Post Soaps

Post-Soaps

I think that my experience of the British Soap Awards 2012 can be summarised by the following:

Highlight of the night – I discovered that Hold Ups, as opposed to tights, are much more comfortable.

And this is in no way a reference to sexual ‘escapades’ – if that’s what you’re thinking (Joe). It is simply that this was the main enjoyment of the night. Yes: the glamour of showbiz.

Now I don’t mean to sound ungrateful – I realise that I am very privileged to be allowed to attend the Soaps at all, and it is quite exciting when you first realise that you’re in the same room as the cast of Emmerdale etc. But the ceremony is boring. And long. And hot. And once you realise that Doctors was going to win exactly nothing – and the hours we had spent collating clips/ the co-ordinators had invested sorting trains and hotels -  had been a total waste of time, you get a bit fed up of clapping for Eastenders.

Then there’s the after-party – which generally consists of too much free alcohol, and nowhere near enough food. That might sound a horribly dull indictment, but I am an ATHLETE for god’s sake ;) and thus need to be fed every 3 hours. At the very least. There were a lot of Soap Stars standing around looking, frankly, pretty bored. Main topics of discussion: which Hollyoaks girl they’d like to shag; which club they must be photographed at later on.

 I bumped into a writer, D, from a Soap I worked in a few years ago. Who didn’t remember me at all. Always gratifying from someone you worked with for a year. Conversation went like this:

Me: D!

D: Er…. Hi….

Me: Do you remember me, I used to work with you on Soap X....

D: (Pause) Lily?!!

Me: No…. Sarah…. I was the researcher…

D: You’ve just started?

Me: No.

D: You’ve just finished?

Me: No (at this stage starting to lose the will to live).

D: You finished a long time ago.

Me: (Obviously) Yes.

D: Sarah…. Sarah…. Sarah Shortt! I do remember. Well you never wore those clothes to the office. And I meet so many new people darling. You see, this is why I don’t hang out with white people any more.

Cause you see I never meet any new people. In fact I’ve not met a single new person since I left the show – that’s how I can remember D. Plus I have an amazing ability to recognise people even when they’re wearing different clothes. I can even differentiate between people of other ethnic origins.

 I think I may be a walking miracle.

So that did put me in a grumpy mood somewhat, and he then accused me of losing my sense of humour. Well, being completely blanked by someone you worked with for a year can do that to you.

It should be pointed out that this writer is, also, white.

Anyway…. Aside from that little self-confidence booster…. I got papped falling out of a taxi outside Café Du Paris, exposing my pants, brilliant. Luckily I’m not famous so I imagine they deleted that picture straight away…. Managed to get in free by attaching myself to Ryan Thomas’ entourage, but tragically - because I had to make an emergency trip to the ladies’ room - managed to get separated from all my friends and thus wasn’t allowed into the VIP area. I spent a good 15 minutes attempting to persuade the evil bouncer to let me in, followed by a short tour of the dance floor by myself, followed by a jubilant 20 seconds when I thought I had managed to fox the bouncer by sneaking past when he wasn’t looking - ‘Aha!’ I thought, ‘I’m in! Screw you, Nazi Bouncer of Doom!’ – then sadly realised that, in my inebriated state, I had mistaken an ice bucket for a VIP barrier. And, in fact, was still in the land of the Common People.

The night finished in the hotel bar, where I discovered that the actor who played the racist in Doctors was, in actual fact, not a racist at all but A Very Nice Bloke. I managed not to throw up (hurrah), or end up with man juice on my Silver Princess Shoes, but didn’t quite reach the pinnacle of celebrity achieved 2009 when I met Biff from Saxon. You know. Who ‘This is Spinal Tap’ was based on. He’s mega famous and he texted me from Iceland a few weeks later. Yep, that’s just how the Shorttmeister rolls.

Re: the above (being blanked by people who really should remember you) - I think the insult of the night came from our illustrious leader at the beeb. He told my gorgeous Irish friend that, all dolled up, she reminded him of ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’. Just what every girl dreams of hearing when she’s spent an afternoon beautifying herself.

Apparently Matt Le Blanc was staying at the same hotel. Well, he missed out.