The Award Winning Conrad Gatecrasher

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Matt called at lunchtime to tell me there was another awards thing tonight. I didn’t want to go but the new lifestyle regime I’m pushing myself through meant I had no choice in the matter. If there are any social event things going on then I am simply not allowed to hide in my room.

Joe had wanted to go to the previous awards thing (the Nastas) but we couldn’t get invites. As this event was in Bournemouth itself it didn’t matter either way. We’d just gatecrash and if we couldn’t get in we’d go to the pub.

By the evening Matt and I were dressed up but Joe came as Joe, having been soaked whilst cycling in the pouring rain. Matt bickered with the doorman for a while thinking that at least his name was on the guest list. Matt’s the sort of person who somehow gets his name on every guest list – he was at the Royal Television Society Awards last week! (Did I mention that he’s 19?)

Somehow we got in and I was pleased to discover I actually knew a few people there. The event itself covered all of Nerve Media – but no one really identified themselves as being from Nerve TV, it clearly being far more hip to be working on the magazine or the radio station theses days.

I just glad Joe was there. Despite being on the film course with me (which he admittedly talks about far too much) Joe is good at reminding me what is real and what public performance.

The awards were given out by Sarah the Ice Queen who was wearing a white dress that she only just managed to pull off but her hair looks much better now it’s short. I still think you’ll never see pictures of her flckr tagged as pretty or cute – much more likely ambitious, ruthless and ultimately successful.

And then something very odd happened. I was in the audience working on my comedy timing, with phrases such as ‘mother fucker‘ and ‘fucking hell‘ after each award was given – the award for best TV presenter came up. Sarah started saying things like when you’ve met the winner of this award you KNOW you’ve met him…and stuff like that and felt myself swallow hard.

…Conrad Slater!

Oh bollocks. I ambled up – the winded knocked out my sails – said "mother fucker" into the microphone and sat down again.

And so the night carried on and my heckling was ruined. Matt, next to me looked over to see the award which is actually engraved with my name. "Good job we came along" he commented.

Wait a fucking minute – I gate crashed this event and I’ve won something. And then the: "why didn’t I say that when I was up there" issue kicked in. Apart from possibly offending someone (always good) it would have got a great laugh.

I was furious with myself for not planning for the possibly that I might win something. It was after all entirely plausible that I would. I must have been in a state of denial. "You deserved it" Matt chipped in – fuck you that’s irreverent – I retorted with equal wit.

But thankfully I quickly settled down. Reminding myself that the whole point of being here was that I wasn’t sat at home planning for an infinite number of possibilities of what could happen if I went outside. The important thing was to just go out – talk to people – to not plan – not even think about it. Ideally not think about anything at all.

I also bumped into someone who reminds me of Sandy. A man who is happy to pretend to be gay, part of his personal action plan to be successful in the media. I took note of of what he was wearing for future reference and had a little chat. Afterwards, Joe commented that he wasn’t sure what it was I’d been saying and I explained I’d been speaking "media-speak". On a similar note Joe shared his concerns that he was accidentally learning Japanese.

We finished the night running round climbing on table taking stupid pictures with my digital camera. Meanwhile Joe had a little sleep on his chair in his soggy clothes.

I’ve put the best pics up on flickr so you can see my surprised yet snug face.

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