HOLLY MIRANDA SMALE

Writer, photographer, "rapper" and general technophobe takes on the internet in what could be a very, very messy fight. But it's alright: she's harder than she looks, and she's wearing every single ring she could get her hands on.







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Monday, 16 March 2009

Yet Another Burger

You know what nobody tells you about media attention? There's an awful lot of burgers involved, and an awful lot of zits. Just had my umpteenth Big Mac, and I've got the mother of all pimples ('pimples'? Is that American? Is my spot a different nationality to me?) which has erupted on my cheek, just before a BBC TV interview tomorrow. On the widest part of my cheek, no less, and my cheeks are already the widest part of me (bigger, in fact, than my hips. If I could give birth out of my face I'd be sorted). Now I'm going to have walk into the studio sideways just so I fit.

Anyway, spots and mashed up cow-brain aside: four exciting things happened this evening.

1. I met all three Brit TBJITW candidates (Sarah Louise, Ben, Doug), plus two Ozzie candidates (Hailey, James) and one Malaysian candidate (Jackie). We had drinks. We paid for them. (After two years in PR I got all excited about being taken to the Oxo Tower, until I realised that - in the words of the BBC - "they sell food, but we're not buying," and "can you move that wine glass away from your lips, please, because we can't hear what you're busy slurring". Result: one nursed, warm glass, an empty stomach and a pretty grumpy British girl.)

2. I went back on Talk Sport via mobile phone, to 'promote myself'. In the space of three minutes, the Page 3 girl guest presenter had vehemently suggested taking all my clothes off as a voting strategy - "otherwise I just wasn't serious about getting the job" - and, when I wouldn't, she offered to take hers all off instead. Somebody, she was sure, had to get naked, and she didn't see why we both couldn't do it. "For the dream, you know?" she pointed out reasonably. We then had a national debate about the pros and cons of taking your top off to secure your ambitions, which resulted in me saying "can you take yours off and I'll just stand behind you in my dressing gown?"

3. Very cute Producer on show asked me out for dinner. On national radio. In front of 3.4 million listeners. I said yes. (Actually, I believe the very public-private conversation went: "Do you want to go out for dinner on Wednesday?" "Okay, I'm hungry.") Now I'm very, very worried that it looks like I'm trying to sleep my way into media, even though I met him yesterday when i was on the show, it's all above board, it's just dinner and he is very cute. Need to speak to my PR about it.  

4. Just wrote the words "need to speak to my PR about it" without even the slightest hint of irony or dryness. What a tosser I am.

Anyway. Lots of fun. Strange, though: as candidates we are all so very different. Which is a good thing, I think: it would be extremely dull if we were 50 cookie-cut options. All were cool, but I particularly love Ben. Anyone who has a large yellow four-by-four called Colonel Mustard has got my vote.

(Not literally, obviously. My votes are going to me: I need all the help I can get. Although, thanks to the boys at Talk Sport, I'm now at number 39. 139,000 votes to go. At my current rate, I've worked out that it would take me 3.8 years to reach the top of the board. I think if they just leave the voting open after the winner has been chosen - and shut down everyone else's accounts - I'm in with a cracking chance of winning the Wild Card in Winter 2012.)