That's entertainment...

“SOMETHING nice for your lady...?” the make-up shop assistant asked with a genuinely pleasant and helpful smile on her face.

“Um... no.  You see, well, er... I’m on TV... and I’ve been told to get make-up... for, well... me...”

I don’t think I need to describe anymore how weird and awkward this moment was.

I’m pretty sure Macy’s doesn’t usually see many men asking for make-up. Let alone English ones.

“You’re on TV now, so you need make-up,” my producer told me last week.

“You’ll look shiny under the studio lights, go and buy make-up,”

So there I was, on the bosses orders, visiting Macy’s in downtown San Diego to get some sort of the foundationy, blushery, concealery stuff. Whatever you call it.

“Can you make me less, um... shiny?” was my plea to the young shop worker.

“Sure,” she replied.

She then began talking in some strange foreign language that only girls understand, mentioning things like ‘tones’, ‘skin’ and ‘shades’.  I just nodded politely like I knew what she was talking about.

Jacks, at this point, was no help at all – unless of course I wanted my very own hysterical audience for this production.

I sat down in the make-up chair feeling the way you do when you visit the dentist – unsure, apprehensive, and definitely out of my comfort zone.

The shop worker left us for a moment to get kitted out, and Jacks and I discussed what I would need.

I’ll never forget the next 10 minutes of my life. The girl returned and began ‘painting’ my face with so many different shades I looked like I’d had a very VERY bad experience on a sun bed.

“What do you think? Which one is better,” she eventually asked handing me a small circular mirror.

“I think I want to crawl up into a ball and die,” is what I wanted to reply.

But, being polite, I smiled, looked at Jacks, and diverted the question to her instead.

“Are you likely to get a tan on our face?” the make-up girl then asked.

“Because if you are we don’t want anything too light because you’ll look weird.”

Oh dear god. More and more people then began entering the store and glancing over.

My face’s ‘shade’ quickly turned to red in embarrassment and my hands became clammy.

“You know what... that’ll do,” I said, now in a semi-mad panic.

“That one with the... er... the one that... yes the... er ....  Lancome Paris 300 Bisque mattifying silky pressed powder?! – THAT one. The translucent one!

“Sorry? Oh, do I want a brush to apply? Um... no... yes... *panic-stricken glance at Jacks...* yes!”

“And SORRY... How much?!” Wow.

Job done.

Does it feel weird to wear make up?! Hell yes.

Will I ever get used to it? Hell no.
I have to admit that I have worn it before once or twice for catwalk shows and shoots and things but NEVER on a daily basis.
It's always been applied on/for me.
I've never really taken note of how girls do it.
And I've sure as hell never gone shopping for it.

You see, once again, I have no term of reference.

Too much application and I look like the Satsuma-skinned English antiques expert and TV presenter, David Dickinson.

Too little and I look greasy.

WARNING: Too much application is bad for skin, and popularity

And how do you do this?!

Nope, haven't a clue...

And I have to put it on myself which, I can tell you, has been met with some hilarity from co-workers.

But my producer’s right, if it’s a choice of wearing this stuff and temporarily rescinding my man card, or looking like a greasy weirdo under the bright and hot lights, (yes if you didn’t realise from the above verse, I’m vain!) I know which I’d prefer.

So yes... it’s been an interesting couple of weeks.

The ‘training’ for my new job consisted of me doing my first ‘live’ in the studio.

Nothing like being thrown in the deep end eh? But it’s the best way to learn right? Sink or swim.

Within two days we established some silly habits that I have.

When reading the tele-prompter I seem to occasionally clap my hands, tap the desk in front of me, or lean my head to one side – or do all three. Why? Not sure, it’s weird.

I’m working on it, and I think it’s just down to gaining confidence in this new role.

But hey, I couldn’t do it without giving people the chance to rib me about something right?!

I’m just glad I didn’t say “sh*t” and “f*ck” live into the camera on my first day like an American anchorman did on his first day – which bizarrely happened to be the same day as I started.

Anyhow, as far as first weeks go, it's been awesome. It’s stupid amounts of fun, and we’ve got an amazingly talented and super lovely team at U-T TV.

I finally realised the meaning of the word ‘promotion’ when I opened up the paper last Sunday to see a full page picture of me staring back at myself.

Promotion

I tell you, I nearly choked on my cornflakes.

My mum’s response...? “Nice tan, or is that make-up?!”

Thanks mum.

Anyhow aside from the new career on the box, I’ve also had to deal with beginning my new life living here in San Diego.

Starting from scratch doesn’t even remotely cover it.

I felt like a Bob Dylan-type character arriving in California with nothing but a bag of clothes and a guitar.

Still, it’s all rock and roll right?