The journo in the corner

The England cricketer Andrew Flintoff once described his first meeting as a young Lancashire intern with his all-time hero Ian Botham.

“I just dropped my shopping,” he said. “I didn’t know where to look.”

For such a recognisable and seemingly confident personality to admit to bashful hero-worship suggests there is hope after all for the socially inept among us.

I recently found myself in a similar situation at a certain media event in London.

I arrived unfashionably early, and after chatting briefly to the press officer, was left cowering in a corner, buried in my notes as a procession of national journalists, broadcasters and academics entered and hobnobbed before me.

There was the BBC’s home editor, Mark Easton; Saturday editor of the Times, George Brock; former Olympian and sports journalist Matthew Syed; and City A.M Editor Lawson Muncaster.

I disappeared further and further into my corner, drinking the complimentary tea like it was going out of style and reading and re-reading the press release in hope of discovering a formula for invisibility.

You may have guessed from all of this that I am not a good networker. I never have been.

Put me in a room filled with people I’ve never met before, place a drink in my hand and tell me to “mingle” and I descend into a navel gazing, quivering wreck.

Not very convenient for a journalist, you might say, given that the old adage of “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” could have been invented for the fickle world of media.

One a one-to-one basis, I’m usually fine. I can laugh when I need to laugh, I can nod and look serious, heck I can even stretch to a witty remark now and again.

But as a newly qualified rooky, how do I go about introducing myself to people who have been to more press briefings than I’ve had hot dinners?

People whose profound discourse I was reading only yesterday in The Guardian were now standing just feet away providing what more sure-footed colleagues would describe as “the perfect networking opportunity”.

I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to chicken out.

I stuck to my corner, eventually following the crowd into the event, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief and choking on my supreme embarrassment.

Maybe in the future, people will no longer communicate face to face and the phrase ‘social networking’ really will be confined to the impersonal comfort of technology.

Until then I remain the journo in the corner, my innate awkwardness shining through for all to see.