I knew my time would come. I knew that if I just waited patiently, bided my time, dilly-dallied a bit, then someone would recognise my obvious talent.
Here I am: like an accident waiting to happen.
I am discovered. I am a television star.
Of course, you’ll probably remember me from Dallas (Series 2, Episode 10, October 1981) but unless you include that grainy CCTV footage, I’ve more or less been off your television screens for nearly two decades. My God, how the showbiz press has wondered where I’ve been. It’s just a shame they don’t let cameras into Blue Wing of the Sisters of the Immutable Vengeance Correctional Facility. My, what adventures they’d have captured. And what costumes!
But, this is no frivolous light-entertainment programme. Oh no. I make an appearance worthy of my high intellectual standing, my reputation and my sharp wit and charisma. I am going to be on Cable. Oh yes.
Makes you look at me with more respect doesn’t it?
Of course, some might find the interview itself a little daunting. A bit pressured. A little scary even. Thankfully, I had my ample experience of the public spotlight to fall back on. And this time without the presence of a psychiatrist or a baying crowd.
Naturally, God blessed me with a large spot on my nose for the occasion but that did not perturb me. I wore my best stripy shirt and matching underpants because that’s what smart media types do, or so I’m led to believe.
I semi-reclined on the table just as the director instructed. I wasn’t entirely sure the documentary subject warranted such a homoerotic pose, but Mr Wolfenberg (“Please, call me ‘Wolfie.’”) did insist. He projected images behind my head. Again, I wouldn’t have necessarily included those images myself but then he is artist.
Still, I believe I acquitted myself with the aplomb you would expect. I coughed and spluttered my way through the questions, swinging wildly from lengthy and largely incomprehensible and irrelevant answers to grunts of ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ I blushed. I twitched. Halfway through I developed pins and needles in my leg. I kept looking directly into the camera, at the director, the assistant, the passing Number 23 bus, in fact just about everywhere but at the interviewer. And, in a special personal touch of my own, I managed to produce great globes of sweat on my balding head almost immediately. For added effect, I had these beads of perspiration trickle down my nose at regular intervals.
What a vision of cool. I expect the offers to roll in.
Will we shortly start seeing you in the pages of Heat magazine?
Posted by: LondonGirl | Sunday, 03 February 2008 at 05:50 PM
It always pays to wear the stripy shirt and underpants. You never know when you'll have to "bare all" for art. Cue music: "The Stripper"...
Posted by: Mrs RW | Monday, 04 February 2008 at 04:11 AM
Oh yes, LondonGirl. I'll be cropping up in the most unlikely places!
Glad to know you recognise 'art' when you see it, Mrs RW.
c
Posted by: Carlton | Wednesday, 06 February 2008 at 09:44 AM