I’ve been a children’s TV presenter for six years – but it’s not all bright lights and unicorns

It’s hard because everything about you is criticised. It’s hard because in the first two years on the channel, I did more than 400 studio days – and nobody is that happy, all of the time

It’s been six years since I was plucked from The Clock Tower Office at Lord’s Cricket Ground to join CBeebies.

I’d been working in a sport development role for the International Cricket Council, trying to increase interest and participation in the sport across Europe. It was a far cry from the day-to-day of being a main presenter in the CBeebies House. My suit trousers and dress shirts were suddenly replaced with mustard-coloured cargo pants and rainbow-coloured t-shirts (though thankfully, I now get to pick out my own clothes on the channel).

With any relationship of note, there are ups and downs. It’s constantly in flux. Being a television presenter is hard work. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not like going down the mines, and there’s no day-to-day danger. I’m usually in an air conditioned studio: hanging out with people I love working with, dressing up in lobster costumes, reading birthday cards and rapping about pancakes with my little mate Dodge the Dog, the cutest, sassiest little puppet you could ever meet. Tupac and Biggie ain’t got nothing on us.

But it’s not all bright lights and unicorns. Being a presenter is hard because it’s graft. It’s hard because it’s occasionally glorious – and often brutal. It’s hard because it’s constant rejection. It’s hard because it’s getting hammered on social media. It’s hard because everything about you is criticised. It’s hard because everyone has an opinion. It’s hard because in the first two years on the channel, I did more than 400 studio days – and nobody is that happy, all of the time.

I’ll save the deep, dark, philosophical stuff for the memoirs, but there’s an expectation that when you’re on national television every day of your life, you’re living like Dwayne The Rock Johnson in Ballers (fast cars, fast women and mountains of cash) – not sitting in a dark room, listening to emo music, trying not to cry your eyes out over the dried pasta you had for dinner. Mayonnaise counts as a sauce, right?

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When I was brought into CBeebies, the remit was to be like a big brother to the kids – and a friend to their families. The connection with the audience is something that I’ll never take for granted; and is, without doubt, one of the best parts of the job.

I had my 5th birthday card read out by Philippa Forrester in 1992. It was a classic effort from my dad: hand drawn, top-class colouring, golf-themed and with a little cameo from Seve Ballesteros! We’ve still got it on VHS – and thinking about it almost 30 years later still makes me smile.

To know that I’ve touched the lives of children and their families is the greatest feeling; whether that’s making them laugh, teaching them about the world around them, or reading out their birthday cards (with or without pro golfers). It’s the thumbs up from other drivers when I’m in the car, the little messages of love and support, the fan mail and the hand-drawn pictures.

After being on the channel for a few weeks – a little shattered and wondering whether I’d ever be able to remember my lines – I received a drawing from a young girl called Hannah. It simply said: “To Ben, you are doing a great job.” I sat in our gallery with her picture in my hands and cried. It’s now framed on my desk. Thank you, Hannah.

I’m really lucky. I’ve done some incredible things over the last six years. I’ve met some of my heroes, spent time with kind, empathetic, wonderful people, made lifelong friends – and achieved some of the stuff that never seemed attainable when I was unemployed and back living with my mum and dad after university.

I wasn’t going to be good enough to play in an FA Cup Final for West Ham United (though we will win a trophy in my lifetime), or open the batting for England in an Ashes Test Match. But I have presented Blue Peter; and the main man, Gary Lineker, has said my name many times on Match of the Day – he even pronounces it correctly.

Something I always wheel out when asked to give motivational talks is a little golden nugget from one of my favourite films, Cool Runnings. Coach Irv Blitzer, played by the late great John Candy, says, “A gold medal is a wonderful thing, but if you’re not enough without it, you’ll never be enough with it”. You can relate that to anything. A job, a relationship, a world title, an Oscar, a Ferrari, a dream. So, what is enough? Search me – I’m still looking.

The last 12 months have been rough for everyone. It’s been tough with big ticket work being cancelled, and the constant worry of working contract to contract. Being freelance isn’t always a joy – there’s a lot of anxiety about when that next paycheck is going to be hitting your bank account.

Yet, in some ways, this year has also been up there as being the most rewarding of my six years as a presenter. Aside from my garden wall becoming the most loved set on the channel after months of filming from home, I’m really proud of the way we covered issues of kindness, tolerance and equality – in all forms – on CBeebies.

The response to some of the links we did (the bits we present in between the shows) last year – including when I spoke about being mixed race; which was partly brought about by racial injustice, George Floyd’s murder and content around Black History Month – was incredibly overwhelming. There were some beautiful reactions, but also vile trolling. The polarised world that we live in isn’t lost on me, but it still blows my mind that people can be so triggered by a basic concept of a world where everyone is equal.

After the events of the past month, I couldn’t stand idly by and not say anything about issues of sexism and misogyny, so talked about what it meant to me on my Saturday Breakfast Show on BBC Radio Stoke. The polarisation was back: please pray hard for my mentions, because the trolls are real. Except... they’re not green and ogre-like; they’re just sat in their pants, smashing away at their keyboards.

I want to be able to use my voice – and I don’t take the platform that I’m currently crouching on (covered in beads of sweat) lightly. I’ve always believed in better. I strive. It comes from a place of hope.

To work it right back to the start and a mention of Tupac: “Remember one thing; through every dark night, there’s a brighter day after that; so no matter how hard it gets, stick your chest out, keep ya head up and handle it.” Now we just need Dodge to quote Biggie and we’re home free.