Hmmm - one EMBARRASSING turn of events springs to my mind, that I just had to relate to you...
It was around 1997, and I was filming the English Rugby team training on a playing field just outside London - in a rainstorm. Nice. I'm saturated, and looking like a wet sheep, covered in mud. Suddenly, my phone rang - the assignment desk wanted me to relocate to another job.
"Quick - you've got to go to Oxford Street in the city, to film the Queen unveilling a statue."
"Okay - I've just got to go via my house and pick up my suit. It won't take long."
"No - there's NO TIME! You HAVE to go NOW!!"
(Obviously, the job had been "overlooked", and I'd inadvertedly drawn the short straw...)
"By the way - you'll be doing the INSIDE pool camera, whilst Associated Press will be covering the OUTSIDE..."
Great.
So - I eventually get there through dismal traffic, yet still with a little time to spare. Through the police metal detectors I traversed with my equipment - no easy task when you're working on your own...
The bemused looks from the police aimed at my clothing (now CAKED in drying mud) were soon understood when I made my way into the courtyard. I surveyed the scene to find my worst nightmare had come true - Dante had HIS interpretation of Hell, and THIS was mine...
EVERYONE - and I MEAN EVERYONE - were dressed in FORMAL attire. Men in Morning suits, complete with Top hats and cravattes, and women in elegant formal dresses. And, in the middle of it all, there I was in Vans and Cargo pants.
I scanned quickly for the AP cameraman. There he was - his suited form snuggled next to a bush, and his Betacam at the ready on its tripod. It had just started to drizzle, so I had a plan...
"G'day mate. I was wondering if we could swap - me out here in the downpour [it was going to dump down in a minute, and I was hoping I could appeal to his instinct to stay dry], and you in the nice warmth of inside. I mean, LOOK at ME. My desk really stitched me up on this one..."
"Sorry, pal. You've made your bed - you LIE in it."
Jerk.
So, I thought, SCREW it. I walked inside, set up a light and my camcorder in the corner (hopefully out the way of eye-shot), and waited...
Eventually, the Queen arrived, and unveiled the statue outside. Then, she made her way inside, flanked by her entourage. From there, she shook hands with dignitaries and guests alike who had formed a line at the entranceway. I had a great view - yet no-one had really noticed me (maybe they thought if they didn't see me, then I'd never existed, or something like that...).
Waiting in the wings was the sculptor of the statue, who met the Queen, and guided her to a miniature mock-up of the said statue which resided on a small turntable. They stood not more than 15 feet away - the Queen glancing over it, as the sculptor explained his motivation (yawn!). After a minute, or so, the party moved away - I let them move out of frame before cutting. With that, I took the camera off the tripod, and placed it on the ground. It was then that I noticed a pair of women's shoes pointing directly at me, stopped no more than 2 feet away from my head...
I slowly rose - and to my horror, as different parts of the woman in question came into view (knees, floral dress, handbag, gloves...), I'd instantly realised who I was confronted with, even though I'd hoped, in vain, to be wrong. Soon, the Queen and I were eye-to-eye - but not for long. Her eyes began wandering - tilting down to my dirt-encased Clydesdale Horse-style shoes, and back up to my matted and sodden hair. An eternity ensued, as she stood there, looking as if she was waiting for something. I'd become conscious as to how silent the room had fallen, and felt that I needed to explain myself. So, I said the first thing that came into my head...
"G'day. How're you doin'?"
If any of you had seen "My Fair Lady", think back to the scene where Eliza goes to Royal Ascot. "C'MON, DOVER! MOVE YER BLOOMIN' ARSE!!!"
Same reaction.
After gasped breaths from the gallery, the Queen, unmoved by my colonial antipodean twang and uncouthness, smiled and said:
"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"
"Oh, FINE, thanks." (The Homer Simpson "D'oh!" was still echoing in my empty melon...)
"That's nice", she said, before tottering off.
"Whew! Got away with THAT one, all right", I'd thought. I guessed that I'd better leave before I could get into any MORE trouble. I'd guessed wrong.
A bizarre-looking woman with a HUGE bright red feathery boa, and a face to match, came STORMING up to me as I started packing up my gear.
"How DARE you talk to the Queen like that. Don't you REALISE that you're not permitted to converse with the Queen unless SHE addresses you FIRST?!? And - and - LOOK at the way you're dressed. It's a DISGRACE!! (...Blah! Blah! Blah!...) I'm already composing a STRONG letter of complaint to your employer. What organization do you work for?!?"
It didn't take me long to think about the answer...
"Associated Press", I said, before exiting - Stage Left.
