I logged into Zoom with my heart pounding. Already there were six or seven people staring out at me from their living rooms. More were logging on too, while the host chatted with a lady who was having trouble hearing anything. She had her hand over the camera while she fiddled with her phone.
I scanned the other applicants. Was I the youngest? Possibly. There was a grey, bearded man in a flat cap, resting on a sofa. Another lady slumped sideways into a resting hand, her glasses slightly askew as she peered into the camera. A disabled man looked sternly from his high-backed wheelchair, and a row of figures with downturned, nervous expressions popped into view. Glasses, beards, moustachios, floral wallpaper, grandfather clocks, and then me, smiling like a portrait in front of my own reversed room.
Radio 4, I thought to myself, and then admonished the thought of stereotyping everyone. Nevertheless, if you could draw the audience of Brain of Britain, and frame it on a computer screen, I’m sure this would be it.
I’m not fond of the name - Brain of Britain. It sounds like a year 10 insult from somewhere at the back of the class. Now, here I was, ‘auditioning’ for the show, tackling the first hurdle to see if I might enjoy it, to see how far I might get. It’s a wonderful thing to stretch yourself, I say. And this is my daring adventure, my challenge.
I’m under no illusions by the way. To get to the recording at the BBC radio theatre would be a huge achievement, given that close to one thousand people apply for the programme. To actually win a show is beyond my wildest hopes, let alone get to any kind of semi-finals. I know my limits. But, as Miley Cyrus used to say, it’s the climb, isn’t it?
The producer went over the process. Three rounds of ten multiple choice questions; four options for each question, two to three minutes to answer. The standard, he said, would be ‘prestigious’. I took it to mean difficult. With a sip of water, a deep breath and a steely determination, I got myself ready as the first set came up. And then, suddenly. they popped up on-screen and, with everyone muted, we were off.
I’m probably not allowed to say what the questions were. Well. I can’t remember them all anyway; just a few notable ones. My learning lists paid off, my shrewd guesswork eliminated things for me and in a whirl, just like that, all three sets, all thirty general knowledge questions were done, and that was that.
Relief flooded through me like an outlet of adrenaline. Someone made a joke about the very last question, giving away that yes, they knew the answer, and, nudge nudge wink wink, they were obviously confident enough to be bantering on the radio. I did wonder if that was really the audition, whether that was the spark the producers were looking for, but at the time I was wondering whether I’d guessed that last question right at all. His jokey reference to it had made me wonder. It was like the end of the exams when some bright spark wants to compare notes and then scoffs at you derisively when you tell them how you answered question twelve.
48 people get through to the recordings. It’s not exclusively done on the scores, as they have to balance the mix of contestants from all over the country, but it largely is. And I do feel like I did well, so you never know, I suppose. I find out next week.
“As long as you’re not going to be upset if you don’t get in…” said Sammy. I smiled. That’s the kind of perceptiveness I love about her. I reassured her. And I genuinely don’t think I mind if I don’t make it to the radio! Quizzing is a lot of fun, and I really enjoy learning and remembering new things - it’s always been about that for me, rather than what my year 10 buddies must have assumed was ‘showing off’. Or as my favourite philosopher, Miley, put it, ‘there’s always gonna be another mountain,’ and, ‘it ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side...’
I hear you, Miley.
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