You may, or may not, be aware of the fact that you are reading the blog of the next Jo Whiley/Sara Cox/Annie Mac. Yes, I am on my way to the upper echelons of the media broadcasting world with only my discerning wit and raw talent for company. Soon the words 'Georgia' and 'Robson' will not have to be mentioned consecutively in order for you to know that it is moi who is the topic of conversation. Radio will never be the same again, and all will be dwarfed by my presence.
Orrrrrrrr, not.
I had you all for a second though, didn't I?! Where did I lose you? Was it at the words 'next Jo Whiley'? Or did you teeter on for a bit, get to 'upper echelons' and realise I was pulling your proverbial leg?
Let's be frank about this - I am not the next bigshot radio presenter. That's that.
I do, however, have a radio show. It is in its infancy, and just like a new born, it should bring me joy and fulfillment but actually only brings me sleepless nights, shed loads of worry and a hell of a lot of work. You see having a radio show - in theory - is marvelous. Yet, in reality, only when you have a team of producers/technicians around you pulling levers and pressing buttons and keeping you on track, a plethora of willing guests, and a good few millennia of experience under your belt does the theory actually match the reality. Until then, the fear of hosting your on show, during which you have to be constantly engaging, entertaining and technically 'on-the-ball' is completely paralysing.
I have had two shows up till now, the second being the worst, suprisingly. My first show was a melange of nerves, bad song choices and a motley crew of guests (and when I say guests I mean reluctant mates who I dragged into the studio to act as human lifeboats, just in case the show started to go under). I had one email into the studio during the whole show, which was from one of my guests who had escaped and made it back to the safety of his own home. The excitement of this email was soon dampened by the fact it was him and not a rogue listener who had tuned in to hear my dulcit tones on air. Oh well, at least it was an email. My second show was devoid of any form of outside communication.
The second show which aired just yesterday (the experience is still quite raw) had similar aspects to the first. Nerves were present, bad songs choices in abundance (I blame this on the nerves as never in my own time would I sit and listen to the drone of The Bangles', Manic Monday) yet there was a severe lack of guests. In fact, there was a severe lack of people in general - I was a lone wolf for the duration of the show and it was a harrowing experience; hearing your own forced laughter echoing of the walls of the empty studio and rattling through the corridors is a real atmosphere killer. Anyway, I did my best to emulate some sort of energy and engagement with the listeners. Well, I would of, had there been any. Yes, this week I didn't even get ONE email. Nor did I get a text or a tweet. No one commented on my content; no one offered up a shout-out or a high-five for the good work; It was a one way road in a deserted land.
It was a humbling experience.
The show must go on though and so it did. I stumbled my way around the buttons and switches, deciding this week to bring in my own laptop to use as well as the two computer screens and switchboards I already had to manage (good one, Georgia). There were errors and stutters and a whole array of technical blunders, but I made it to the other side and live to tell the tale.
The feeling after the show is euphoric. I literally feel like I am flying - I MADE IT THROUGH!!!!!! And yes, I make mistakes but never as many as I allow myself to imagine I might make before I go on air. If I'm honest, it is all worth it for that post-show high. I cannot wait for the time when I am completely in control of all those buttons and levers and could conduct the show with my eyes closed (if the need arose); I eagerly await the day that I have guests queuing at the door to come on air with me and I will think back to these days as a rookie presenter, and throw my head back and laugh at the inexperienced me.
Until then though, I am quite content to put up with the sleepless nights and worrisome days...as long as I get some bloody emails.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Thursday, 21 October 2010
...in the money: Part III 'Income(ing)'
Readers, it has been a while, but I am back with another installment of this seemingly hilarious tale of financial woes.
Entering student life, as most of you will know, pretty much leads to minus numbers in your bank account - but it's manageable. However I have reached new levels this term as a result of my phantom loan and an overdraft the size of Mary Byrne's chest. Today I got some more good news (not). I received a lovely email from the college stating that they were reducing the amount of money I receive through a scholarship programme. This is essentially because they refuse to acknowledge that the economy has shifted this past year and therefore won't change any of their criteria. How moronic.
I swear someone smacked me with the unlucky stick sometime in early September and I am still reeling from it now.
Saying that, a little luck has started to trickle through as last week I announced to the world that..... (drum roll please)..... I was employed! Yes, I have secured an income; I am no longer a scavenger living of money that isn't mine - I can now call my mother up, with my head held high, and say, 'mum, I am a working woman, please can I borrow a tenner'.
I was pretty ecstatic when I got the news. I mean, it's only a job behind the bar at the S.U, and I have to deal with drunk, imbecilic loons till 3 in the morning who request ludicrous amounts of sambuca shots and then proceed to spill them all over the bar in their comatosed state (but then stare at you with that look that says 'that was my fault but I am going to try and pin it on you').
However beggars can't be choosers and I most certainly was a beggar. I still am a beggar for now...but luck - and money - are incoming, so I feel things may turn around for me after all.
Entering student life, as most of you will know, pretty much leads to minus numbers in your bank account - but it's manageable. However I have reached new levels this term as a result of my phantom loan and an overdraft the size of Mary Byrne's chest. Today I got some more good news (not). I received a lovely email from the college stating that they were reducing the amount of money I receive through a scholarship programme. This is essentially because they refuse to acknowledge that the economy has shifted this past year and therefore won't change any of their criteria. How moronic.
I swear someone smacked me with the unlucky stick sometime in early September and I am still reeling from it now.
Saying that, a little luck has started to trickle through as last week I announced to the world that..... (drum roll please)..... I was employed! Yes, I have secured an income; I am no longer a scavenger living of money that isn't mine - I can now call my mother up, with my head held high, and say, 'mum, I am a working woman, please can I borrow a tenner'.
I was pretty ecstatic when I got the news. I mean, it's only a job behind the bar at the S.U, and I have to deal with drunk, imbecilic loons till 3 in the morning who request ludicrous amounts of sambuca shots and then proceed to spill them all over the bar in their comatosed state (but then stare at you with that look that says 'that was my fault but I am going to try and pin it on you').
However beggars can't be choosers and I most certainly was a beggar. I still am a beggar for now...but luck - and money - are incoming, so I feel things may turn around for me after all.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
...'the blogger'
The blogger - definition*:
One who is given this label due to the writing of a blog. Often given this label in jest - for the amusement of others.
This is an odd post as I have not - and am not currently - aspiring to be 'the blogger of the group'. It is a label that has befallen me ever since word spread to the masses about this blog of mine (when I say masses, I mean my facebook friends).
Last night, I found myself surrounded by said 'group'. The subject of my blog popped up in conversation as a fan of mine (bahaha) mentioned to the others that I had a blog, and that he was a frequent reader - excellent news. However, the mention of my blog did not spark a discussion on the quality of writing, the role of blogs in our society, or a discussion on how it came about ('my story: from blog-rags to blog-riches'). What did occur was an explosion of blog-related gags and witty comments that flowed for the rest of the night; my drinking game name was blog-f*uck and it wasn't a problem if anyone missed a joke, or an anecdote, as I would blog about it the next day.
I want to note, at this point, that none of this offended me or had me crying in the loos - regretting the day I submitted that first post. It was flattering (to a degree) and yet it made me think about how some people must now perceive me.
This may come as a shock to you all, but many of my 'friends' on facebook and twitter are not actually my friends. I KNOW - it's disturbing (lets just keep calling them friends for now for fear I might offend and because it is possible these 'friends' include you). Yet these 'friends' can still get to my blog, read it, judge it, scorn it, praise it, without knowing anything else about me but what is written here. So to many of you out there, I am the girl who blogs - 'the blogger'. I am simply that girl who is having money troubles; the one who went to the same gym as a dwarf and a dennis the menace lookalike; the busy one. Forever** people will say to me, 'you write a blog don't you?' and the words, 'I read your blog today' will be the sentence that saves me and this other person from that awkward silence that comes in a conversation after the pleasantries are out of the way.
So, I have become the blogger. I suppose there could be worse things.
p.s. They were right. I have blogged about it the next day.
*unofficial definition
**I say forever, my blog could dry up next week, but I'm taking the 'glass is half full' route here
One who is given this label due to the writing of a blog. Often given this label in jest - for the amusement of others.
This is an odd post as I have not - and am not currently - aspiring to be 'the blogger of the group'. It is a label that has befallen me ever since word spread to the masses about this blog of mine (when I say masses, I mean my facebook friends).
Last night, I found myself surrounded by said 'group'. The subject of my blog popped up in conversation as a fan of mine (bahaha) mentioned to the others that I had a blog, and that he was a frequent reader - excellent news. However, the mention of my blog did not spark a discussion on the quality of writing, the role of blogs in our society, or a discussion on how it came about ('my story: from blog-rags to blog-riches'). What did occur was an explosion of blog-related gags and witty comments that flowed for the rest of the night; my drinking game name was blog-f*uck and it wasn't a problem if anyone missed a joke, or an anecdote, as I would blog about it the next day.
I want to note, at this point, that none of this offended me or had me crying in the loos - regretting the day I submitted that first post. It was flattering (to a degree) and yet it made me think about how some people must now perceive me.
This may come as a shock to you all, but many of my 'friends' on facebook and twitter are not actually my friends. I KNOW - it's disturbing (lets just keep calling them friends for now for fear I might offend and because it is possible these 'friends' include you). Yet these 'friends' can still get to my blog, read it, judge it, scorn it, praise it, without knowing anything else about me but what is written here. So to many of you out there, I am the girl who blogs - 'the blogger'. I am simply that girl who is having money troubles; the one who went to the same gym as a dwarf and a dennis the menace lookalike; the busy one. Forever** people will say to me, 'you write a blog don't you?' and the words, 'I read your blog today' will be the sentence that saves me and this other person from that awkward silence that comes in a conversation after the pleasantries are out of the way.
So, I have become the blogger. I suppose there could be worse things.
p.s. They were right. I have blogged about it the next day.
*unofficial definition
**I say forever, my blog could dry up next week, but I'm taking the 'glass is half full' route here
Thursday, 7 October 2010
...a bee
As in, the busy type.
Although there is really no need to aspire with this one - I have aspired, achieved and am already feeling the consequences!
I have always been one to bite off more than I can chew, and third year at university is apparently going to be no different. I can hear my Mum already, 'you just need to prioritise, Georgia'. Yes, yes, mother, that is all well and good, but when you have agreed to be 'on air', broadcasting to the world at 1 o'clock on a wednesday when you know full well that some weeks that is definitely going to clash with hockey matches (for the hockey club that you gave your allegiance to years ago), it is a little hard to 'prioritise'.
Anyway, I have prioritised. I prioritised fitting in all of my commitments over eating/resting/communicating with others (these things waste so much time, don't you think?).
So, here is a little run down of my week for all you aspiring bee's out there:
Monday - The first day of the week is kind to me - schedule wise - like an old friend, who can see I have fallen on stressful times, and eases me back into things gently. I have a lovely free morning.
Then - things get going. 3 hours of dance, 2 hours of hockey training, some sort of dance/drama audition and finally, home for dinner by about 10pm.
Tuesday - 10 til 5 lectures. What a bitch. Tuesday is in no way kind, like my old friend Monday, therefore I have nothing more to say about it.
Wednesday - An early start. First to the library to catch up on work, then - a radio show at 1, a hockey match all afternoon, and social to follow.
Thursday - write a blog, plan my radio show, tidy up, go to the physio, more uni work. Then at 6pm, BOOM, I have 3 hours of dance rehearsals.
Friday - The worst day. I hate Friday. I hate you - do you hear? Up at 7am for fitness at 8am. At 10am I have lectures....until 5pm. At 5pm, I have to be at hockey training. After this, I should be social and go out to the union, but I have no doubt that at this point I will fold inwards and collapse into a pile of exhausted dust particles (can dust be exhausted? I'm sure after a day like Friday it can be). I will not resume my former shape and 'wholeness' until the following morning.
And finally, The Weekend - A time for relaxation, for catch ups and phone calls to friends. Or, in my case, the days you write your essays, do your reading, fill in your sketch book, go to drama school auditions and play league/cup hockey games. Awesome.
As well as these commitments, I am choreographing a dance for which I need hours of rehearsal time; I am planning to get a job and work; I have to go and see exhibitions and shows to supplement my course and at some point, I need to chill the f out. I don't make my life easy for myself do I? I also feel the need to tweet about it all day long too, which is another time consumer. Not to mention getting my daily fix of facebook. Sometimes, I wish I was a technophobe.
Or a life-aphobe. That would just be the best solution to be honest - to be afraid of living. Then I could just curl up and sleep all day, everyday, without the worry of meeting my goals, or feeling fulfilled or keeping fit. Yeah. That sounds perfect. So then, a life-aphobe it is. Looks like I will be seeing you all never.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)