Jupiter and the floor managers

My bosses have decided that it would be a good idea to train us up across all platforms.

Sounds like a job for the railways, but in fact, I'm talking about journalism.

I'm now on a three-month television attachment. And actually quite enjoying it - well, up to a point.

It's a very steep learning curve, especially the technology. Pictures matter more than words here so being able to find them and cut them fast is a more important skill than being able to write good scripts - a real shock to a long-time radio producer like myself.

Another shock came from the lack of supervision: my second TV shift included editing pictures, writing captions and scripts for news bulletins. They all went out without anyone else casting a second pair of eyes on them. I was petrified -- I was certain they'd all fall of the air. It was a miracle they didn't.

It was scary -- but 24-hour television news is a relentless business and there are not always enough resources to check bulletins. Mind you 24-hour radio is the same. Nevertheless, in the radio newsroom I come from, every script is checked and checked again, even if written by the most senior editor. And we all think it's a good idea. So there's a huge cultural difference there.

It is fair to say that before my first TV shift, I did receive a few training courses, mostly to learn about the technology.

Jupiter is now my new best friend - it's our picture editing software, and it's brilliant. But it's so easy to click the wrong place or hit the wrong key accidentally and mess it all up. On my trainig course, for instance, I once managed to turn the entire screen pink. "What have I done?" I asked the trainer. The poor guy looked completely puzzled. "That's probably because you're a girl," came his best guess after several minutes of deep thinking.

On the positive side, Jupiter knows how to do a million things ... but every little thing can be done in at least two different ways, and if you get muddled up and shout for help, you can be sure you'll be shown a third way of doing it, so it is all a bit mind-boggling.

Still, I'm slowly coming to grips with it -- along with Astons, OOVs, SOTs, DTLs and the subtle differences between studio directors and floor managers.

What I'm not coming to grips with is the geography of Television Centre. That's completely beyond me. Newcomers really would need a training course to help them find their ways. After all, I may be asked to collect guests at Reception and take them to the Green Rooom -- that's where they wait before they go on air.

Television Centre is a diabolical place: it's vast and it has circular corridors; it is a bit like a maze. It's also missing the third floor: when going upstairs, after the second floor, you find yourself on the fourth. No one here has a clue why.

It's very very easy to get lost ... and even if I make it to the Green Room, there may or may not be a receptionist to take over the guest.

If there isn't one, my job will be to go into the studio, live on air, and find the floor manager, without getting in vision. It's easy, I've been told, he's the one who mikes the guests up.

Easy. How many times have I been wondering inside live 24-hour news studios? But everyone sort of expects you to know these things already.

The thing is, I'm a known troublemaker ... So the chances of me turning up on live television news, followed by a bewildered contributor, and asking for the floor manager, are, unfortunately, relatively high. What a nightmare.

Galtur half

I did it. In exactly 2 hours, 19 minutes and 59 seconds.

It was a fantastic experience, running the Galtur half marathon.

It's in the Alps, and it's high up.

I thoroughly enjoyed the first stretch -- running out of the village, being cheered on by locals was a very nice start.

I got to the first checkpoint in 45 minutes, just as I planned. Having had two glasses of sports drink, including an ugly blue, I started the ascent.

I couldn't run all the way up the first mountain. It was too steep -- up four hundred meters in about three kilometres. I power walked as best as I could, with occasional bursts of running, and made it to the hut at the top 1 hr 20 mins after the start.

Just before I got there I encountered the first real obstacle: the path was blocked by a cow. It was huge and brown, and it was staring at me. It also had a massive bell round its neck.

Now which end do you overtake a cow? Head or tail? I immediately remembered a story about poor old John Prescott who was nearly trampled to death by a cow just a few weeks earlier.

Very gingerly, I squeezed through at the tail end and soon afterwards, I was enjoying a generous slab of home made muesli bar and a slice of lemon, along with two more cups of sports drink at the second check point.

I thought from now on, it would be a lot easier. I was wrong. I did run down the mountain amazingly fast, even overtaking two runners (yee!) but when I thought I was entering the last stretch of the run to take me back to the village, there was a nasty surprise: the path once again started to incline.

And very steeply, too. And my hands were swelling up. And it was hot. And I had been running for almost two hours. I was getting a bit confused, too. So where on earth was the third checkpoint?

In the end, I found it: strangely, they put it seven minutes before the finish line. I'd thought it would be about twenty minutes from the end, so I had been thinking I was still miles away, when in fact I was getting very near. That slowed me down bit: I was conscious not to run too fast to conserve some energy - not that I had much left at that point!

Anyway, I got a lot of applause when I crossed the finish line. And a medal. And a very nice hot drink. And a certificate which states I came in at tenth among the female runners. Well, there were only 13 of us, but the certificate doesn't say that.

It was hard work, but no torture. In fact, great fun. The locals offering snacks, the mountains, the waterfalls, the forests, the meadows, the bees, the cows. All combine to make it an amazing experience. And relaxing in the swimming pool after the run, watching the sunset over the mountains just conquered in running gear is not a bad thing, either.

I'll be back next year.

Holiday -- part 2 Transylvania

Noni's always wanted a Transylvanian skirt.

I bought two of them in my student days in Budapest: both came from little old ladies selling beautiful hand-made garments in underground stations. One of them was a long wide linen skirt with a tiny bit of lace at the bottom. Twenty years later, it is still in a fine shape. The other one was black with loads of tiny red flowers -- it's now got too many holes for either of us to wear.

The quest for Noni's new Transylvanian skirts began a few years ago in Budapest. Friends gave some tips, and we followed them all up: we went to the markets at Ecseri and Petofi csarnok ... only to be disappointed.

So this last summer, having driven from London to Budapest, a decision was made to venture further east to Transylvania.

It was hot. A brand new motorway from Budapest to Debrecen gave us a good start. Then we made the unfortunate decision to stop for one night at the blatantly neo-communist Hajdu camping in Hajduszoboszlo.

Service was appalling. It was back to the 1970. Four fat ladies with no charm, no customer service or foreign language skills were fiercely demanding at least four documents from each traveller ... with an air of extreme self-importance, they were filling in monstrously long forms by hand to check people in. At the same time they were arrogantly turning down people on the phone. It was absolutely shocking -- the only time during this last stay in Hungary when I felt my blood pressure rising uncontrollably.

And the famous Hajduszoboszlo spa was also fairly disappointing. Crowded, bureaucratic, expensive. The slides were fun and the new pools looked good, but the old bits were depressingly run-down. And we had the worst langos ever!

On to Transylvania, it was a mixed experience. On the positive side, Vasskert camping is Sovata was fantastic. Beautiful, quiet setting, luxurious facilities. The echoing sound of cockerels and dogs in the morning is still in my ears. It was weird but brilliant.

The threat of bumping into a brown bear stopped me from running into the forest ... so my runs were restricted to the roadside.

Which brings me to the subject of roads: in the land of the Seklers, they are bad. It's not roads: it's potholes. And I mean it: potholes only.

We looked at the map and plotted a nice 50-mile day trip to the Red Lake and the Bicaz Gorge ... and we ended up spending five hours driving. I thought the car would break up every minute. But the views were fascinating, and there was an element of fun trying to overtake horse-drawn carts carrying logs or fantastic amounts of hay (plus at least three children on top of the haystack) on zigzag roads.

We loved the forest fruits bought from roadside vendors. The haggling over the price. The hundreds of shops selling Transylvanian skirts in Korond. The pizzeria in Sovata where Dani's favourite spaghetti has been incorporated into the menu. And the storks proudly surveying their villages from their nests.

And it was also a weird but great experience to find that 200 miles from the border, everybody spoke Hungarian.

It was a mix of new and old -- one moment you see a cart and have a time-has-stopped feeling. Then in the next you have the best cappuccino in the world in a funky bar in Sighisoara -- a 500 year-old cellar, tastefully converted, and equipped with WLAN. Then again, you step outside and there's absolutely nothing to stop you from falling into a wide open manhole right in the middle of the busiest tourist street -- a frequent sight in Transylvania.

So go and see it before it the carts disappear -- but mind your step.

Summer -- part 1

It was out longest trip ever. It was also supposed to be a budget holiday with a lot of camping. It was not to be.

First, we drove from London to Neustift. We very nearly didn't make it. Heavy rain, traffic jams in Germany, and being up all night all contributed to a phone call to the camp site to cancel the booking at about 1800. There was no way we could pitch a tent: we were too knackered, it was too late, and it was miserably cold and wet.

So to a get roof above our heads, I called good old friend Patricia, owner of our "best loved hotel" award many times over. I told her we were just passing through on our way from London to Budapest and needed a room for one night. A luxurious hotel apartment on the top floor was promptly allocated to us, with the key hidden in a large pot of red geranium at the entrance -- their usual procedure for guests turning up after reception closes at 1900.


We had the best night's sleep -- but it came at a cost of £100. Hardly a budget hol!


We emerged for breakfast at 0900. The sun was shining, and Neustift looked its very best: glorious Alpine scenery, ski lifts already running, tiny spots of colour -- the first paragliders descending from the Elfer --already visible in the sky. We could not just leave paradise behind after one night.

But equally, we couldn't afford to stay at £100 a night. So a long chat, big hugs and farewell with Patricia followed, with her emphatically wishing us a safe journey to Budapest.

I decided not to tell her that we were actually only moving over to the campsite for three more nights to enjoy our Alpine mini break. It was a big mistake.


On day three, Noni and I were walking down on the zigzag road from Elferhutte after conquering the Zwolfernieder ... sunburnt and happy, about to meet the men at the Elferlift station.



When going round the last bend, we bumped into two lonely figures -- mind you, at that point, everybody's coming down the mountain to catch the last lift to the village, so it was very ususual to see people going the other way. A man and a woman, in trendy hiking gear, the woman wearing a huge pair of purple sunglasses.


Which she promptly removed when she saw me, shouting excitedly: Erika, are you still here? I thought you were in Budapest!

It was awkward, but Non says I sounded all right, explaining how the kids wanted to stay and as we had a tent with us to use later on in the hols, we decided to stay.

Still, it was a very embarrasing moment ... but at least I found out from Patricia that if you wanted to watch the best sunset in the world, you should be heading up to the Elfer at 1700...