GenieDi
Dr McDreamy
Episode 3 Dumb and Dumber
Katy Tyler ran her fingers through her unruly mop of rat coloured hair and studied her reflection, scowling. Her appearance was decidedly matronly, the ever thickening waist, shelf-like bosom and clumpy shoes belied her earlier career as a svelte Olympic figure skater.
Katy had just fluffed and burbled her way through a Selection hour which had been even more painful than usual. Every demonstration had systematically gone wrong, even those tried and tested routines which the presenters fell back on time and time again. The Handy-Vac had left a trail of cat hair and Rice Krispies which was plainly visible even after three sweeps backward and forward. It turned out that a hose was disconnected at the back, something that should have been spotted by the floor manager, but by the time Katy realised what the problem was her Director was screaming in her ear to “move on, move ON for Christ’s sake!”.
Next a locket from the “Faerie Follies” range, which was supposed to open to reveal a tiny fairy dangling on a thread of gold chain, had steadfastly refused to open. Katy had tried every possible way, broken two nails and had even started to glance around the set to see if there was a handy Magic Knife that she could use to prise open the gold coloured charm but no such luck. She resorted to chirruping brightly “Well not to worry because it’s just as beautiful from the outside” before fluffing the item number three times and reading a tease for a “Hot Grab” offer which turned out to be a “Summer Pick”.
She could have curled up and died.
By the end of the hour, the Director was slumped over the desk with his head in his hands, Katy had a migraine and dark circles had begun to form around her underarms. She had managed her usual cheery “Thanks and goodbye” before leaving the set and heading for her dressing room, and that’s where she was now, staring at her reflection and miserably contemplating her future.
Katy would be the first to admit that she’d been lucky. After her athletic career had ended she had been invited to do some sports presenting for the BBC and to everyone’s amazement, not least her own, she had been good. She was comfortable with both the subject and the personalities and it was like chatting with mutual friends about a favourite hobby. This had led to a long stint presenting “All Abroad”, a holiday show which had run for decades with various presenters. All of her pieces to camera were pre-recorded and her familiar face and bright demeanour were a hit with viewers. Little did the viewing millions realise how much tape ended up on the cutting room floor. Bluffing her way onto “Breakfast With Britain” had been the pinnacle of her career but her star soon began to fade when it became apparent that she simply could not perform live. She saw out her contract but no-one was surprised when it wasn’t renewed. That’s when Katy decided it was time to start a family.
Two adorable children later, it was a chance meeting with Alison Conan who had done stints on “Breakfast…” but was now on shopping telly, which had secured Katy an audition with the Channel. The suits were desperate for a “name”, someone with a recognised pedigree in mainstream TV. Conan has been their first coup but as the cable TV revolution began to rev up they wanted more familiar faces who would be there to welcome millions of new customers. No-one else was beating their door down and Katy Tyler was hired. The rest, as they say, was history.
Katy had now put in hundreds of hours of live TV but bizarrely her performances got worse and worse. No-one understood why, least of all Katy herself. Her sales figures were kept afloat by the loyalty of her audience, all now middle aged veterans of “All Abroad” and “Breakfast With Britain” who trusted Katy’s word and enjoyed her ordinariness and her fallibility. However enough was enough, Katy was beginning to dread going into work, a dark cloud of depression sat over her during the drive into Battersea and a sinking feeling lurked in the pit of her stomach as she crossed the threshold into the channel’s HQ. She hadn’t slept properly for months and had taken to pestering her doctor for sleeping pills. He’d told Katy to lay off them but she even found herself taking one in the afternoon if she could safely fit in a nap between shows. It seemed to help… a little.
She had considered going to one of the hundreds of presenting classes which were available around the country, one day “workshops” or one week residential courses in camera technique and the other basics of taking direction and presenting. Attended by a motley collection of wannabe’s and has-beens, they had sprung up as a result of the Reality TV boom where everyone thought they could be a television star. However Katy had realised that turning up after twenty years as a jobbing TV personality would make her the laughing stock. She could imagine some 24 year old media graduate copy writer bitch at HEAT having an absolute field day if word got out.
She was at her wits end. It wasn’t getting any better, she was a failure.
Suddenly it dawned on her, there WAS a way out. The kids were older now, and her husband capable and in a good job. The days when Katy had been the main breadwinner were over, she wasn’t really needed any more. The more she thought about it the more it made perfect sense. An end to the humiliation, no more dieting, no more competing, and what a message it would send to the Suits at the channel. They’d certainly have trouble brushing THIS unexplained disappearance of yet another presenter under the carpet when the circumstances got out. Almost elated, she opened the draw of her dressing table and reached towards the back where she knew she would find, spilling from their container, dozens of tiny forbidden sugar coated tablets that she’d become to rely on so heavily. A half drunk can of Coke (full fat) was left from that morning… but wait… a note!. She MUST write a note to explain why, it was only fair to her friends, to the fans….
She scooped up a handful of the brightly coloured tablets and shovelled them into her mouth, chewed briefly and swigged back the cola. Taking a piece of white writing paper and a pen from the draw she studied it for a moment, deciding where to begin. A tear plopped down onto the paper…she scooped up another handful of Smarties, shoved them in her mouth, slurped the coke and as the sugar rush kicked in she began to write
To Whom It May Concern:
It is with deepest regret that I am tendering my resignation….
Frances Jilks was, on the other hand, in no doubt about her capabilities. She for one was NOT going to be throwing in the super-plush micro fibre towel unless she had to. Frances was by no means the sharpest knife in the drawer but had always been super-confident in her own ability, from her days on stage where she appeared in pantomimes across the length and breadth of the south coast (mainly Bognor Regis to be truthful) she had always known she was destined for Stardom. After being told she was too old to play Peter Pan (again) she had dried her tears, picked herself up and taken a long hard look at what she could do next. She decided on a career in television and that personal fitness was to be her way in, lets face it, if that fat cow Rosemary Conley can get on television in a leotard, ANYone can.
Frances decided to do it properly - the hard way, college beckoned and it was tough, really tough. She almost gave in half way through, unsure of whether she had the ability or the mental aptitude. But Frances Jilks was nothing if not determined. She worked her butt off and it paid off. One week later was emerged from college with her NVQ in “Nutrition and Fitness”.
There had been loads of subjects - well two actually, “Nutrition” and “Fitness”… She could have stayed on for an extra two days and done the “Waxing” and she was tempted but at the same time she was anxious to put her new skills into practice. Luckily there had been no exercise involved in obtaining her qualification, this was fortunate because after lifetime of eating McDonalds and KFC Frances Jilks was as weak as a kitten. She was a prime example of the creature who everyone hates …. “I can eat what I like but I NEVER put on weight….” However she had the body of a 60 year old and the lung capacity of a 40 a day smoker. She was in no way “fit”.
She started mooching around at the Dancersise classes at the trendy Pineapple Dance Studios which was popular with media types. She soon became friendly with the staff, gossiping with the receptionists who knew everyone and everything. It wasn’t long before Frances Jilks had identified a list of targets, people who worked in TV and worked out at Pineapple. She systematically worked her way through them, casting each one aside as it became clear that they wouldn’t be able to help her in her quest, until finally she met a man who was a buyer with a shopping television channel and who was interested in launching a personal fitness hour. As Frances was doing up her bra after a hefty “workout” one evening she asked her new friend if he could get her an audition… the inevitable followed.
Frances Jilks spent the next three years demonstrating all kinds of fitness equipment whilst never actually expending any energy. If in danger of being asked to exert herself, she would masterfully direct attention at the guest or model. The simple task of dismounting an Elliptical trainer would have Frances Jilks gasping for breath and struggling to read out the item number. As Britain became fatter and the channel realised that there was more cash in selling beef burgers than there was in selling dumbells, Frances Jilks was promoted to fully fledged presenter.
Frances Jilks had arrived.
Parker Philpott was the guest presenter for “Amazoo” cleaning products and enjoyed getting presenters involved in his demonstrations. He hadn’t worked with Frances Jilks since her promotion and was eager to make his mark. His two frying pans were ready, smothered in gravy browning and baked in the oven for 2 hours. One would be dipped in Amazoo Wonder Crystals whilst the other would be proffered to the presenter with a pair of rubber gloves and a Brillo Pad. Parker would then goad the presenter into donning the gloves and to try to make an impression on the baked on muck. Frances Jilks was unimpressed.
“I don’t really do washing up, I have a dishwasher” she said to Parker and a sideways glance at the camera.
“Oh go on, have a go” said Parker mischievously
Whle Parker proceeded to dip his pan into a bubbling vat of Amazoo, Frances Jilks tentatively applied the dry Brillo to the base of her saucepan. She dabbed at it vaguely and complained “Theres NO WAY this lot is going to shift… just look at it”
“Try harder! C’mon put some elbow grease into it!” squealed Parker with delight “youre not even trying!”
Frances Jilks scrubbed harder than she had ever scrubbed anything before… which to the rest of us was the equivalent of running a match along the rough edge of a match box. Gasping uncontrollably she staggered slightly as if about to pass out
“Park… er.. I ca…nt scrub any……m…m…more!”
Parker giggled and took the pan off her “Lets see how you did then”. He dabbed the area with a dry cloth revealing some faint scratches where Frances Jilks’ Brillo had skimmed the surface.
“Hmmm not very good but I‘m not having you round to do my dishes!” He removed his own pan from the boiling water to reveal its spotless base. The gravy browning had been immediately dissolved by the boiling water, the soapy Amazoo crystals being completely coincidental to the impressive looking results. Frances Jilks gasped again…”that is AMAZING!”
“No its AMAZOO!” exclaimed Parker.
In the channel’s call centre, phone lines lit up.
In the executive suite, sat in his large leather chair, Mr “Big“, the senior suit at the channel stroked the white Persian cat which sat in his arms and watched Frances Jilks on the monitor, a look of distaste on his face. He had been watching the days programming, fish wife Dawn Hanson, ego maniac Roberta Jones, incompetent Katy Tyler and now this gasping fool Frances Jilks. It was time, he decided, for a shake up. Or should we call it a cull? Sneering he turned on his heel and headed for his office…..
Katy Tyler ran her fingers through her unruly mop of rat coloured hair and studied her reflection, scowling. Her appearance was decidedly matronly, the ever thickening waist, shelf-like bosom and clumpy shoes belied her earlier career as a svelte Olympic figure skater.
Katy had just fluffed and burbled her way through a Selection hour which had been even more painful than usual. Every demonstration had systematically gone wrong, even those tried and tested routines which the presenters fell back on time and time again. The Handy-Vac had left a trail of cat hair and Rice Krispies which was plainly visible even after three sweeps backward and forward. It turned out that a hose was disconnected at the back, something that should have been spotted by the floor manager, but by the time Katy realised what the problem was her Director was screaming in her ear to “move on, move ON for Christ’s sake!”.
Next a locket from the “Faerie Follies” range, which was supposed to open to reveal a tiny fairy dangling on a thread of gold chain, had steadfastly refused to open. Katy had tried every possible way, broken two nails and had even started to glance around the set to see if there was a handy Magic Knife that she could use to prise open the gold coloured charm but no such luck. She resorted to chirruping brightly “Well not to worry because it’s just as beautiful from the outside” before fluffing the item number three times and reading a tease for a “Hot Grab” offer which turned out to be a “Summer Pick”.
She could have curled up and died.
By the end of the hour, the Director was slumped over the desk with his head in his hands, Katy had a migraine and dark circles had begun to form around her underarms. She had managed her usual cheery “Thanks and goodbye” before leaving the set and heading for her dressing room, and that’s where she was now, staring at her reflection and miserably contemplating her future.
Katy would be the first to admit that she’d been lucky. After her athletic career had ended she had been invited to do some sports presenting for the BBC and to everyone’s amazement, not least her own, she had been good. She was comfortable with both the subject and the personalities and it was like chatting with mutual friends about a favourite hobby. This had led to a long stint presenting “All Abroad”, a holiday show which had run for decades with various presenters. All of her pieces to camera were pre-recorded and her familiar face and bright demeanour were a hit with viewers. Little did the viewing millions realise how much tape ended up on the cutting room floor. Bluffing her way onto “Breakfast With Britain” had been the pinnacle of her career but her star soon began to fade when it became apparent that she simply could not perform live. She saw out her contract but no-one was surprised when it wasn’t renewed. That’s when Katy decided it was time to start a family.
Two adorable children later, it was a chance meeting with Alison Conan who had done stints on “Breakfast…” but was now on shopping telly, which had secured Katy an audition with the Channel. The suits were desperate for a “name”, someone with a recognised pedigree in mainstream TV. Conan has been their first coup but as the cable TV revolution began to rev up they wanted more familiar faces who would be there to welcome millions of new customers. No-one else was beating their door down and Katy Tyler was hired. The rest, as they say, was history.
Katy had now put in hundreds of hours of live TV but bizarrely her performances got worse and worse. No-one understood why, least of all Katy herself. Her sales figures were kept afloat by the loyalty of her audience, all now middle aged veterans of “All Abroad” and “Breakfast With Britain” who trusted Katy’s word and enjoyed her ordinariness and her fallibility. However enough was enough, Katy was beginning to dread going into work, a dark cloud of depression sat over her during the drive into Battersea and a sinking feeling lurked in the pit of her stomach as she crossed the threshold into the channel’s HQ. She hadn’t slept properly for months and had taken to pestering her doctor for sleeping pills. He’d told Katy to lay off them but she even found herself taking one in the afternoon if she could safely fit in a nap between shows. It seemed to help… a little.
She had considered going to one of the hundreds of presenting classes which were available around the country, one day “workshops” or one week residential courses in camera technique and the other basics of taking direction and presenting. Attended by a motley collection of wannabe’s and has-beens, they had sprung up as a result of the Reality TV boom where everyone thought they could be a television star. However Katy had realised that turning up after twenty years as a jobbing TV personality would make her the laughing stock. She could imagine some 24 year old media graduate copy writer bitch at HEAT having an absolute field day if word got out.
She was at her wits end. It wasn’t getting any better, she was a failure.
Suddenly it dawned on her, there WAS a way out. The kids were older now, and her husband capable and in a good job. The days when Katy had been the main breadwinner were over, she wasn’t really needed any more. The more she thought about it the more it made perfect sense. An end to the humiliation, no more dieting, no more competing, and what a message it would send to the Suits at the channel. They’d certainly have trouble brushing THIS unexplained disappearance of yet another presenter under the carpet when the circumstances got out. Almost elated, she opened the draw of her dressing table and reached towards the back where she knew she would find, spilling from their container, dozens of tiny forbidden sugar coated tablets that she’d become to rely on so heavily. A half drunk can of Coke (full fat) was left from that morning… but wait… a note!. She MUST write a note to explain why, it was only fair to her friends, to the fans….
She scooped up a handful of the brightly coloured tablets and shovelled them into her mouth, chewed briefly and swigged back the cola. Taking a piece of white writing paper and a pen from the draw she studied it for a moment, deciding where to begin. A tear plopped down onto the paper…she scooped up another handful of Smarties, shoved them in her mouth, slurped the coke and as the sugar rush kicked in she began to write
To Whom It May Concern:
It is with deepest regret that I am tendering my resignation….
Frances Jilks was, on the other hand, in no doubt about her capabilities. She for one was NOT going to be throwing in the super-plush micro fibre towel unless she had to. Frances was by no means the sharpest knife in the drawer but had always been super-confident in her own ability, from her days on stage where she appeared in pantomimes across the length and breadth of the south coast (mainly Bognor Regis to be truthful) she had always known she was destined for Stardom. After being told she was too old to play Peter Pan (again) she had dried her tears, picked herself up and taken a long hard look at what she could do next. She decided on a career in television and that personal fitness was to be her way in, lets face it, if that fat cow Rosemary Conley can get on television in a leotard, ANYone can.
Frances decided to do it properly - the hard way, college beckoned and it was tough, really tough. She almost gave in half way through, unsure of whether she had the ability or the mental aptitude. But Frances Jilks was nothing if not determined. She worked her butt off and it paid off. One week later was emerged from college with her NVQ in “Nutrition and Fitness”.
There had been loads of subjects - well two actually, “Nutrition” and “Fitness”… She could have stayed on for an extra two days and done the “Waxing” and she was tempted but at the same time she was anxious to put her new skills into practice. Luckily there had been no exercise involved in obtaining her qualification, this was fortunate because after lifetime of eating McDonalds and KFC Frances Jilks was as weak as a kitten. She was a prime example of the creature who everyone hates …. “I can eat what I like but I NEVER put on weight….” However she had the body of a 60 year old and the lung capacity of a 40 a day smoker. She was in no way “fit”.
She started mooching around at the Dancersise classes at the trendy Pineapple Dance Studios which was popular with media types. She soon became friendly with the staff, gossiping with the receptionists who knew everyone and everything. It wasn’t long before Frances Jilks had identified a list of targets, people who worked in TV and worked out at Pineapple. She systematically worked her way through them, casting each one aside as it became clear that they wouldn’t be able to help her in her quest, until finally she met a man who was a buyer with a shopping television channel and who was interested in launching a personal fitness hour. As Frances was doing up her bra after a hefty “workout” one evening she asked her new friend if he could get her an audition… the inevitable followed.
Frances Jilks spent the next three years demonstrating all kinds of fitness equipment whilst never actually expending any energy. If in danger of being asked to exert herself, she would masterfully direct attention at the guest or model. The simple task of dismounting an Elliptical trainer would have Frances Jilks gasping for breath and struggling to read out the item number. As Britain became fatter and the channel realised that there was more cash in selling beef burgers than there was in selling dumbells, Frances Jilks was promoted to fully fledged presenter.
Frances Jilks had arrived.
Parker Philpott was the guest presenter for “Amazoo” cleaning products and enjoyed getting presenters involved in his demonstrations. He hadn’t worked with Frances Jilks since her promotion and was eager to make his mark. His two frying pans were ready, smothered in gravy browning and baked in the oven for 2 hours. One would be dipped in Amazoo Wonder Crystals whilst the other would be proffered to the presenter with a pair of rubber gloves and a Brillo Pad. Parker would then goad the presenter into donning the gloves and to try to make an impression on the baked on muck. Frances Jilks was unimpressed.
“I don’t really do washing up, I have a dishwasher” she said to Parker and a sideways glance at the camera.
“Oh go on, have a go” said Parker mischievously
Whle Parker proceeded to dip his pan into a bubbling vat of Amazoo, Frances Jilks tentatively applied the dry Brillo to the base of her saucepan. She dabbed at it vaguely and complained “Theres NO WAY this lot is going to shift… just look at it”
“Try harder! C’mon put some elbow grease into it!” squealed Parker with delight “youre not even trying!”
Frances Jilks scrubbed harder than she had ever scrubbed anything before… which to the rest of us was the equivalent of running a match along the rough edge of a match box. Gasping uncontrollably she staggered slightly as if about to pass out
“Park… er.. I ca…nt scrub any……m…m…more!”
Parker giggled and took the pan off her “Lets see how you did then”. He dabbed the area with a dry cloth revealing some faint scratches where Frances Jilks’ Brillo had skimmed the surface.
“Hmmm not very good but I‘m not having you round to do my dishes!” He removed his own pan from the boiling water to reveal its spotless base. The gravy browning had been immediately dissolved by the boiling water, the soapy Amazoo crystals being completely coincidental to the impressive looking results. Frances Jilks gasped again…”that is AMAZING!”
“No its AMAZOO!” exclaimed Parker.
In the channel’s call centre, phone lines lit up.
In the executive suite, sat in his large leather chair, Mr “Big“, the senior suit at the channel stroked the white Persian cat which sat in his arms and watched Frances Jilks on the monitor, a look of distaste on his face. He had been watching the days programming, fish wife Dawn Hanson, ego maniac Roberta Jones, incompetent Katy Tyler and now this gasping fool Frances Jilks. It was time, he decided, for a shake up. Or should we call it a cull? Sneering he turned on his heel and headed for his office…..
