How To Make Friends And Influence People

Every year, during the Media Guardian International Edinburgh Television Festival (MGIETF), an event is held known as the McTaggat Lecture. An influential television personality addresses a room full of everyone important in the industry and discuss the current state of television.

Last year, Jeremy Paxman scolded television for its simplistic view of its audience and its reliance on capturing the "all-important" 18-25 crowd. This year, the speaker was the head of ITV, recently fired from the BBC over the Queensgate scandal. He spoke about the dangers, and new challenges, that new media and channel fragmentation brought to television.

But, more importantly, I was there this year.

Hidden in a corner, on a balcony, and as far away from the proper industry professionals as we could humanly be place, sat 150 of us. We were the eager kids on a course to get jobs. We were here to learn about the television industry.

The speech was amazing, and remained entertaining despite its forty minute running time. But this isn't important. This is just the setting of the scene.

The real beginning to my story is at the end of the speech, with the words "If anyone fancies it, there will be a party, with free drinks, held at Dynamic Earth."

The beginning of the story continues with my thoughts being, in this order: "A party?", "With everyone important from the industry attending?", "Free drinks?" and lastly, "This is EXACTLY what this weekend is about!".

The beginning of the story then abruptly ends with the knowledge that we, the young job-seekers, were not actually invited to said party. Oh, the defeat in my heart at that moment. But this is where the meat of the story begins.

Like I mentioned before, that party was the exact reason I was here in Edinburgh and so it became my goal. In my head, access to that party meant access to the industry. I had to be there.

Since it was only the second day, my friendship with people hadn't taken off yet. I recognised some people, and knew the details that you tell people the first time you meet them (Where they live, what course they've just finished) but none were friends. This didn't stop me trying to recruit them.

"Want to gate-crash that party?" I asked, eagerness on my face. "No" is what everyone responded with. They were tired, or they were going to party elsewhere, or it was impossible.

And maybe it was. Who was I to buck the trend? Some young, wannabe-writer, with no concept of the order of things. Big, important people went to free-drink parties. People like me sat outside. That was the way it was supposed to work, wasn't it?

A coach pulled up, ready to take people back to their rooms and to their beds. A queue formed for it and I joined it. These people were right. The party wasn't for me. And so I took the shameful walk towards the door.

Now, this part my sound cliche. It's that bit in the movie when the hero wrestles with a decision and at the very last moment gets off the train to pursue his true love. But sometimes, just sometimes, it happens in real life.

I didn't get on the coach. Instead, I stood by the door, wrestling with my head. Two paths were very clearly in front of me. I could get on the coach, head home, take money out, drink and party. Or I could search for this party and blag my way in.

One was a guarantee. With ID and money, you can get alcohol anywhere. The other was risky, wandering around Edinburgh on a whim and a dream. I chose the latter, because if I hadn't I would have regretted it forever.

So I left the coach behind and began the trek into the centre of the city. I didn't know the way to the party, so I followed people with name badges and suits, the people that looked important.

On the way I tried to work out how they would separate those that were invited and those that weren't. It was down to the colour of our name tags. I had light blue, and the people in the suits had red. Damn! It was obvious I wasn't invited!

Anyway, turns out that the suits I was following didn't know the way either. I latched onto another group, and a third, before eventually arriving at Dynamic Earth.

It was AMAZING! Like a huge, bubble tent full of famous people and free wine. There were clowns on stilts and funny looking lights. Suddenly the journey had been worth it. Until I saw...

...two more young people like me. They sat rejected, about 100 metres from the venue. They'd tried too, and were casualties of the strict door policy. Did I walk all this way only to find defeat and disappointment?!

I talked with the two of them for a while, analysing what they did wrong, before they departed for the guarantee of entry and alcohol. I took a deep breath, and approached the door.

I was rejected.

Yes, that's right. I had walked all this way, through the winding streets of a Scottish city to find myself denied access. It was devastating! And yet I refused to give up.

The balloon-esque venue was see-through, and from outside I watched all the important people mill about and drink free wine. They were living my dream, damn them! Maybe, I thought, I can catch one when they leave to smoke. I could pitch myself and get a job or, at the very least, entry to the party.

So I watched with envy green eyes and waited for that all important person to leave. They never did. People tended to leave in groups, or already talking on the phone. I was raised to be nice and never interrupt someone. My plan had fallen at the first hurdle.

"Chris!" I heard. This is my name, so I turned.

Now again, I must warn about cliche. This part of the story sounds like a lazy screenwriter's tool, a wee bit of deux machina. But it is 100% truth.

The person calling my name was someone I used to go to college with three years ago. We weren't really friends, merely acquaintances, and I had pretty much forgotten his existence. But here he was, greeting me with a smile and a handshake. And, ever so importantly, a badge that could get him inside.

Apparently, last year he did the same course that I was currently doing, and this year he was a steward. This meant an all-access pass to lectures and parties. So I explained my predicament, he took my badge off and placed his one over my head and we casually strolled into the party.

I was there, inside. I had succeeded! Victory was mine! Etc!

Inside, I spoke to an ex-producer of Dr Who and a guy called Charlie Brooker who writes for the Guardian and presents very funny shows. I drank free wine and beer. I found out that a mere ten people had tried to get into the party, and five had managed it.

Later, as the party was ending, I met two of those people. One, a girl called Evonne, I had met at breakfast that morning; another fact that would seem cliche if it hadn't been true. She had snuck in through the kitchen and convinced the chef to let her pass. It is her story I will steal if I ever write my autobiography.

That night I almost saw a burlesque show, was bought a bottle of cider by a Belgium stranger, and got so lost trying to find my way home that I had to ring Emma to get her to Google Map me to safety.

But none of it compare to getting into that party, and having this story to tell.

Best night in Edinburgh!

:D

http://scienceishardcore.deviantart.com/art/Animal-Party-66277180