Here's a LONG illustration of the importance of communication & how I learned on the job that it is FUNDAMENTAL, and also something they can't teach you in college.

Or at least if they can, I must have missed that class.

Also about how the most ridiculous happenings can occur behind the scenes, yet no one would ever know.

So it was the next morning, the morning of our event with Fred Pearce in the Science Gallery, and we were packed up with 2 rucksacks filled with enough electronic equipment to worry any airport security x-ray machine, and after picking up our new iPhone in its compact box, we hopped on the train to Dublin.

On the train, trying to figure out why the iPhone was not connecting to the internet, not knowing after all my diligent research that it needs to be connected to the internet to start up... who calls us, but the radio station in Dublin, saying that they are bringing Fred's radio interview back 30 minutes to 4.30, and what was his mobile number so that they could speak to him before the interview.

Now, to my knowledge, they had his mobile number, as I had asked him for it myself the night before. She informed me that the number he had given was in fact... gasp... his landline, and he was not answering. As you would expect - as he was no doubt en route to the airport.

So we had no mobile number for him.

Whoops.

Slight oversight.

Which wouldn't have been called to my attention had they just held the interview at the time they had agreed on in the first place... but of course - if you make a mistake, someone will bring it to your attention - handing it to you like a proud cat with a dead mouse in its mouth.

"Who is handling the PR for this?" I was interrogated.

"That would be me," I mumbled into the phone.

"You really dropped the ball on this one," she said, exasperated.

You think? I shouted at her internally.

"Yes, I know... Sorry about that," I responded in what came out as a shame filled voice.

The sensation of being utterly trapped, enveloped, STUCK on a train which seemed to be wandering at a frustratingly relaxed pace through yet more god dammed fields of sodden grass and telephone wires overcame me. We had no less than 3 phones, 3 computers (if you can count the iPhone as a computer) a camcorder, a camera, 2 microphones, a portable hard drive, 6 chargers, cables that would connect everything to anything, and an electricity outlet provided kindly by cie, but not one scrap of internet connectivity!

Arrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! I screamed internally for at least 6 minutes, until I forced Adrian to ask the girl down the aisle if we could use her internet connection - she had a dongle - how intelligent of her.

Withstanding the prize winning glare she focused on me for the whole 3 minute operation of navigating to my email and sending a pathetic email telling Fred to "ring me when you get this," I took my seat again.

Was that the best I could do?

ArrrrgggggggggggggggHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Went the internal scream again for another 6 minutes.

Along with:

THINK OF SOMETHING!!

It's not worth me relaying the next few hours, but I did manage to constructively waste them calling Fred's work place in the UK, his house phone, and the radio station, back and forth; while I waited for Fred to call, for his work to call, for an answer to come to me; even withstanding yet more glaring from the friendly internet girl... before I came to the conclusion that he was officially, "uncontactable".

Rumour on the street after all that investigation was that he "DIDNT HAVE A MOBILE PHONE."

Of course.

Typical.

Typical that I don't know that this environmental expert doesn't have a mobile phone, and us sitting there like fools with 3, but not everything can be my fault.

So you would think that things got easier as the day progressed and I was released from the bounds of my own guilt due to the unforeseeable circumstances, plus I managed to get off the damn train!

Not a chance.

We craftily intercepted Fred at the airport, or should I say ambushed him - two people with hefty rucksacks, wide eyed and breathless, forcefully standing in his way - it was like playing bulldog in the school yard, our arms practically linked to prevent him from getting through.

And I rang the radio station, triumphant. Talk about picking up the ball, I thought. We had found him! Tracked him down, and he was en route to the radio station, he would make it no problem.

Except there was a problem. The bus was late. Or we missed it. Eager to please Mr Environmental, we waited for the next one. However, a bus was leaving that would take us close to our hotel... and we still had time to drop our bags, and we... I dare not say it... we left Fred behind to wait for his bus, and due to the late hour, we - no I - I take responsibility for this one because it was my fault - although Adrian dragged me onto the bus... ok, it was my fault - I could have said "No, we are staying with Fred," - I decided that he would conduct the interview from a land line instead. No big deal right?

Wrong.

Bad decision. All those books about the brain (see previous post) have left me even more stupid than I was before I read them.

Ok, ok, so now I know - landline interviews are really not that good, not compared to being in the studio... but how was I supposed to know that? I didn't study PR for Christ's sake. I am a Biomedical Engineer - the only time we ever go on the radio is to... no, we never go on the radio!

I had been told earlier in the day that a landline or even a mobile would do the trick, so I was just following orders. But the problem was, I had told them he would be there in person, less than an hour previously, and they were confused as to how we could have changed plans at the last minute... "The bus was late" seemed rather a weak excuse in retrospect.

So then began part II of tracking down Fred as my brain was frantically coming to grips with a concept called COMMUNICATION.

If I had asked Fred for his mobile... and found out he didn't have one... and told the station not to change things at last minute because I have no way of contacting him... then we wouldn't have been in this mess.

If the station had not assumed that I knew that interviews held at the radio studio are of much better quality than conducted through a landline, I would not have left Fred behind - I would have gotten us into a taxi.

The next 45 minutes had us hopping in and out of taxis, running along Dublin streets carrying more than 15 kgs of technical equipment, and I could almost see the cameras encircle us to capture the emotional realisation that we had lost him, before... the magical happened - we caught a glimpse of him once more.

As the words "follow that man!!" came out of my mouth, I felt as though I was in the midst of a murder mystery, or at least an early episode of the Apprentice.

I was never so happy to deliver him, a slightly worse for wear, bemused Fred, to the girl I had been on the phone to all day long, a girl who had become my best friend, my worst enemy, the harshest taskmaster, and the ultimate teacher all over the course of about 16 telephone exchanges. I felt like I deserved an Olympic medal, or at least a big glass of whisky. I settled for a glass of water instead. As we listened to Fred patter away on the radio, it felt like we were the famous ones. :)

Talk about learning on the job.