Max held me at right angles to the ground and unprised my fingers from the railings. I must have looked like one of the nannies blown out as Mary Poppins blows in.
Merrin Peeble's hooking email said, 'Hi, I'm all the way from TV land...' She named the company. I mustn't.
When we facetimed, I saw I'd been spot on imagining Merrin as fourteen, slum-fed, with an absinthe green buzzcut. She continuously hoicked a shapeless crocheted black sweater up to her ears.
'We've had quite the laughs in the office looking at your footage,' she said, waving. I waved back. She waved bigger; so did I. She frowned and gave her wave a steely quality - a wave to stop any further waving, thanks. 'And we thought you'd be totally right for something up our sleeve since this morning's production meeting.' In her excitement she had pulled her sweater right over her head. She screeched until she found the neck; sounding like a lion cub, wanking.
She said, 'We're taking on the YouTubers at their own game. Well, that's what we thought - with it being such a generational thing, why not get someone of your...er...era to do classic YouTuber stuff: Deliveroo Nando's to the North Pole; book a first class fight for the sake of the bath; have a cage fight.'
Merrin didn't actually ask me to do any of those things. Instead, I was to audition to front a shopping channel. 'In character as Madame Galina.'
'Must I work a GoPro?' I asked.
'No, Dan and Huss are going with you. Film crew.'
'But if it's hidden camera?'
'It isn't. What is it, is a pre-blurred take on reality TV. Not putting a real person into a 70% real situation, but putting a non-real person into - '
What a crap idea, seriously. Did Merrin think I was one of those performers desperate to get onto television - any television at all - for the sake of the online traction? I was headlining in the west End, I was the Woman's Hour Forces' Sweetheart, a stalwart of the WI lecture circuit, a -
What a crap idea, seriously. Did Merrin think I was one of those performers desperate to get onto television - any television at all - for the sake of the online traction? I was headlining in the west End, I was the Woman's Hour Forces' Sweetheart, a stalwart of the WI lecture circuit, a -
When Merrin waved me off for the shoot, she chirruped about this shopping channel gig being ‘rock and roll’. She smelled of goat and patchouli. 'And you might glean for you, yourself a side to Galina you'd never thought existed.’
Dan, director, pre-scruffed jeans, black T and red beanie, more realistically challenged me to stay in the shopping channel studio for longer than two minutes. 'Merrin's an intern. Fails to ride the concept: show me the jeopardy.'
And...
'Rolling...'
I stalked into the shopping channel reception in full make-up, rabbit fur coat, burgundy velour leisure suit and stiletto heeled thigh boots. Handing the receptionist, Catrina, ten by eights of me as the queen of swans, I said, ‘Please to coverink up zose zhere,’ pointing to framed shots of the studio bosses. I rearranged the table and chairs and had just picked up a rug when Catrina asked what I was doing.
‘I am Madame Galina,’ I said. She was willowy and blond, in big belted brown. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you for the interior design improvements.'
'Morning, here?' Sebastian Manley, the channel boss, apparently confused about the time of day. I put the rug down. Sebastian was tall, had an Eton mane, smelled of something sugary and was dressed like a failing formula one driver. I held my hand out high to be kissed. He pulled it down to the right height to be shaken.
Huss whispered to me: 'His choice now is to either chuck you out of here, or go along with the gag...'
Sebastian, choosing to do neither, opted for one-upmanship.
Oh, and without warning, would leave and then reappeare.
Totally had a coke habit.
‘Sell me this pen,' Sebastian said in geezerese. Seated, his left thigh was thicker than his right. 'And make me feel by buying it, I am rendered exclusive in some way.’
'Rolling...'
I stalked into the shopping channel reception in full make-up, rabbit fur coat, burgundy velour leisure suit and stiletto heeled thigh boots. Handing the receptionist, Catrina, ten by eights of me as the queen of swans, I said, ‘Please to coverink up zose zhere,’ pointing to framed shots of the studio bosses. I rearranged the table and chairs and had just picked up a rug when Catrina asked what I was doing.
‘I am Madame Galina,’ I said. She was willowy and blond, in big belted brown. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you for the interior design improvements.'
'Morning, here?' Sebastian Manley, the channel boss, apparently confused about the time of day. I put the rug down. Sebastian was tall, had an Eton mane, smelled of something sugary and was dressed like a failing formula one driver. I held my hand out high to be kissed. He pulled it down to the right height to be shaken.
Huss whispered to me: 'His choice now is to either chuck you out of here, or go along with the gag...'
Sebastian, choosing to do neither, opted for one-upmanship.
Oh, and without warning, would leave and then reappeare.
Totally had a coke habit.
Sell me this pen...
‘Sell me this pen,' Sebastian said in geezerese. Seated, his left thigh was thicker than his right. 'And make me feel by buying it, I am rendered exclusive in some way.’
I asked if there was a standard script.
‘Make it personal to yourself,’ he said, his expression snidely belligerent. ‘And…ready…we’re selling!’
Except Sebastian left the room.
He was back, as suddenly. I said, 'Here in my hand, I have the most elegant, stylish writing accessory.' Sebastian gave me an approving nod, I supposed because I'd used eleven syllables instead of the two: ‘...nice pen’.
‘Make it personal to yourself,’ he said, his expression snidely belligerent. ‘And…ready…we’re selling!’
Except Sebastian left the room.
He was back, as suddenly. I said, 'Here in my hand, I have the most elegant, stylish writing accessory.' Sebastian gave me an approving nod, I supposed because I'd used eleven syllables instead of the two: ‘...nice pen’.
He left.
He came back.
This writing accessory, furthermore, had width that was, opaquely to see, optimumly manufactured for manoeuvrability. ‘It’s clearly a pen for the Queen of the Swans. Not just any old swan or cygnet. And not for Olga Klimtova, always sixteenth swan on. She is more of a Bic Biro bird’.
Sebastian interrupted. ‘My viewer...'
'Is there only one, sadly?'
He tried and failed to narrow his eyes at me. 'Whatever - you're not going in front of one of my cameras dressed like that,' he said. 'Put something more suitable on or forget it.' He left again.
I put on much heavier make-up, an alice band and a purple baby-grow.
‘Is this better, Sebastian?' I asked.
‘You clearly think,’ he was back - and getting a bit loud now, ‘you clearly think you are bigger than the product you’re selling. Sell this pen to me is beneath you as a concept? Can I tell you just how fatal that is?’
After a few seconds wait, I said, ‘Okay, tell me’.
He was seething. Going blotchy.
He left.
We hadn't noticed him come back.
I held the pen up to Dan's camera. ‘Yes, Sebastian,’ I said smiling. ‘I am bigger.'
He spat, ‘You’ve just made the one unforgivable shopping channel mistake - thinking yourself bigger than the product.’
Dan mimed to me to keep going.
I pretended to cry. ‘He is shouting at me,’ I said between sobs. ‘Not even Nureyev ever shouted at me’.
Sebastian stared, then left.
He came back.
I wailed and flounced.
‘Is this for real?’ Sebastian asked. Dan gave me the thumbs up.
I staggered, stopped, looked at Sebastian wide-eyed with terror, clutched at the air and keeled over. Silence. Until I giggled.
‘That’s it,’ Sebastian decided. ‘You’re out of here. I’m getting security.’ He was off again.
‘Shithead,’ I said to camera.
‘Put your tutu on,' Dan hissed.
No, I was putting my civvies on. 'Not waiting for security.'
‘Put your tutu on!'
I put my tutu on. I could hear the approach of large persons. Dan went into the corridor and said calmly but not messing, ‘Any of you touch him and it’s assault, okay?’
‘We make this look like it’s Madame Galina's decision to leave,' Dan told me. 'Now, go win the award for most outraged hissy-fit.’
Huss had my bag over one shoulder camera on the other, Dan was shadowing me like a boxing second, the security guards were smiling nicely and I was giving it my best Beyonce strut. Through reception - ‘I’ll have my photos back, thank you. Pearl before swine as they were’ - the car park, the gates and onto the supply road. It was rush hour. I got very honked at.
I asked the biggest security guard, Max, to fake having to manhandle me through the gates. Huss rolled again while Max held me at right angles to the ground and unprised my fingers from the railings. I looked like one of the nannies blown out before Mary Poppins blows in.
Lawsuit against me pending for calling him a shithead on camera, Sebastian passed Dan's confiscated footage to the channel's legal team. Walking into the viewing room for a progress report, he caught them in kicking hysterics and is going to fight all of them.
Merrin wants to put the bouts on a fight card topped by Doctor Mike vs Logan Paul.
He came back.
This writing accessory, furthermore, had width that was, opaquely to see, optimumly manufactured for manoeuvrability. ‘It’s clearly a pen for the Queen of the Swans. Not just any old swan or cygnet. And not for Olga Klimtova, always sixteenth swan on. She is more of a Bic Biro bird’.
Sebastian interrupted. ‘My viewer...'
'Is there only one, sadly?'
I put on much heavier make-up, an alice band and a purple baby-grow.
‘Is this better, Sebastian?' I asked.
‘You clearly think,’ he was back - and getting a bit loud now, ‘you clearly think you are bigger than the product you’re selling. Sell this pen to me is beneath you as a concept? Can I tell you just how fatal that is?’
After a few seconds wait, I said, ‘Okay, tell me’.
He was seething. Going blotchy.
He left.
The bottom line had mooned...
‘Do you think you’re bigger than my product?’ Sebastian shouted.We hadn't noticed him come back.
I held the pen up to Dan's camera. ‘Yes, Sebastian,’ I said smiling. ‘I am bigger.'
He spat, ‘You’ve just made the one unforgivable shopping channel mistake - thinking yourself bigger than the product.’
Dan mimed to me to keep going.
I pretended to cry. ‘He is shouting at me,’ I said between sobs. ‘Not even Nureyev ever shouted at me’.
Sebastian stared, then left.
He came back.
I wailed and flounced.
‘Is this for real?’ Sebastian asked. Dan gave me the thumbs up.
I staggered, stopped, looked at Sebastian wide-eyed with terror, clutched at the air and keeled over. Silence. Until I giggled.
‘That’s it,’ Sebastian decided. ‘You’re out of here. I’m getting security.’ He was off again.
‘Shithead,’ I said to camera.
‘Put your tutu on,' Dan hissed.
No, I was putting my civvies on. 'Not waiting for security.'
‘Put your tutu on!'
I put my tutu on. I could hear the approach of large persons. Dan went into the corridor and said calmly but not messing, ‘Any of you touch him and it’s assault, okay?’
‘We make this look like it’s Madame Galina's decision to leave,' Dan told me. 'Now, go win the award for most outraged hissy-fit.’
Huss had my bag over one shoulder camera on the other, Dan was shadowing me like a boxing second, the security guards were smiling nicely and I was giving it my best Beyonce strut. Through reception - ‘I’ll have my photos back, thank you. Pearl before swine as they were’ - the car park, the gates and onto the supply road. It was rush hour. I got very honked at.
I asked the biggest security guard, Max, to fake having to manhandle me through the gates. Huss rolled again while Max held me at right angles to the ground and unprised my fingers from the railings. I looked like one of the nannies blown out before Mary Poppins blows in.
Lawsuit against me pending for calling him a shithead on camera, Sebastian passed Dan's confiscated footage to the channel's legal team. Walking into the viewing room for a progress report, he caught them in kicking hysterics and is going to fight all of them.
Merrin wants to put the bouts on a fight card topped by Doctor Mike vs Logan Paul.
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