There comes a time in every blogger’s life where the line between hobby writer and actual “press” becomes blurry. You should exploit this blur for all it’s worth and get all the press tickets you can lay your greedy little mitts on. Or not. It’s up to you. But if you do want some of that sweet press pass action, I’ve put together this helpful step by step guide explaining how TheMayfairy.com gets press passes with minimal raised eyebrows.
Wait for someone who actually has their shit together to announce that there are press tickets available to the event you didn’t even realise was happening.
Apply. Click that link. Fill in that form. Send your best pigeon mail. Whatever needs to be done, do it.
Try and act like press while you wait patiently for almost certain rejection. Put a pencil behind your ear. Refer to yourself as the Rory Gilmore of blogging (coz if that was ten years later she’d totally have a blog). Try to refrain from phone hacking.
Dance madly when the fools accept you even though you’re nobody. This is it. One of the big high points of your life. You’ve beaten the system. THE SYSTEM. That thing that’s set up to keep the numpties like you down, you’ve beaten it AND YOU’RE IN.
Take an official photographer with you in order to keep up the pretense of being someone who belongs. A husband is good for this. Especially if he’s rather clicky with the old shutter. It also means you have a safe friend in tow so you won’t be expected to know what the hell you’re supposed to be doing for every second of the day.
Be polite and over-explain everything to the person on the gate. Including steps 1-5. They need to hear all about those.
Head towards the info desk that supposedly has your magical press pass. This is the last hurdle between you and full smashing of THE SYSTEM. Don’t stumble now. There may be some queuing involved. It’s Britain, of course there’s some queuing involved.
Watch as your husband/photographer flees into the festival without a single look back like a toddler who’s been let off the lead. He’s probably headed toward the man who’s cooking sausages. It’s a safe bet.
Continue to queue in the mud trying to look important so that they don’t kick you out. Looking important means not falling arse over tit in the mud. Hold position, even when that splashy child runs up to the queue and threatens to soak everyone. Do not splash the child back.
Realise that with the best of intentions you have totally overdone it and look way too important now as your husband is papping you from afar and people are staring, trying to figure out who you are.
Make it to the front of the line and talk to the nice lady with the tickets, ignoring the happy snapper standing directly behind her recording every move of this vital transaction. Ignore it, I say. Act like it’s not happening.
Keep at it. Smile professionally and stand up straight as if that’s what you normally do and some maniac isn’t snapping this on motor drive as if it’s going to be the most important part of the blog post. (Or even a blog post in itself, I mean, who’d do that?!)
When the nice ticket lady asks if you have a plus one smile and nod then narrow your eyes and look around with a puzzled look saying, “oh but I can’t find him now, he must have wandered into the festival”. Do not acknowledge the large DSLR lens poking into your space
Wander off with both wrist bands, hand placed across your brow, as if scanning the crowd for your lost plus one. Circumnavigate back to the confused husband who is still standing by the information tent wondering why you’re ignoring him only when he’s stopped making a spectacle of himself. This could take a while.
Go about your day with a professional press like swagger in your step. Return home and realise you now have 1500 photographs to sort through because someone is trigger happy. On the upside this gives you much more blog than you originally bargained for.