An Edit For Old Men

“It must be something pretty important if your going to open up the Yentob” Erika on reception told me as she handed me the keys. It was a rare event indeed that the mythical edit 15 was being opened up; this was the most exclusive of suites, pimped to the max with a Italian designer sofa and a original Banksy hanging on the wall. It was shrouded in secrecy with only the very top runners being able to enter and take drinks in; when any of them did they never spoke about it, sworn to silence in fear of their jobs. I always presumed they cut porn in there - the facility wanted the blue pound but kept it quiet.

I found myself in this intriguing position after being accosted by the facilities manger. She had asked "Alan, could I have a word with you in private". By past experience this usually meant a bollocking. My heart sank. I must have been seen nipping into Borders when I was meant to be delivering some tapes - was this it? Was I going to be put out of my misery and be given the boot? I sheepishly walked in.

“Now you’ve been with us for a while now haven’t you”

“Few months isn’t it” I replied, grimacing at the oncoming bullet.

“Well you might have heard we have a edit going into the Yentob, and I thought you would be best to look after it.”

I was shocked.

“It’s a landmark series Alan - confidential stuff. What you see in the Yentob, stays in the Yentob right.”

I nodded.

“Of course, its not like I’m going to go post it on the internet or anything is it!” (I didn’t actually say that, but couldn’t resist adding it later, come on John Grierson got away with much worse!).

So who will be working in the Yentob? It must be someone important. I walked into the kitchen and fucking trustfund Toby was there, stuffing toast into his mouth. “You got the Yentob, good luck, have you seen who’s in there? He looks well Grandad! He wants a coffee taken up with his Sanatogen - re-record not fade away!”

Televisions a bit like the film Logan’s Run - its obsessed with youth and oldies are ‘retired’ early when they stop being able to work the Video timer. As I tentatively entered the suite, the editor turned to look at me.

“Do you like dogs young man? I cant stand the bloody things but its work isn’t it......"

The editor Rudyard was a real old timer, an elder statesman. Piles of classic musical CD's covered the desk and there wasn't a Mac Book in sight. He looked a bit like Ken Russell with big red cheeks - one too many glasses of port with Dr Johnson maybe. He was also by far he nicest editor I had ever met. A real kind gent of a man. He was working on a high profile ‘landmark’ BBC documentary called ‘A year in the life of the Queen’s corgi’s’. It looked about as interesting as a 14 hour digitising shift for Time Team, but there was no denying the quality of the programme. Watching Rudyard work was fantastic; not obsessed with speed like so many editors he cut at his own pace, making each edit work perfectly for the benefit of the films story.

He took me under his wing and let me sit in with him - I think he rather liked the company and telling his stories to someone young. He regaled great anecdotes about cutting on a Steenbeck; “Get it on the edit bench dear boy”, and how he had worked on World in Action. He was as wise as Mother Nature. He wound tales of old Soho and cutting feature films with all the greats; this was the kind of talented person I had dreamed of meeting in the TV industry instead of the charlatans and show offs I regularly had to wait on. IE cuntface Dixon.

I've had a really good day today and things are looking up. If I can spend as much time with Rudyard as I can I might actually learn something useful and poignant about the art of storytelling. And corgis.