Do not look directly at the carpet

02:34, Jul 25 2013

As some of you may be aware, I was on the telly briefly on Monday night. What you might not know was that this caused me to swear quite a bit and feel bad about my carpet.

Allow me to explain. When I got up on Monday morning I expected my day to go something like: Write a blog post, get the bus to work, try not to annoy my workmates too much during the day, come home, flop on couch, and possibly watch The Newsroom if I could manage to stay awake that long.

The first bit went according to this plan, but then in the afternoon someone at TVNZ's Seven Sharp contacted me to see if I'd be willing to appear on the show that night. Sure, why not? In my head I was imagining turning up to TVNZ's Christchurch studio for some sort of interview, but rather they wanted to talk to me at my house.

Ruh-oh. You see, we'd had a bit of a lazy weekend, the Silver Fox and I, followed by a bit of Sunday night baking (him) of Eccles cakes. Yum. And the kitchen counter was covered in dirty dishes. Not yum.

And I hadn't vaccuumed. Or cleared the coffee table of whatever it is that always ends up covering our coffee table. Or taken the washing down off the clothes horse in the hallway. Basically I spend a lot of time at the weekends napping these days. 

But I was assured that these things could be shot around quite easily. So like an idiot I said "yes".


I like to think that I'm not the sort of person who gets all anal about the house looking nice for visitors. I like to think that, but it's not a very accurate portrait to be perfectly honest, especially when the visitors don't know me so might try to form an opinion of me on the quality and symmetry of my throw cushions.

I raced home and rushed around the house throwing random items into the bedroom and considered the possibility of hiding the baking dishes in the garage, the log burner and the washing machine before deciding that my time would be better spent applying make up so that my forehead, which by this stage had become a bit sweaty, might not reflect the light and blind someone through the television.

I had just manhandled the clothes horse into the spare room and still had a washing basket in my hand when the reporter, Brodie and cameraperson, Wayne turned up. 

Brodie, bless her heart, seemed genuinely unconcerned at the general lack of orderliness, though it was with some dismay that she informed me that they'd like to shoot in different parts of the house. In my head I'd imagined that I might be able to get away with making one corner of the living room look respectable and that would be it. Damn.

I was even more perturbed when she was keen on us crawling under the coffee table for a chat which put me at an uncomfortably close proximity to the carpet. It's easy to ignore little bits of corn chip when your eyeballs are several feet away. It's a bit harder when you're up close to them. Still, I was happy to discover that lying on the Squishy-bump wasn't too uncomfortable.

Next we sat on the couch for a bit and then we did a piece next to our emergency kit which is by the back door. Under a basket of toys. And some coats. And behind a pair of the Silver Fox's shoes. 

Hmmm, would anybody be horribly offended by the sight of a box of tampons (huh! Haven't needed those for a while) in with the bottled water and batteries? 

After that we headed outside to the front door to "demonstrate" the spare key lock box that's there...which I inconveniently couldn't remember the combination to. Whoops. Meanwhile we'd been spotted by all the school holidaying neighbourhood children who imperiously questioned Brodie from the footpath about whether this would be on the news. Upon being told which show it was for the spokesboy of the group declared "my dad doesn't watch Seven Sharp". Awkwaaaard.

As Brodie and I took a little walk down the footpath to the letterbox the kids continued to watch us from their bikes and scooters and I self-consciously kicked small piles of pulled out weeds out of the way and wondered how much of the overgrown lawn (we don't have a lawn mower yet) Wayne was getting in his viewfinder. A bit, as it turns out.

As you can see from the screen grab the lawn is looking a bit wild and if you listen carefully you can actually hear some of the neighbour kids getting rowdy from behind the camera, the beggars.

The Silver Fox is really disappointed that the bit we did in front of his whisky collection with me advising people to have a calming post-earthquake swig if they felt like it wasn't included. I guess they thought a pregnant woman encouraging people to use alcohol as an emotional crutch wouldn't be a good idea? Can't think why.

And then Brodie and Wayne were gone and off to edit it all down into something less than 2 minutes long despite the whole thing taking the better part of an hour to shoot. I collapsed onto the couch and reflected that my life is sometimes quite interesting... and often in a good way.

Anyway, that was a bit of excitement that happened this week.  

In an unrelated note, this week I found out that a lady I met once at a knitting event (she's pictured far right in the photo in this post) and have chatted with on Twitter a bit, gave birth very prematurely in China and is having difficulties getting her baby home. If you can help her at all, please do. It sounds like she's had a very rough time of it, poor thing.

But tell me honestly, if a TV crew were turning up at your house in half an hour would it be in a fit state to be seen by the nation? Would it panic you at all? Has anyone ever hidden their dirty dishes in the washing machine?