For my first ever guest-blogging gig, I thought that, like many other recent temporary Uborkians, I should adopt some sort of overall theme for the week.
Having pondered long and hard, I have finally reached a decision. For this week’s postings, I shall be describing some of the events that take place in my daily life, as and when they occur. Think of it as a kind of diary: an “online journal”, if you will. Hopefully, this will make for an interesting experiment – and maybe, just maybe, it might inspire some of you to attempt something similar for yourselves. Who knows where it all might end?
So, let me “kick off” the “project” by telling you the story of my writing debut on Channel 4, a mere two days ago. It is of course every blogger’s dream to make the great leap from purely online writing into more established media, and I am thrilled to have joined that select group of individuals who have successfully negotiated the transition.
Those of you – and I am confident that this will be most of you – who have already cancelled all evening social engagements for the next ten weeks, in order to immerse yourself in the manifold and multi-faceted delights of Big Brother Five, will of course have been glued to the television for Saturday night’s live feed from the house. You will all therefore be familiar with one of this year’s most exciting innovations: the ability to send text messages to the show, which are then displayed at the foot of the screen.
The style and content of these messages should be familiar to those of you who read the clock’s loneliness, or some of the longer running comments threads at Gert’s place.
dis is da best bb yet!!! go marco! luv kirsty in nantwich xxx
kitten is awful she should leave now victor is well buff marco is sooo funny! bb 4ever!
emma iz nice jay iz playin 2 much 2 camera stu iz fit GET KITTEN OUT!!
I was quick to spot an opportunity. Every incoming text was doubtless being carefully scrutinised for quality – and evidently, only the very best were making the grade. For a man of my linguistic abilities, this “audition” would be a doddle. All I needed was some deftly crafted bons mots with which to wow the programme makers – and thereafter, the whole nation. Nokia in hand, I set to work.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t be watching this year, but now I’m completely hooked. Damn you, BB!
Clearly, this was clearly a masterpiece of pithy economy – even more so, given the lateness of the hour and my somewhat advanced state of refreshment. Confidently hitting Send, I sank back into the sofa and fixed the screen with a gimlet stare.
Half an hour passed. “Outrageous” Marco was camping it up with the girls (and making my interpretation of “camp stereotype” Lexis in West Bridgford Drama Society’s production of Reality And TV last Autumn seem positively understated by comparison). “Saucy” Michelle had finished massaging “treatments” into Victor’s feet (“You know what they say about guys with big feet”, quips “cheeky” Victor), and the pair were now “frolicking” in the hot tub. Indoors, “caring” Vanessa was counselling “outspoken” Kitten, who was feeling distraught at having been voted the least popular member of the house.
(“I respect the fact that you’re not afraid to express your opinions; that’s a really positive quality. You just need to take some of the love you have for your girlfriend, and start using it on yourself.” “Yeah, cheers, that’s really helped actually.” “I’m always here for you, Kitten.”)
The wine bottle was empty. The last fag had been chuffed. The hour was ridiculously late. And my mobile was bleeping.
Thanks for your message!
Snapping back into focus, I stared at the foot of the screen. OMG WTF LOL, there it was!
I promised myself that I wouldn’t be watching this year, but now I’m completely hooked. Naughty BB!
Hold up, hold up. Naughty BB? Script editors can be such brutes. The effect was ruined. My masterpiece was in tatters – butchered by philistines. Naughty BB! Who do they think I am – Hattie Jacques?
Presumably, the word “damn” was considered by the programme makers to be simply too much for our delicate sensibilites. And yet here were the twelve contestants, cheerfully effing and blinding to almost Ramsay-esque proportions, without a single constraining bleep. This was blatant, intolerable hypocrisy of the worst kind.
I shall never work with Channel 4 again.