I
iclaudipuss
Guest Shopper
Since we last encountered our favourite CEO, he has been through many things, and although for a time he settled into his old routine:
and enjoyed many quiet evenings at home with Mrs QVC, drinking a beer and listening to their collection of beebop albums:
he had at times felt somewhat restless and dissatisfied, and his mind dwelt on the disappointments of his life. Was it to be work, work, work forever:
What had happened to the young boy who wanted nothing more than to play a little light Mendelssohn on the cello, and perhaps dance on point in the great capitals of the world? How had his ambitions gone so awry? He thought back over his various careers, which ranged from being a shepherd, aromatherapist, and mime artist, to the 'lost years' when he had worked as yodeller in a Bulgarian restaurant. True, he had briefly considered a life as a violinist, but his music teacher persuaded him that being unable to read music, and play only one note, might prove a barrier to any future success and limit his professional bookings.
One dark and stormy night, our man was under the covers, staring at the ceiling in a depressed state. Here I am, he thought. Fifty years old. Half a century. Next year, I will be fifty-one. Then fifty-two. Using this same reasoning, he could figure out his age as much as five years in the future.
Perhaps he still loved Tova, even though while they were together she had systematically attempted to sleep with all the S's in the Moroccan telephone directory. He often thought of her rowing away from him in her little boat, her favourite Charlie Bear for company:
It had not been a good week. Mrs QVC had cooked her first ever souffle, and accidentally dropped a spoonful of it on his foot, fracturing several small bones. Perhaps this accounted for his low frame of mind. There was also the fact that he felt his creativity being stifled by the pressures of QVC. Normally, he wrote a novel a year, but now his output had dwindled to an occasional pasta recipe and a series of commas.
He watched his favourite old film, Kit Kong, and tried to cheer himself up:
Life at the helm of QVC was not the glamorous thing so many people assumed. Only this last fortnight he had had to contend with various crises.
The Prai TSV, with its magical Martian ingredients, had seemed a tremendous success, with people everywhere eagerly jumping to the phones:
but was now causing some concern in relation to its side effects:
They were still awaiting advice from NASA as to how to proceed from here.
Then Richard Jackson had taken to living in a treehouse in order to be closer to nature, and positively refused to come down unless effigies of Alan Titchmarsh were burnt on the QVC lawn:
There had been protests about Basso and his fur trade, and some of the disgruntled customers who made it into the studio looked a little on the dangerous, if not positively wild, side:
Some Kim & Co faux fur nylonette slippers were proving just a tad combustible:
There'd been a slight problem with the proposed Honora Pearls TSV, and they were currently in talks with Interpol about the wisdom of paying a ransom for Ralph:
The prototype for the top secret spacehopper TSV had been stolen, and was now in the hands of rogue elements:
Julia had been furious to find that the cloak in which she had been photographed for the next QVC calendar was a size Medium:
This led to her giving up Pilates and taking to vigorous belly-dancing to regain her former figure, which was, just in case she hadn't mentioned it, a size Small:
Naturally, Catherine's old trouble had begun to reassert itself:
Ali Young's outfits, though considered 'on-trend' by Glen Campbell, were causing a certain amount of consternation, and a liberal amount of guffawing:
Her somewhat aggressive behaviour of late had also led to a guest presenter attempting to throttle her, and although the crew cheered loudly, it simply did not present the channel in its best light:
Craig had gone into Therapy as he felt he was regressing slightly into his somewhat distant past:
There had been problems with the new high-tech filing system, and customers were furious that they were being repeatedly charged for the same item:
And to top it all, Mrs QVC had been suffering nightmares after ingesting a Kings Realm pie in the new flavour of Tortoise Testes in a Cockroach Jus:
Yes, morale at QVC Towers was at an all time low:
and although resignations were at an acceptable level of just 3 in every 4 workers, it was, nevertheless, a cause for concern and a certain amount of executive stress:
There was a definite cloud hanging over our man:
and he began to worry that everyone had it in for him:
Mrs QVC's fortune teller advised her that she and our hero should take a short break away from things:
This they did, but when they reached their idyllic weekend cottage, Mr QVC burst into tears at the pronounced signs of subsidence which had appeared since their last visit:
They decided to sail away on a lovely cruise around the Norwegian fjords, but were a mite concerned at the sight of the vessel they were to sail on:
It seemed just a little bit lacking in the mod cons, and had a faintly olde worlde air. The sight of seagulls dropping food parcels onto the main deck only served to heighten their teensy sense of foreboding:
They had many stormy nights on board the somewhat leaky craft, and not all of them could be blamed on the whalebone a l'orange they had eaten on the first and second night of the voyage. Sometimes they felt as if they were living the life depicted in the Onedin Line:
They determined to have a stern word or two with the Thomas Cook rep. if they ever made it back to terra firma.
If only they'd bought some pegs from that gypsy who came to the house all those years ago - maybe their luck would have been different:
Naturally, Mrs QVC blamed everything on the fact that her husband had a:
which turned him into a:
leaving her to brood alone:
If only their romance could be the sweet thing it used to be:
but when on earth had he morphed into Frank Carson?
Mind you, she was beginning to let herself go again, and was, as a consequence, on a rigorous exercise programme which would hopefully take her body from this:
to this:
However, after finally experiencing their first good night's sleep in months, they awoke with a feeling that they had been wrapped in the arms of some benevolent goddess:
and our hero began finally to turn his negative thinking around. Wasn't he, after all, a man with a special brand of moral courage? In some ways he reminded people of Noah, particularly around the sideburns, and who can forget Noah's outburst as that cataract of rain began to fall on the Ark? He turned to his wife and said simply, "I think it's in for the day, Elsie!"
For inspiration, our man decided to read Tova's autobiography, volume 1
of which had just been published, and was being offered to QVC customers for £25.99 and £4.45 P&P. Sales were poor, however, since the book was for sale on Amazon for 45p and free P&P. Nevertheless, in that tome our chap found the moral fortitude he required.
He noted, for instance, Tova's brave and bold use of the then new-fangled bicycle:
How delightfully her formative years were detailed, from her childhood jaunts with young chums:
glamorous gatherings:
her early experiences as a debutante:
her long, contemplative strolls through the park in those uneasy days just before the start of the First World War:
those first romantic months with Ernie, long before he drove the fastest milkcart in the west:
How Mr QVC chuckled when he read her loving and affectionate account of their own heady affair, and referred to him as "vermin fit only for extermination". It was wonderful, and an abject lesson to all that she had no bitterness whatsoever and was able to take the long view.
What an endearing lady she was, and he noted with interest her asseveration that these days she preferred the company of her pet piranhas, as they were more affectionate and intelligent than any man she had ever known, with the possible exception of a Lithuanian ventriloquist with whom she had several trysts in 1925:
Our protagonist decided to host a marvellous dinner party under the stars for all his loyal QVC staff. He hoped that this would raise morale and herald the beginning of a new era of trust and dedication. He decided to cook the meal himself, and it proved to be a big hit. True, not all the diners were partial to Gila Monster, but apart from some picayune eaters who were prejudiced against any reptile, dinner came off without incident. Without incident, that is, except for the mushrooms he had so carefully picked to add a certain piquant quality to the menu, which turned out to be poisonous. However, the only really disconcerting side effect was some minor convulsions suffered by most of the guests, but no one seemed unduly embittered:
There was positive news re the ransom demand for Ralph when his captors sent a modified list of their demands, taking care to strike out the parts concerning immediate payment and unconditional surrender, and substituting in their place an award winning recipe for herring casserole. A triumph indeed.
Add to this the scintillating news that the gorgeous new Kim & Co collection was ready, and bang on trend it was, too:
The new Ojon promotional film was almost finished:
The new windowcleaner was doing a wonderful job with his chamois leathers:
Someone had finally taken action with regard to that lunatic Quacker Factory woman:
He'd finally managed to persuade that on-trend, up and coming beat combo, The Archies, to perform live on QVC. What a coup!
And best and perhaps most surprising of all, the Michelle Hope Pussymac TSV had been an outstanding success, selling 8 garments in the first 6 hours alone:
this amazing product struck a chord with cats everywhere, and they rushed to view the presentation:
Goodness knows how many of them jumped to the phone, but estimates state the figure could be as high as 2:
Finally, the humble mac was removed from its usual sordid connotations:
and cats all over the UK and Ireland were photographed in their fabulous new outerwear:
Even the world famous Maru has bought into this season's story and transformed himself into a sophisticated Tom about Town:
Cat confidence has increased dramatically, with fewer referrals to feline psychologists than ever before:
The delight of pussies is evident as they show their wholehearted approval:
A lovely chap called Lion-el was thrilled to hear that a version for larger felines was in production, and changed from being a touch on the intimidating side:
to being positively frolicsome:
No longer was the problem page of Catmopolitan filled with pusscats tales of struggling through inclement weather with unsuitable accoutrements:
and ideas of how to amuse oneself when rain stopped outdoor play:
Yes, cats everywhere found that the fun had come back into their lives:
Mr QVC could hardly believe his change of fortune, and he and his cat, Tiddles, danced for joy at the recent upturn of events:
Even a newly shaven Dickie Jackson, liberated from his treehouse, joined in the frivolity. (As far as we can gather, his pussy remained unshaven...):
The (as ever) on-trend Glen Campbell, wearing the latest fashion-forward statement, couldn't help but describe a graceful jig:
Mrs QVC was convinced that Kirks Folly fairydust had solved all their problems:
but several months of intensive psychotherapy brought her back to some kind of reality:
Mr QVC, in contrast, had always known that "things happen after a Badedas bath" (Other bathing products are available, and Badedas is not in QVC's inventory, so how our CEO had it is anybody's guess...):
and he no longer felt lost in a masquerade:
He could tear up the letter he had written to Jim'll Fix It asking for a trip to the Emerald City in order to seek help from the great and powerful Oz:
Now, instead of moping under a cloud, he was dancing in the rain:
This has been another "For You" production, brought, with love, from Shady Pines Home For The Terminally Bewildered:
This production was made possible by close reference to the following works:
The Lure Of London Sewers - by Dame Frisby Orloff
Trombones and Druids: Their Use In War Time - by Sir Bertram Fishpaste
Is That My Machete? - A Light-Hearted Look At Massacres - by Mustapha Slaughter.
and enjoyed many quiet evenings at home with Mrs QVC, drinking a beer and listening to their collection of beebop albums:
he had at times felt somewhat restless and dissatisfied, and his mind dwelt on the disappointments of his life. Was it to be work, work, work forever:
What had happened to the young boy who wanted nothing more than to play a little light Mendelssohn on the cello, and perhaps dance on point in the great capitals of the world? How had his ambitions gone so awry? He thought back over his various careers, which ranged from being a shepherd, aromatherapist, and mime artist, to the 'lost years' when he had worked as yodeller in a Bulgarian restaurant. True, he had briefly considered a life as a violinist, but his music teacher persuaded him that being unable to read music, and play only one note, might prove a barrier to any future success and limit his professional bookings.
One dark and stormy night, our man was under the covers, staring at the ceiling in a depressed state. Here I am, he thought. Fifty years old. Half a century. Next year, I will be fifty-one. Then fifty-two. Using this same reasoning, he could figure out his age as much as five years in the future.
Perhaps he still loved Tova, even though while they were together she had systematically attempted to sleep with all the S's in the Moroccan telephone directory. He often thought of her rowing away from him in her little boat, her favourite Charlie Bear for company:
It had not been a good week. Mrs QVC had cooked her first ever souffle, and accidentally dropped a spoonful of it on his foot, fracturing several small bones. Perhaps this accounted for his low frame of mind. There was also the fact that he felt his creativity being stifled by the pressures of QVC. Normally, he wrote a novel a year, but now his output had dwindled to an occasional pasta recipe and a series of commas.
He watched his favourite old film, Kit Kong, and tried to cheer himself up:
Life at the helm of QVC was not the glamorous thing so many people assumed. Only this last fortnight he had had to contend with various crises.
The Prai TSV, with its magical Martian ingredients, had seemed a tremendous success, with people everywhere eagerly jumping to the phones:
but was now causing some concern in relation to its side effects:
They were still awaiting advice from NASA as to how to proceed from here.
Then Richard Jackson had taken to living in a treehouse in order to be closer to nature, and positively refused to come down unless effigies of Alan Titchmarsh were burnt on the QVC lawn:
There had been protests about Basso and his fur trade, and some of the disgruntled customers who made it into the studio looked a little on the dangerous, if not positively wild, side:
Some Kim & Co faux fur nylonette slippers were proving just a tad combustible:
There'd been a slight problem with the proposed Honora Pearls TSV, and they were currently in talks with Interpol about the wisdom of paying a ransom for Ralph:
The prototype for the top secret spacehopper TSV had been stolen, and was now in the hands of rogue elements:
Julia had been furious to find that the cloak in which she had been photographed for the next QVC calendar was a size Medium:
This led to her giving up Pilates and taking to vigorous belly-dancing to regain her former figure, which was, just in case she hadn't mentioned it, a size Small:
Naturally, Catherine's old trouble had begun to reassert itself:
Ali Young's outfits, though considered 'on-trend' by Glen Campbell, were causing a certain amount of consternation, and a liberal amount of guffawing:
Her somewhat aggressive behaviour of late had also led to a guest presenter attempting to throttle her, and although the crew cheered loudly, it simply did not present the channel in its best light:
Craig had gone into Therapy as he felt he was regressing slightly into his somewhat distant past:
There had been problems with the new high-tech filing system, and customers were furious that they were being repeatedly charged for the same item:
And to top it all, Mrs QVC had been suffering nightmares after ingesting a Kings Realm pie in the new flavour of Tortoise Testes in a Cockroach Jus:
Yes, morale at QVC Towers was at an all time low:
and although resignations were at an acceptable level of just 3 in every 4 workers, it was, nevertheless, a cause for concern and a certain amount of executive stress:
There was a definite cloud hanging over our man:
and he began to worry that everyone had it in for him:
Mrs QVC's fortune teller advised her that she and our hero should take a short break away from things:
This they did, but when they reached their idyllic weekend cottage, Mr QVC burst into tears at the pronounced signs of subsidence which had appeared since their last visit:
They decided to sail away on a lovely cruise around the Norwegian fjords, but were a mite concerned at the sight of the vessel they were to sail on:
It seemed just a little bit lacking in the mod cons, and had a faintly olde worlde air. The sight of seagulls dropping food parcels onto the main deck only served to heighten their teensy sense of foreboding:
They had many stormy nights on board the somewhat leaky craft, and not all of them could be blamed on the whalebone a l'orange they had eaten on the first and second night of the voyage. Sometimes they felt as if they were living the life depicted in the Onedin Line:
They determined to have a stern word or two with the Thomas Cook rep. if they ever made it back to terra firma.
If only they'd bought some pegs from that gypsy who came to the house all those years ago - maybe their luck would have been different:
Naturally, Mrs QVC blamed everything on the fact that her husband had a:
which turned him into a:
leaving her to brood alone:
If only their romance could be the sweet thing it used to be:
but when on earth had he morphed into Frank Carson?
Mind you, she was beginning to let herself go again, and was, as a consequence, on a rigorous exercise programme which would hopefully take her body from this:
to this:
However, after finally experiencing their first good night's sleep in months, they awoke with a feeling that they had been wrapped in the arms of some benevolent goddess:
and our hero began finally to turn his negative thinking around. Wasn't he, after all, a man with a special brand of moral courage? In some ways he reminded people of Noah, particularly around the sideburns, and who can forget Noah's outburst as that cataract of rain began to fall on the Ark? He turned to his wife and said simply, "I think it's in for the day, Elsie!"
For inspiration, our man decided to read Tova's autobiography, volume 1
of which had just been published, and was being offered to QVC customers for £25.99 and £4.45 P&P. Sales were poor, however, since the book was for sale on Amazon for 45p and free P&P. Nevertheless, in that tome our chap found the moral fortitude he required.
He noted, for instance, Tova's brave and bold use of the then new-fangled bicycle:
How delightfully her formative years were detailed, from her childhood jaunts with young chums:
glamorous gatherings:
her early experiences as a debutante:
her long, contemplative strolls through the park in those uneasy days just before the start of the First World War:
those first romantic months with Ernie, long before he drove the fastest milkcart in the west:
How Mr QVC chuckled when he read her loving and affectionate account of their own heady affair, and referred to him as "vermin fit only for extermination". It was wonderful, and an abject lesson to all that she had no bitterness whatsoever and was able to take the long view.
What an endearing lady she was, and he noted with interest her asseveration that these days she preferred the company of her pet piranhas, as they were more affectionate and intelligent than any man she had ever known, with the possible exception of a Lithuanian ventriloquist with whom she had several trysts in 1925:
Our protagonist decided to host a marvellous dinner party under the stars for all his loyal QVC staff. He hoped that this would raise morale and herald the beginning of a new era of trust and dedication. He decided to cook the meal himself, and it proved to be a big hit. True, not all the diners were partial to Gila Monster, but apart from some picayune eaters who were prejudiced against any reptile, dinner came off without incident. Without incident, that is, except for the mushrooms he had so carefully picked to add a certain piquant quality to the menu, which turned out to be poisonous. However, the only really disconcerting side effect was some minor convulsions suffered by most of the guests, but no one seemed unduly embittered:
There was positive news re the ransom demand for Ralph when his captors sent a modified list of their demands, taking care to strike out the parts concerning immediate payment and unconditional surrender, and substituting in their place an award winning recipe for herring casserole. A triumph indeed.
Add to this the scintillating news that the gorgeous new Kim & Co collection was ready, and bang on trend it was, too:
The new Ojon promotional film was almost finished:
The new windowcleaner was doing a wonderful job with his chamois leathers:
Someone had finally taken action with regard to that lunatic Quacker Factory woman:
He'd finally managed to persuade that on-trend, up and coming beat combo, The Archies, to perform live on QVC. What a coup!
And best and perhaps most surprising of all, the Michelle Hope Pussymac TSV had been an outstanding success, selling 8 garments in the first 6 hours alone:
this amazing product struck a chord with cats everywhere, and they rushed to view the presentation:
Goodness knows how many of them jumped to the phone, but estimates state the figure could be as high as 2:
Finally, the humble mac was removed from its usual sordid connotations:
and cats all over the UK and Ireland were photographed in their fabulous new outerwear:
Even the world famous Maru has bought into this season's story and transformed himself into a sophisticated Tom about Town:
Cat confidence has increased dramatically, with fewer referrals to feline psychologists than ever before:
The delight of pussies is evident as they show their wholehearted approval:
A lovely chap called Lion-el was thrilled to hear that a version for larger felines was in production, and changed from being a touch on the intimidating side:
to being positively frolicsome:
No longer was the problem page of Catmopolitan filled with pusscats tales of struggling through inclement weather with unsuitable accoutrements:
and ideas of how to amuse oneself when rain stopped outdoor play:
Yes, cats everywhere found that the fun had come back into their lives:
Mr QVC could hardly believe his change of fortune, and he and his cat, Tiddles, danced for joy at the recent upturn of events:
Even a newly shaven Dickie Jackson, liberated from his treehouse, joined in the frivolity. (As far as we can gather, his pussy remained unshaven...):
The (as ever) on-trend Glen Campbell, wearing the latest fashion-forward statement, couldn't help but describe a graceful jig:
Mrs QVC was convinced that Kirks Folly fairydust had solved all their problems:
but several months of intensive psychotherapy brought her back to some kind of reality:
Mr QVC, in contrast, had always known that "things happen after a Badedas bath" (Other bathing products are available, and Badedas is not in QVC's inventory, so how our CEO had it is anybody's guess...):
and he no longer felt lost in a masquerade:
He could tear up the letter he had written to Jim'll Fix It asking for a trip to the Emerald City in order to seek help from the great and powerful Oz:
Now, instead of moping under a cloud, he was dancing in the rain:
This has been another "For You" production, brought, with love, from Shady Pines Home For The Terminally Bewildered:
This production was made possible by close reference to the following works:
The Lure Of London Sewers - by Dame Frisby Orloff
Trombones and Druids: Their Use In War Time - by Sir Bertram Fishpaste
Is That My Machete? - A Light-Hearted Look At Massacres - by Mustapha Slaughter.
