Wednesday, June 22, 2005

So, there might not be any genuine crowd chants of Old Faithful and Red Red Robin in existence - the dusty BBC archives have been searched and, so far, nada. Have no fear, I shall be offering my fine, manly singing voice to the production. Multi-tracked and accompanied by more tuneful actor-types I'm sure I will sound as soothing as a million trappist monks expressing themselves via their own brand of sung prayer. Ticket sales are no doubt plummeting after this announcement.

I didn't realise how hard to contact local radio stations were until this morning - at least those of the ILR variety. Am I still being interviewed? I really don't know. I shall go anyway, and stick some play posters up in a pub on the way back into work.

Endemol are a great company, eh? They give us, as if we could ever forget, the mighty Big Brother. What's next from them, I imagine you're not even thinking, after they've forced young Maxwell to reconnect lots of nuts and bolts, calmed Science down and had Derek crowned King of England? Well, I can reveal, oh disinterested one, that they are working on a documentary series about....drum roll...women’s relationship with their vaginas ("their" vaginas? What, Endemols?). "I am looking," says the desperate producer/director, "for women of all age groups and backgrounds to talk to me about their vaginas in a completely informal and off the record chat." Don't panic, it's all confidential. Phew. The programme promises to be "a sort of 'designer vagina' crossed with the vagina monologues." Rubbish, then. How on earth would you go about pitching an idea like this without laughing very loudly?

Listening: Cheap Trick - I Want You To Want Me.

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