' cried Trace.

‘Poppy, you're a girl, you talk to her,' Mark said in desperation. He didn't seem to be a man who was good in a crisis.

‘Me? What am I going to do?' I asked.

‘I don't know. Go try girl-talk or something.' Mark shrugged. ‘Roll cameras in case we need this for an inquiry later…'

I gingerly headed up towards Bev, holding my rucksack in front of me to fend off flying objects. Bev was still singing ‘Go Tell It on the Mountain' and clapping her shoes together.

‘Er, Bev, are you okay? Do you want to go home now?' I asked.

‘“Go on the show, your gigs will sell out,” my agent told me,' Bev said, laughing. ‘“Good publicity,” she said, “a comeback,” she said.'

‘Okay, Bev, but you don't have to be here if you don't want to…' I tried.

‘You know, I couldn't afford the mortgage repayments on my house if I didn't do this show.' Bev was staring at me, wild-eyed.

‘Um, don't worry. I'm sure it will all be fine,' I said, feeling immensely unqualified to talk an emotionally unhinged comedian down from a mountain.

‘Keep 'em amused though, hey?' said Bev. ‘As long as they're laughing, I'm still in the game. I'M STILL IN THE GAME!'

Bev was shouting at me now, and had picked up a pretty sizable rock from the ground.

‘Woah!' I said, holding up my rucksack in alarm.

‘Hey, Bev,' came a voice from behind me. It was Rhidian. He'd run up the hill and now positioned himself between Bev and me. ‘Bev, put the rock down, hey?' Rhidian strode confidently over to Bev and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I love your show, by the way. That joke you do about the carrot cakes – gets me every time.'

‘Really?' Bev looked up at him hopefully. ‘You like that one?'

Rhidian coaxed Bev to sit down on the rock and put his jacket around her shoulders. He started talking to her quietly so I couldn't quite hear. She started to laugh and the insane look started to ebb from her eyes.

I watched in astonishment as this unfolded in front of me. I couldn't believe Rhidian had stolen my thunder like that. Mark had specifically asked me to try and talk her down, but Rhidian had leapt in there before I'd even had a chance to try.

We all trooped back to base camp with Bev, Rhidian chatting to her the whole way down.

‘Wow, he's got a knack with the crazy ladies, hasn't he?' the cameraman observed as I walked down beside him.

‘Poppy, have you got any spritzer?' Trace asked me. ‘Perfume or something? I still smell of shit.'

‘No, sorry, I didn't bring anything like that with me,' I said.

Trace rolled his eyeballs, amazed that a girl wouldn't be fully equipped with make-up and perfume at all times.

Back at base camp, Bev was led off to have a private chat with the show psychologist, to ascertain whether she was mentally fit enough to continue with the show.

‘You okay?' Rhidian asked me, once Bev had been safely offloaded.

‘Fine, thanks,' I said.

‘That got pretty hairy up there, hey?'

‘Yup.'

‘I mean, I thought she might actually throw that rock at you.'

‘Luckily my Rhidian-in-shining-armour was there to save the day,' I said tetchily.

‘What?'

‘Never mind.'

A couple of hours later, Bev was declared mentally unfit to continue with filming and I was asked to escort her back to London on the train. Rhidian helped load up our things and drove us to the nearest train station.

‘Thanks for everything,' Bev said to him, clasping Rhidian's hand as we waited at the station. ‘You really helped me see things clearly up there. I lost my shit for a minute there…'

‘You literally lost your shit,' said Rhidian with a smile.

Bev laughed and gave him a hug. Once Bev was out of earshot, he turned to me.

‘Hey, Poppy, I'll see you back at the office.' He reached out and touched my arm. ‘What shall we write this up on the chart as?'

‘Let's call it: “Rhidian can't resist rescuing a damsel in distress”,' I said, turning away from him.

‘Hey.' Rhidian reached out, took my arm and gently spun me around to face him. ‘I was just trying to help, Poppy.'

He looked down at me. I couldn't read his expression – he almost looked offended. I stood looking back up at him, unable to make myself move. In a flash his expression changed and he was smiling again.

‘Well, I definitely think I deserve a point for having you crawl into my tent looking for bear protection…'

‘Looking for a torch,' I corrected him.

‘Poppy, listen, I—' Rhidian started to say something, but our train had arrived. I had to go.