There's no place for TV tantrums, Amber

It was strange what counted when I did my first screen test for a major network. I thought it would be the magic the hair and makeup wizards worked on me, getting my hair floaty and my face camera-ready; or more importantly, how I fared in my (laughable, in retrospect) attempt to hold my own against one of the most famous Australian television hosts in history, Kerri-Anne Kennerley.

But in reality (as I found out much, much later) it was what I did and said off-camera that really counted - a lesson embattled TV host Amber Sherlock may also be learning the hard way this week.

I passed the screen test; then, a year into my stint as a guest on KAK's show, the receptionists at the network casually mentioned they were pleased they’d given me the nod, back on my first day.

When I looked blank, they explained that after I’d fronted up and nervously reeled off painstakingly memorized celebrity facts under the too-hot lights of the studio, I’d left, blithely hopping into a cab and heading back to my job at a woman’s magazine. The moment I left the carpark, the famously thorough KAK had begun trawling the building, asking everyone whether I’d treated them with respect, politeness and humour. Everyone. The reception ladies, the men and women brandishing brushes in the makeup room, the studio crew who’d clipped my microphone pack to my dress. Everyone.

KAK, as the queen of morning television, knew that every wannabe guest would treat her with reverence. What mattered, of course, was how those wannabe guests treated everyone else.

I was lucky to have KAK as a mentor when I started in television; she is the kind of woman who supports you and shows you endless loyalty, and rightly expects these same courtesies in return. She's honest, very honest, but she's living proof you can be tough without being cruel.

In fact, I still burn at the memory of rolling down to the Crown lobby in Melbourne for a post-Logies live show, decidedly the worse for wear after my first ride on the celebrity carousel that is ‘TV’s night of nights’. I walked unsteadily on to the set and breathed out a huge sigh of relief in KAK's direction. She looked disgusted, then as I heard the cameraman’s words, ‘Three, two, one…' counting down to the opening live shot, I also heard KAK hissing to me, “My god, you need a mint."

This was not a bitchy move, however it might sound; it was a kind service, done for my own good, by the only person who would. Like the best friend who’s the only one who’ll tell you there’s spinach in your teeth, KAK taught me to be kind, but also clear.

Too often in television, all the audience sees is the bright smile someone hoists on to their face every time the telltale read light starts blinking. It’s a practiced move, one that looks more natural, and warmer, over time. What people don’t see, when they’re pottering around in the mornings, only half-aware of the TV blaring in the background, is the tantrums, the rash moves driven by fear, or smell the competitive stink of people sweating over the amount of air time they get.

Perhaps this was the feeling in the air this week, when Amber admits she 'probably overreacted' to three women all wearing similar pales shades for a segment. They say television is cutthroat and, of course, it is. But what I have found is the ones doing the cutting are often the ones with not much to offer, who need to draw blood from others, weaken them to strengthen their own chances.

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These are the people, I find, who fade with time and are consigned to footnotes in the Wikipedia entries of other, more gracious stars; the ones who act with generosity, with class, and who are kind enough to tell you nicely that your breath stinks, right before they turn their smile to the camera and share it with Australia.

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