University Challenge: Surviving the Fame
So you've been on University Challenge - maybe you did well, maybe you didn't. Either way, you'll now sit back to watch the programme, thinking that the ordeal is over. Wrong. Filming University Challenge is the easy bit; it's what comes next that's tough. Trust me, I've been there. Therefore, here is a tongue-in-cheek survivor's guide to the UC fall-out.
The problem is that, as soon as you appear on the show, you become a minor celebrity. However, before you preen yourself and start dreaming of "Hello!" magazine, remember this: even if you reach the final, you're still as minor as celebrities come. You're not even close to being B list, or C list for that matter. You might make D list at a push, perhaps if you said something silly, argued with Paxman or were just generally conspicuous.
You therefore occupy the most wretchedly lowly place in the celebrity hierarchy. You can still only gaze in awe at soap stars who left their show two years ago and have done nothing of any consequence since. Pop singers who have been "resting" after their only hit reached number 16 in 1987 still sneer at you. You might just reach the dizzy heights of "voted out of Survivor first" or "co-star of a 1998 docu-soap", but even they will probably get the call from Celebrity Squares before you.
However, you are not a nobody any more: you've now become a warped kind of public property. The first cheery cry of "Well played last night!" or "Saw you on telly!" will fill you with a warm glow, but the hundredth will leave you walking past people who only said "excuse me" because they wanted to know the time.
Worse still, total strangers will wander up to you and start talking in a chummy manner, while you desperately try to remember if this could be the cousin of Auntie Doris whom you last met at a family wedding when you were seven; after about ten minutes of incessant gibbering, you'll realise that they're just a random and wander off in disgust. Each time this happens, you'll check yourself just before stalking off because this one could be Great Uncle Fred, and therefore end up wasting some more of your life. No-one I've known has ever actually been accosted by someone they know like this, so take my advice and walk - fast, in the opposite direction.
After a while, the fame will go to your head, and you'll start adopting movie star manners, beaming cheerily at shop assistants and greeting total strangers with a booming "Hello!" and an outstretched hand. With any luck, you'll stop short of hearing yourself say "Don't you know who I am?!", but you'll have my sympathies if you are tempted. However, it's then you realise that the people whom you want to recognise you haven't got a clue who you are. You'll be in the supermarket, desperately hoping that the attractive member of whichever-sex-you-would-prefer will notice you with your basket of chocolate, champagne and whipped cream, but they'll always find the packet soups more interesting. If they do see you, you'll either get accosted by a little old lady just as they do ("Oooh, you were good on the telly last night, and could you pass me that rice pudding from the top shelf?"), or you'll have given up and swapped the champagne for your usual single-portion microwave ready meals and economy baked beans.
When people do recognise you, what do you say? You can't just ignore them, and you can't be rude. I found that I quickly developed a very plausible fixed grin and soon sounded so sincere when saying "Well, that's awfully nice of you to say so...". And what about the ones who are taking the piss - where do you draw the line? The autograph is pushing it a bit, but I would suggest steering well clear of any cameras.
And then the unthinkable happens. An attractive member of whichever-sex-you-would-prefer recognises you, and comes over to speak to you. No grannies get in the way, and the whipped cream is still in your basket. Finally, this could be a better reward than the mouldy old UC sweatshirt. "You were great on University Challenge. Can I have your autograph?" Yes! You scribble happily on the proffered "special offer" leaflet, barely noticing that frozen haddock are two-for-one. You pause, just considering whether to add your phone number. "It's for my mum, she thought you were wonderful." Oh. Drat. You smile and return the leaflet, trying hard and failing to conceal your disappointment. "Well, that's awfully nice of you to say so..." The whipped cream goes back on the shelf again.
You'll also dream of fan mail. The lucky few will get drooling admirers. The even luckier few will get drooling admirers from the-sex-that-they-would-prefer. The luckiest of all will get sent money; it's only happened once, so don't hold your breath. Mostly, you'll get the same hoary old pedants who usually plague the letters page of The Times and Points of View writing to say how you really should have known a question you don't even remember being asked. You'll also magically become reunited with pretty much everyone who ever went to school with you and, more painfully, everyone who ever taught you at school. They'll remind of how you were aged five: you had previously managed to suppress the unconscious psychological scars.
In the end, you'll learn to accept that at random points through the rest of your life, people will ask about the corgis or Paxman. You'll set up a web site with your team photo and the whole story of your time on the show. You'll even try to give advice to the teams who've superseded you in the popular consciousness about handling the fame. And when it all dies down, you'll wish that you could get recognised in Sainsbury's just once more, just for old times' sake.