It was the Sony Awards tonight. AIOTM had been nominated for Best Internet show, which is a bit of a broad church as it included documentary, comedy and basically anything that is on the internet. How do you judge a sweary, ramshackle sketch show against a programme about the Hillsborough disaster?
I wasn't expecting much, but somewhere in my heart I hoped that today might be the day I broke my duck and finally won a major award (to go with the ones that have been made for me by fans). Part of me hoped I would lose so I could keep on griping, but it would be cool if something I have done in what I consider the most impressive 12 months of my career were to get some official acknowledgment.
It was a black tie event and I dug out my DJ, hoping it would fit me (and I thought I had bought it when I was quite fat) but the trousers only fastened after quite some effort, so I can only presume they have somehow shrunk in the wardrobe, but only in the waist. They're still the right length for some reason. I couldn't find my bow tie either. Would I get a chance to pop into a shop and buy some new trousers and a dickie bow or was I going to have to go to the awards in a regular tie, with trousers restricting me like a leg based straitjacket?
As it turned out I was not going to get enough time to shop. I had to go to the BBC for a dozen radio interviews with various local stations (and one with Steve Wright for Radio 2- in which inconceivably I didn't think to say "Love the show, Steve" at any point) to promote the book.
And even once that was done I popped upstairs to appear on the last five minutes of Andrew's afternoon show (I'd love to see him do a show on his own) and then to head to a tiny studio that he'd managed to book up to record
Collings and Herrin podcast 110. Even though there were fancy mics and proper recording equipment right in front of us, we still chose to record on Andrew's crappy laptop. That's just how we roll. We had lots to talk about - I had been stalked by Britt Ekland all day and was of course excited about the Sony's amongst other things - and I also used the time to change into my DJ, even though the studio had windows in it and anyone could have walked past at any time and seen me at the BBC in my pants.
In a fit of childish silliness I decided to moon the rest of the BBC through the window in the door. I knew that it was unlikely anyone would see me, as we were in a bit of a secluded spot, but the risk and the patheticness of such an act made as laugh like schoolchildren. I am 42 years old.
The DJ didn't feel too bad once it was on and I managed to walk down to a posh hotel in Mayfair where the awards were taking place. There were 37 to get through and we were up 7th. It was going to be a long night and we would be spending most of it celebrating or sulking.
There were five shows nominated in our category and although only the winner got a physical "Gold" award and got to go up on the stage to meet Chris Evans, Sony also awarded Silver and Bronze. So we had a 3 out of 5 chance of leaving with something. All the cast and the producer Ben were going to come along, even though it was costing us £199 each to attend (not including drinks) and Andrew Collings was tagging along because although not nominated for anything (obviously) he had been a judge (though not in our category - if he had been I was sure he would have sabotaged our chances). It had also cost £200 to enter the show for two awards (we weren't nominated for best comedy), so once you'd factored in drinks the evening was going to cost the AIOTM team around about £1400. Which is a significant proportion of the modest profit we made from our 10 weeks work last year. If we had been part of a production company or the BBC then that cost would have been covered elsewhere, but we are just ourselves and had to take this painful hit. Which I guess made success a little bit more important for us.
I discussed the fact that the worst case scenario was to not win the Bronze or Silver and be in the position where we had a one in three chance of being the winner, waiting to hear our names, only to discover we hadn't places. A silver would be a good result for us, but the biggest disappointment would have been to made this commitment of finance and hope and end up unplaced.
But we had a fair idea that the evening wasn't going to go our way when we looked at the seating chart and realised we were as far away from the stage as it was possible to be, right at the back of the hall, behind some pillars. They might as well have sat us at a camping table on chairs of all different sizes, like the children at a family Christmas. We were in good spirits anyway and Emma ordered some champagne (which we decided to drink straight away to avoid having to pop the cork after a massive anti-climax). Somehow this bunch of chances had ended up amongst the elite of radio broadcasting, all thanks to a shoddy and disgusting homemade podcast.
And yet as impressive as it was for us to be here I was worried that I might end up feeling like I did at the Arena awards, where losing out would actually make the experience a negative one, where it would have been better not to have had the hope at all. I suspected that I would take it on the chin. I hadn't prepared a speech and I couldn't visualise myself making my way up to the stage at the centre of the room (and in any case we were so far away that like in a raffle they might just give the prize to someone else because it would take so long for me to make it known I was in the room).
Our award came up fairly quickly and was going to be awarded by Tony Blackburn. The Bronze went to the Guardian who I thought might win. The Silver went to Answer Me This, the only other comedy podcast on the list and again I thought one of the teams to beat. It was us or Hillsborough or the Hackney podcast. Was I going to have to get up on the stage? Or was this going to be the worst of all possibilities? All or nothing.
In my heart I knew it couldn't be us. I wasn't at the point of rising to my feet or working out what I might say once I was there. Though there's a fair bet that I would have sworn or at least said "Cumpkins!"
Tony Blackburn started describing the winner. For the first five seconds it could have been us, but then he mentioned high production values and our dreams were over. The Hackney podcast won the day and we were left downcast and unheralded.
"You fucking idiots. Not even a shitty bronze award. You're all fired!" I told my loyal cast. We laughed it off but you could still taste the disappointment hanging in the air.
"The big question is," said Emma, "Were we fourth or fifth?"
But the joking didn't help too much. To not even place felt slightly humiliating, just as I had feared. Not just because of this one failure, but because it was another to add to the catalogue. Would I ever get recognition from my peers for anything I have done? Hitler Moustache and AIOTM are the two most interesting and successful projects I have been involved with and perhaps I should be satisfied with the response I have got from audiences, but nothing.
I was annoyed that this all got to me. I was grumpy and pissed off and a little petulant and decided to just get drunk and boo when Fiona Phillips came onstage (though she didn't hear me, because I was too far away).
Perhaps it wouldn't suit me to be a winner and perhaps it is better than I remain an outsider and perhaps I should be content with the Sony Award remark - "AIOTM uses medium of podcasting as a medium to do something truly innovative. We loved the way it showcased the night at the Leicester Square theatre and the live and untested element of the format. British comedy and podcasting need more people like Richard Herring"
But I wanted to get a prize in return for our £1400. It was like we'd been tricked by some conmen who had played on our vanity and managed to fleece us.
I was sure I would be more philosophical about it in the morning, when I had sobered up and could appreciate that my 100% failure rate was still in tact. And did I really want to be caught up in this awful show of self-congratulation?
I was as annoyed by my own vanity as anything else. This kind of shit shouldn't matter. But I still felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.
I got over it a bit and had a nice chat with some of my friends after a long, long night. Collings was delighted that my ego had been pushed back into the gutter where it belonged and he was right to be so. I would be unbearable if I was a success.
And let's face it. This will all make a much better sketch for the first episode of series 2 of AIOTM which we will be recording this time next week.
When I got home, drunk, reeling and still a bit grumpy I realised that the trousers of my DJ had split at the crotch.
Fate really has to rub it in your face doesn't it? Or your crotch?
I had failed to win and was too fat for my trousers. What more do you want from me? Blood?
In drunken petulance I tweeted "going to fight back & destroy Sony. When I am the new caesar they will regret toying with me. Aiotm series 2 will start with bang!"
Next year if I want to give Sony £1400 I might just go to the shop and buy some TVs, computers and games systems.
Anyway, congratulations to my chums in AIOTM. You all know that I am lying when I say it is a fabulous achievement just to get nominated.
You couldn't even get a shitty, shitty bronze award. You better come in next week with shame on your faces and pockets full of Haribo!
