Diary of an Insurance PR: Omnia’s Nathalie Crystal

Monday

The week our agency has spent months building towards is finally here. 

Two of the team are at FASE in Barcelona, three of us at the British Insurance Brokers’ Association conference in Manchester, and a couple of colleagues from across the pond are at London Risk Week. 

Home is frenetic. Two school-age sons mean a flurry of bathroom queues, packed lunches and echoes of “Have you brushed your teeth boys?”

The day begins with a shot of caffeine and a scan of the trade press, so nothing reaches my clients that I haven’t already registered. 

I’ve a 10 o’clock with a broking client, a speaking-slot prep call, then the last few Biba briefings. 

We cover every angle, including when staying quiet is the smart thing to do. Then admin - pinning down where each journalist meeting will happen. 

“See you on the stand” is too vague to work for anyone.

In the gaps I’m checking awards deadlines, drafting answers for a commercial risk feature and brainstorming a thought-leadership piece. 

After some doom scrolling about the dangers of a sedentary lifestyle, I’m doing it all pacing on a new walking pad under the standing desk. No tech neck for me, thanks.

By evening Mr C is at the pub for the football, leaving me and my eldest wrestling an algebra problem. The rest can wait until morning. 

Tuesday

Tuesday, up at the crack of dawn. Usually I’m on the early train south to our Lloyd’s office, but for once the main event’s on my doorstep, so the Biba crew travel north while I stay put. I’ll happily take it.

I take an hour to get ahead before meeting Adam and Conor, keen to get everyone we look after squared away while it’s calm. 

Our junior account manager Trudie has built an amazing social media plan for the Omnia LinkedIn page, including a video of us waving by the Lutine Bell as our New York counterparts do the same beside a yellow cab. 

It’s a cool idea, and now we need to repeat the exercise behind the Biba sign at the front of the exhibition hall.

That done, the evening opens with the official welcome drinks, which I’ve somehow never made before. Mental note to avoid this rookie error in future. 

Then on to a media dinner we’ve spent weeks pulling together for a client, at a smart Asian-fusion spot in Spinningfields. It wraps at 11.30pm, and with an eye-watering run of interviews across the next two days, it’s a cab and straight to bed. 

Wednesday

Wednesday, and this is it, the day itself. I’m full of adrenaline, armed with mints, water and staying power.

Everyone’s worked flat out to reach this point. We’ve secured a record number of press engagements for senior spokespeople, on-stand interviews and filming. It’s all meticulously planned. 

Each confirmed slot starts with a carefully crafted pitch, the follow-up executed with the persistence of a toddler refusing a nap. Competition for airtime here is fierce, but we’re tenacious. Independent coverage in a respected trade title is worth its weight in gold.

I step in mid-interview when a journalist asks my client to name the companies involved.

Catching that before he answers is the reason I’m here. You can’t do that as easily from behind a screen, which is why, still relatively new to the agency, I take every chance to meet the people I represent face-to-face.

On the tram back my ears are ringing and my thoughts are racing. All the same, the boys rope me into in their latest gaming pursuit. 

My skills in this domain are laughable, but I humour them and then it literally is game over for me.

Thursday

Day two is more subdued. It’s always the way: last night’s revellers are somewhat jaded. 

Even so, my agenda’s full, and I work through it methodically, noting the reporters to chase tomorrow and the contacts I wanted to see in person.

The team meet for a quick recce. I’ve hardly seen them since Tuesday, and based on our clients’ feedback, we agree the hard yards paid off.

By late afternoon the others dash for trains back south, and I’m happy to take the closing shift.

Two days on my feet plus weeks of groundwork have caught up with me. 

I get home shattered and fold onto the sofa with my sons, barely clocking what’s going on. There’ll be no coaxing me onto the garden trampoline tonight.

Friday

It’s Friday and the post-Biba blues are real. The silence is deafening, and I’m leaning into social fatigue to wrap up the week.

The morning goes on monitoring coverage, thanking the journalists who gave us their time, and supplying the odd bit of missing data. 

A few clients want introductions to the reporters they met over dinner, so I pull those together too.

The afternoon goes on a post-mortem: who I saw, what was said, what worked and what didn’t. It’s the least glamorous job of the week yet one of the most useful. 

What’s been published shows how hard everyone’s pushed for the brands in our care. 

The litmus test is whether the right people think more of the names we work with. Slower to prove, but it matters.

Later that evening, I’m curled up watching Amandaland, escapism from insurance. The dog’s on my lap and I’ve a G&T in hand. I’ve officially signed off, properly this time.