Tomorrow I am going to make my television debut at approximately 4.30pm on Canterbury Live on CTV.
Oh yeah, I’m awesome.
I’m also a nervous wreck who is not planning on getting very much sleep tonight. Instead I’m going to try to decide which is worse, making a complete dick of myself and never being invited back, or not making a complete dick of myself and leaving open the chance I might have to go through all of this again.
My stomach is in knots at the moment. I downloaded today’s episode to reassure myself that although it’s television, local TV won’t be nearly as bad as national TV. After all, it’s got that relaxed Canterbury vibe going.
That didn’t work. My adrenalin decided that it may as well start making itself useful as soon as the first guest appeared. I understand the logic. It’s like going out and doing some jogging before heading off to a marathon.
It doesn’t matter that none of the guests died, or that no one looked particularly worried – apart from the moment when a picture frame crashed down behind the presenter. My nervous system (or extremely nervous system) has decided that the worst possible thing I could ever do is get in front of a camera.
Oh, and did I mention it’s live television?
Yep. That’s right. No dress rehearsal, no second chances, no time delay even. Oh God. What if I accidentally swear? What if I’m the reason that CTV gets its license revoked? There I’ll be, chatting away thinking I’m doing fine, and instead everyone’s wild hand movements won’t be because I’m wonderful and they’re impressed – it’ll be BECAUSE I’M SWEARING ON LIVE TV BEFORE THE WATERSHED!
How long now? Nineteen hours and six minutes to go. Not that I’m counting or anything.
Breathe Katherine, breathe. Just think – this time tomorrow it will all be behind you no matter what happens.
That, or you’ll be dead.