Why we all love a 4.30am Munchie

Why we all love a 4.30am Munchie

It was as I left our house at 8pm on Thursday to cover the General Election for my First Chapter job as a television journalist, the same old question arrived. It wasn’t why on earth was I doing this? Driving from Bristol to Bath to spend the next eleven hours in a sports hall, more…

Why do I love it so much?

This was my fourth election. I (says in whisper) am not a particularly big follower of politics, nor do I often find myself on stories which require a big media pack. This was so out of my comfort zone. Still, I’d volunteered readily, so off I went again.

As I drove up the long drive towards Bath University, I wondered if it was because I was returning to where I went to university myself? I could still spot my little room in my first year in halls of residence. I could see the turning circle where my mum and dad parked on my first day - my dad carrying endless boxes of pink plates, a bead of sweat running down his forehead as my mum and I chatted, informing him everyone seemed very nice. I longed then to be a television journalist and, here I was.

Perhaps it’s that - I thought.

But then, as I greeted lovely Gary, my camera operator for the night - I thought, perhaps it’s this? Me and Gary versus the world.

Yes, perhaps it’s that.

But as I sat in the sports hall, a familiar feeling of dread began to arrive. The truth is I don’t really like being part of a press pack, and tonight I was also working for my colleagues in London at network news. I’m lucky enough to work alongside some of my favourite people in regional news, we have a perfectly imperfect working family and I’m so proud to belong. But when I deal with ‘London types’ I’m catapulted back to the days when I worked at national news - when I felt out of my depth, terrified and full of a dreadful ‘not good enough shame’.

Around 10pm I pulled out my first lot of snacks. I was sandwiched between lovely Gary and Nancy, a journalist friend I’ve known for years. I felt safe, happy and knew we could do our job, but still the nagging sense niggled. I looked around at ‘the London types,’ they looked important, on their phones. Their was a BBC lady I recognised wearing great shoes, camera operators pushed and pulled at their wires. Producers were big and bold - well-dressed, polished and poised. I went over to one and offered my rocky roads, he shook his head. I felt silly and flashed back to the Not Good Enough Shame.

The messages from London were curt and to the point. I was covering 2 seats -Bath and North East Somerset & Hanham. The second was why all the press were here. Sir Jacob Rees Mogg has been one of the biggest names in politics for the last fourteen years and all eyes were on him.

We all stood, huddled, waiting for his arrival and I felt the dread build.

But then I realised I was standing next to his young son, as the press gathered waiting for his dad.

I spoke with him, he was lovely, young and polite. My colleagues ahead of this had all said the same about Jacob Rees Mogg - no matter what you think about his politics, you can’t help but like him, they’d told me. As I spoke to his humble, polite son I wondered if they were right?

And then he arrived and everything happened at once. London were calling - we need that interview, his people were saying no. There was a flurry of messages and panic while people whispered and ran.

And that’s when it hit me. It’s the ordinariness of something so incredible which I love.

I looked around at the hundreds of people who’d given up their sleep to be part of this - their own snacks and Tupperware by their side as they counted the night away.

The politicians - no parliament or pomp, just human beings in a sports hall awaiting their fate. By 3am the make-up had worn off, the strutting had stopped. Everyone was exhausted and nobody was immune.

So, I decided to take my biggest lesson of my Next Chapter world and apply it to this moment - that everyone is human and we all have our ups and downs.

I started to see it all so differently. I could hear the panic in the voices in London that they wouldn’t get their interview. I thought back to my time at network and I remembered it well. But I wasn’t that person any more, I’d moved on too. I was with Gary and Nancy and I’d learned so much since then. It was time to put old fears aside - and do what Next Chapter living is all about, just turn up as me.

When I came to interview Jacob Rees Mogg, I sensed he already knew he’d lost. I could see a sadness in his eyes and in his wife’s too. So, as Gary got his camera ready I told him “my colleagues all say how much they like you, I don’t know why I’m telling you, but sometimes we just need to hear this.”

He looked at me for a moment. This was no Tom Bradby or Paxman in front of him and for a second I thought I’d made a terrible mistake.

But then he smiled and nodded. “Yes, thank you,” he replied. “Sometimes we really do.”

I watched then as he stood in front of camera after camera, being grilled endlessly and showing spirit even though he knew he’d lost his job. His son sat nearby, as his wife and assistant of 14 years did too - in a sports hall on a Friday morning at 3.15am.

I watched the Bath MP get re-elected, who among it all had been quietly waiting, elegant and dignified while the eyes of the world were on someone else.

I watched the relief in the eyes of the network producer who’d got their interviews too, who no longer strutted and looked a lot smaller somehow.

So, at 4.30am as we waited for the last results, I decided it was time. I pulled out my super pack of Munchies and offered them around. Everyone said yes. The BBC woman with the good shoes, the producer who’d earlier declined, the camera operators, the people who my own insecurities had labelled as ‘better and more important’ but who were really just doing their job. Everyone took one, some took two, we laughed, we smiled and we knew - and that’s when I realised exactly what it is I love so much.

Underneath it all, whoever we are, Election Night brings out the truth as the make-up wears off and exhaustion settles in. It’s a simple moment in time none of us will forget - when we all of us need a little boost of love and energy from a Munchie at 4.30am