Sunday, 26 August 2007

My Edinburgh networking night of hell

Late last night, in The George, a very drunken Jonathan Stadlen (from Remy's new company) tried to bear hug me (in full view of everyone), slurring "If it wasn't for you TVC, we would still have Celebrity Big Brother to endure next year. Thanks!"

Thankfully I'm not sure anyone else heard him. Silly idiot might find he struggles to sell me any ideas over the next few months...

Got cornered by that cloying Sarfraz bloke trying to flog me a Bruce Springsteen biopic - again. Then ambushed by some TVYP 18 year-olds who insisted on quoting their favourite Little Britain catchphrases at me before demanding my business card.

Daisy G introduced me to her daughter (!?) and suddenly I felt very fucking old indeed. Thankfully, she didn't stay long, dragging the startled poor child away to some Warhol art shindig.

Running around like a bunch of girls on a hen weekend, high on alcopops, was Lisa Opie (in full Dynasty makeup) and her pathetic little gang (Leach, Barnes, Johnson). Now I know why Hincksy has dubbed them 'The Bitches of Eastwick'.

I was annoyed to see Bedell leave for Soho House without fucking inviting me (not that I would want to spend my evening with her anyway). At 1am I couldn't get a taxi for love nor money and ended up having to share a rickshaw with Ben fucking Gale, snuggling up together under a blanket.

How embarrassing.

Soho House was in full debauched merriment when we arrived. The great and the good in various stages of schmooze: Andrew O'Connor trying desperately to chat up a bored looking Camilla Lewis. Holly Pye in a revolting dress that advertised her cleavage like a slab of sirloin. Roly yawning and checking his watch every 5 minutes.

In a far corner Lygo was in deep conversation with notorious agent Perry Mansell so I tried to manoeuvre my way over to earwig.....only to be suddenly confronted by a crazy-eyed drunk curly-haired Scottish man. In a kilt. It was Hamish from IWC. He prodded me in the chest - "what's yer fecking problem I hear with scotteesh independents, eh laddie?"

I shrugged past him but he still made sure to shoulder barge me! (It fucking hurt!!)

Muriel Gray tugged his sleeve: "Leave it love, he's not worth it"

Jesus. What had I done to piss off the Mad Scotsman?? He's worse than fucking Cosgrove after a few pints!

Paranoid that things would deteriorate I stayed just another 10 minutes and slipped away.

On the way out Clive Anderson - swaying unsteadily on his feet - brushed past and spilled his red wine on my sleeve jacket. Instead of apologising he muttered "clumsy cunt" or something under his breath!!

Why is there so much needless testosterone in TV at the moment??

3 comments:

scott's monument said...

You cock, TVC. You took the cab I had booked!

Watch out. I hear Klein is looking upwards. And what better to have than his cool yet mature attitude to save the Youth Channel from the cutting Sword Of Thommo...

Anonymous said...

Hello TVC.

I have only been to Edinburgh (or 'MGEITF' for short) once.

'The George' gave me a *single* bed, FFS. Hadn't been in one of those since dormitory days.

Still, they did at least serve cake for breakfast, which is always a winner.

My favourite Fringe act was watching Jamie Theakston fall over somebody's suitcase in the lobby - it was very convincing! Perhaps he should be on the telly?

"Be ready wi yer bunnet, but slaw wi yer purse."

Anonymous said...

my night of hell is watching all the body programmes you commissioned in one go. makes you weep - can you get more Daily Mail than this?