by Robert Williams

"I can't believe this!" exclaimed Des. "I'm so excited!!"

Des was in Mrs Greasy's cafe, showing Mick a letter he had just received.

"Good grief," said Mick. "You've got your own television show?!?!"

"It's incredible!" said Des. "And I think it's on a proper channel this time!!"

"Not like DMTV then," said Mick.

"That's right," said Des. "All I did was to send off an application form, and they've given me the job! They didn't even see me for an interview or anything!"

"That's odd," said Mick. "What was the job advert like?"

Des showed Mick the job advert that he had torn out of the local newspaper.

"'Brand new television station seeks dynamic young presenter to front exciting programmes'," read Mick. "Dynamic...young...and you got the job??? That's very odd. Hmmm, there's something very fishy about this. Which television station have you got the job with?"

"Well...I don't actually know," said Mick. "But apparently it's in the Tolworth area."

"I bet you you've gone and got yourself a job on Dickie the Vicar's television channel," said Mick. "After all, what other channels are based in this area?"

"No, it definitely isn't Vicar TV, it closed down last week!" said Des. "Anyway, it says in the letter they're going to ring me up with all the details! I wonder what show I'm going to be hosting? I hope it's a big money game show, so I can wear my sparkling suit! Perhaps I'm taking over from Chris Tarrant on 'Who Want to Be a Trillionaire'!! Or maybe I'm going to be conducting some hard-hitting heavyweight political interviews on 'Panorama'!"

"Or maybe you're going to be playing one of the Tweenies," said Mick.

"Eh?" said Des. "What do you mean playing one of the Tweenies..."

Just then his mobile phone rang.

"Fantastic! That'll be them now!" He answered the phone. "Good morning, Des Wednesday speaking!!...Oh hello!...oh yes...you want to meet me at the studios...great!...could you give me the address then...right...no, no, I think you're getting a bit confused, that's my address...oh....well, fair enough then, see you later...toodeloo! That's strange."

"They want to meet you at your house, not the television studio?" said Mick.

"Yes...and tell you what," said Des, "it was a woman speaking which is very strange...and she did sound rather familiar...still, it's very exciting isn't it!!"

Des went back to his house, and Mick followed, otherwise there was a strong likelihood that he would get served some food sooner or later. But Des was shocked to find his front door was wide open.

"Oh no, burglars!!!" exclaimed Des. "Be quiet, they might still be in there!"

Des and Mick crept into the house. Des sniffed around.

"I can smell paint!" said Des. "What is going on?! I have walked into the right house, haven't I?!"

"No one else has a picture of Stan Boardman on their wall," said Mick.

"Right, I'm going into the living room," said Des. "If the burglars are in there, you get ready to smash their heads in."

Des slowly and carefully opened the door into the living room. When he walked in he got a massive shock.

"Oh...my...god..." said Des, his mouth wide open. "Is this anything to do with you? Is this your idea of a joke?"

"No!" said Mick. "But it is funny!"

Des's living room had been totally transformed. The walls had been painted a nasty shade of yellow, and all of Des's furniture and possessions had vanished. His ageing settee had been replaced by a brand new red sofa, in front of which was a classy coffee table. There were bright lights hanging from the ceiling, two television cameras pointing at the sofa, and a monitor in place of his television which was showing an image of the room. Des stared at all this, utterly dumbfounded.

"Those burglars..." said Des, "...have turned my living room into a television studio..."

"Hey, look at this!" called Mick. "Your dining room's now the gallery!"

Des went into the dining room and found his table had been pushed aside in favour of a bank of television screens and a desk of hi-tech equipment.

"And that's where all your furniture's gone," said Mick, peering out of the back window. "They've just dumped it in your garden!"

Des was totally bewildered. He wandered into the kitchen to see if this was still as he had left it, and found two burly workmen in there enjoying some cups of tea.

"Oi, are you responsible for all this?" said Des.

"Yup," said one of the men.

"I reckon we did a good job," said another men. "Considering the limited time we had available!"

"But...but..." stuttered Des. "WHY??"

"Just doing our job, mate," said the first man. "You'd better ask the boss!"

"And who might that be?" said Des.

The men pointed behind Des. He looked round and saw Mrs Greasy standing there.

"Hello Des!" said Mrs Greasy. "Let me welcome you to the studios of Greasy TV!"

"The studios of Greasy TV?!?!?" exclaimed Des. "This is my house!"

"It is your house," said Mrs Greasy. "And it's also now Greasy TV Centre!"

"Well whatever, I want it all turned back to how it used to be," said Des. "I'm supposed to be meeting a top telly executive in a minute to discuss my exciting new television career...oh..."

Mrs Greasy grinned.

"You're the top telly executive," said Des.

Mick burst out laughing.

"And I'm here to discuss your exciting new career with Greasy TV!" said Mrs Greasy.

"Oh gosh, I think I need to sit down," said Des.

He went into his living room to sit down on the new sofa.

"Oi, you can't sit on there!" said Mrs Greasy, running after him. "That sofa is for broadcast purposes only! It must stay in pristine condition at all times!"

Des grumbled.

"How on earth have you managed to get the money to start your own channel then?" asked Mick. "You're always telling us you're on the breadline!"

"Thanks to Dickie the Vicar!" said Mrs Greasy. "When he closed down Vicar TV last week, he sold everything to me dirt cheap! The cameras, the equipment, everything! And I've even taken over his broadcasting licence so we can get on air straight away!"

"But why on earth have you turned my house into your studios?" said Des.

"There's no room in my cafe for a television studio," said Mrs Greasy. "And since you're our only presenter, I figured we might as well have the studio in your house! I thought you'd be pleased, means you don't have to travel far to work!!"

"Only presenter?" said Des.

"So that's why you got the job so easily!" said Mick.

"That's right," said Mrs Greasy. "You're the only person who applied!"

"Oh god," groaned Des. "So what programme am I presenting in my living room? Chat show?"

"You're presenting all of it," said Mrs Greasy. "6am to midnight."

"What about the other six hours?" said Mick.

"Test card," said Mrs Greasy. "Actually, I'm looking for a model to pose with the doll and blackboard, would you like to apply Mick?"

"No thanks!!!" exclaimed Mick.

"But what am I supposed to present?" said Des. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's a shopping channel!" said Mrs Greasy. "There's stacks of money in shopping channels these days!"

"Oh great," said Des. "And here was I thinking I'd be hosting a new series of 'Family Fortunes' or 'Noel's House Party'. And what, may I ask, am I going to be selling?"

"Consumables," said Mrs Greasy.

"What's that?" said Des.

"Food," said Mick.

"Cooked by yours truly, of course!" said Mrs G.

"AAAAARGGGGHHHHH!!!!" exclaimed Des.

"We're on air tomorrow morning at 6!" said Mrs G. "Good luck Des!"

Mrs Greasy had set Des's alarm clock for 5.45 to make sure he was up for Greasy TV's inaugural broadcast. And so the next morning Des was woken up when it was still, as far as he concerned, the middle of the night. He stumbled down the stairs to get a drink but when as soon as he got to the bottom he found a team of people in the hallway ready for him. Before he knew it Des found himself having a shirt, tie and suit flung round him, his hair combed and some stuff slapped on his face.

"What are you doing?!?!" said Des.

"Putting your make-up on!" said the make-up lady.

"Urggh, geroff, who do you think I am!!" exclaimed Des.

"Looking forward to our first broadcast?" said Mrs Greasy, coming up to him.

"No," said Des.

"Well you'd better enjoy it, you're going to be on air for eighteen hours every day!" said Mrs G.

"Don't I even get a break?" said Des. "You know, for essential things?"

"Yes, whenever we play an ident," said Mrs Greasy. "Though you have to be quick, they only last a few seconds."

"If it's your channel, why can't you present it!" said Des.

"I've got a cafe to run, haven't I, stupid!" said Mrs Greasy. "Plus I'll be busy cooking the food that you're going to sell!"

"Right, so that's how this channel is going to work is it? You cook some bangers and mash which you then deliver round here which I then attempt to try and sell to the viewing public. They ring up, buy the bangers and mash and you send it to them in the post."

"Absolutely spot on!" said Mrs G.

"It sounds completely ridiculous!" said Des.

"Now stop babbling, I've got to go into the studio and open the channel," said Mrs Greasy. "We've got just one minute to go!"

"And what do I have to do?" asked Des.

"Come in when I say your name, and sit down," said Mrs G.

"Oh great, so I'm actually going to be allowed to sit down on my sofa now?" said Des.

"Then you just have to read what it says on the autocue," said Mrs G. "Simple as that! Oooh, look at the time, I'd better get the station up and running!"

She rushed into the living room, put her earpiece in and sat down. Someone who was sitting in the dining room counted the seconds down to 6.00. The technical bods played in the opening ident, and then the moment arrived - Greasy TV had gone live!

"Greetings viewers!" said Mrs Greasy. "You are witnessing the most historic moment in broadcasting since Emu attacked Frank Bough on 'Breakfast Time'! Yes everybody, welcome for the first time to a brand new shopping channel Greasy TV!! My name's Mrs Greasy and from now on you'll be able to buy some scrumptious meals cooked by my own fair hands, at bargain basement prices! You won't be able to find food of this quality anywhere else! All you have to do is dial the number on your screen and those tasty morsels will be heading your way in a matter of days! So now let me introduce you to the man who'll be describing these delicious dishes to you - yes, he's your friend and mine, it's Mr Des Wednesday!"

But there was no sign of Des.

"Yes, it's the one, the only (thank goodness) Des Wednesday!"

Still no show.

"Oh for goodness sake...bear with me one moment, viewers!"

Mrs Greasy rushed out into the hall to find that Des had fallen asleep on the stairs.

"Oi Des, wake up, you're on!" exclaimed Mrs G. She dragged him into the living room, plonked him on the settee and stuck an earpiece in his ear (which is probably the best place to stick an earpiece). "So then Des, how are you looking forward to presenting Greasy TV?"

Des shrugged his shoulders.

"Autocue!" hissed Mrs G.

"Oh!" said Des. He squinted at the camera and started trying to read the autocue in a totally deadpan manner. "Well hello there Mrs Greasy, I am really excited that I have been given the chance to sell some delicious food all cooked by you to our unlucky viewers..."

"Lucky viewers!" hissed Mrs G.

"Whatever," said Des. "Anyway, let us get on with our very first dish. Oooh, I can't wait."

"Super!" said Mrs Greasy. "I'll leave you to it then, Des. Good luck!"

She walked out the studio, and then came back in again with the first dish, which she plonked in front of Des on the coffee table. She then left Des's house to get back to the cafe to cook up more food for Des to sell. Des stared confused at the revolting-looking object on the coffee table for an eternity.

"What is it??" said Des. He tried looking at it from all angles. "What is it supposed to be?! I can't work it out! Hey, maybe this a quiz game!" Then Des's mobile phone rang. "Hello?"

"Autocue!!" hissed the voice on the phone.

"Oh..." said Des. "Ummm...well then viewers, let's have a look at our first dish. Hmmm, yum yum, it looks delicious. This is Mrs Greasy's bread pudding...bread pudding????" He stared at it once again. "Good grief, even Mrs Greasy's bread pudding doesn't look as bad as this...oh where was I...oh yes, gosh, I can tell you're all tempted by this out there in television-land, so just dial the number on your screen and it could be arriving on your very doorstep. But now let me just try a little for you now to prove how delicious it is. Des tries the bread pudding. Oh no, now come on, this is going too far! She never said anything about actually eating the food! Mrs Greasy, I resign!"

Des's mobile phone rang again.

"Just do it!!!" hissed Mrs Greasy.

Reluctantly, Des picked up the revolting object which purported to be bread pudding, and put it in his mouth, whilst trying to read the autocue.

"Oh yum yum, this is delicious," mumbled Des. He munched round the horrible food in his mouth - and then started coughing and spluttering. "Oh god!!"

Des threw off his earpiece and dashed off to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he had finally managed to get the taste out of his mouth, Mrs Greasy returned with a bag full of goodies.

"Where did you get a key to my door from?" said Des.

"Never mind that, you're supposed to be on air!" said Mrs G. "Now here's some more things, these will keep you going for the next hour or two while I cook up even more stuff!"

Des took the bag and moped back into the living room. He emptied the bag onto the coffee table.

"Oh no," muttered Des. "Another bag full of UFOs - unidentifiable food objects!"

His phone rang once again.

"Don't try and be funny, for goodness sake!" said Mrs G.

"You got back to the cafe quick!" said Des.

"I'm walking back now, but I've got you on my mini television!" said Mrs G.

"A mini television with a satellite dish??" said Des, confused.

"YES, now get on selling that food!!" exclaimed Mrs G.

Des turned back to the autocue.

"Now our next tasty morsel is meat pie," said Des. "Oh no, which one is the meat pie?"

He spread out the foods on the table, and none of them even vaguely resembled a meat pie. Des sighed.

After two hours of attempting to sell Mrs Greasy's food, by which time it was still only 8.00 in the morning, Des was getting rather fed up. He was tired, and he was getting very hungry. So he said so on air.

"Blimey viewers, I'm hungry. Do you mind if I just pop off and have breakfast? Technical bods, put an ident up for a bit, please. And make it a long one."

As he went into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, his mobile phone rang once again.

"Now listen here Des, I'm in charge of this channel, not you, and I decide when we put an ident on!!" said Mrs G.

"Whatever," said Des.

"And while I'm here, I'd like to tell you that I'm not impressed with your presentation style!" said Mrs G. "You're not selling it at all, you're just drab and boring! You've got to liven up, make it more exciting!!"

"Get knotted," was Des's answer to that.

Another three hours, and Des was seriously bored. He was sick of trying to sell Mrs Greasy's disgusting dishes and even more fed up with her ringing him up every few minutes.

"I can't believe I'm supposed to keep doing this all day long," muttered Des. "I bet no one's watching anyway. I bet not a single person has even bothered to dial that number!"

His phone rang again.

"I heard that!" said Mrs G. "For your information, the telephone has been red hot all morning!"

"Put it in the oven by mistake did you?" said Des.

"Greasy TV is already shaping up to be a massive success! I've already had astonishing amounts of custom!"

"From who?" said Des. There was a long pause.

"Various people," said Mrs G, finally.

"It was Wayne, wasn't it," said Des.

There was another pause. Then the phone went dead. Des chuckled to himself.

"Oh, I've had enough of this, I've got an idea," said Des. "Technical bods, put an ident on and loop it round a few times."

While Des was out of vision, he got onto the dog and bone to Mike the Manic Mechanic.

"Mike, I need your help. And urgently!"

Mike agreed to help Des. Minutes later he arrived at Des's house with a dummy. As the make-up and costume people had long gone, Des and Mike, with great speed, dressed the dummy in Des's television suit, shirt, tie and trousers. They then plonked the dummy down onto the sofa.

"Okay lads, cut back to studio," called Des to the gallery.

With the dummy now presenting Greasy TV, Des was free to do what he wanted. He had breakfast, got some chocolate biscuits from the Co-op and then grabbed forty winks.

"I think I'll pop down the cafe now," thought Des to himself. And so he did.

"Morning Des," said Mrs Greasy as he walked in. "Bit late this morning, aren't you?"

"Sorry Mrs G," said Des.

"Anyway, you want the usual then?" asked Mrs G.

"No thanks," said Des.

"By the way, I think your presenting style has improved a lot through the morning," said Mrs G. "In particular, I think the last half hour has been easily the best! Let me tell you, I'm impressed!"

"Umm, Mrs Greasy," said Mick. "Look!"

He pointed at the television screen on the counter, and then at Des. Mrs Greasy did a double take.

"How on earth did you do that???" said Mrs G. She stared at the television and gasped. "It's a dummy!!"

"That's not very nice!" said Des.

"Des, you've hoodwinked me!!" said Mrs G.

Des grinned.

"Well, not that it matters, I've just announced that today is to be the final day of broadcasting for Greasy TV. Des, you can have your living room back."

"Yippeee!!" exclaimed Des.

"I admit, it hasn't been the success I'd hoped for, and Wayne has been the only caller," said Mrs G. "Mind you, he did call 278 times."

"So what's happening to Greasy TV?" said Mick.

"I've handed the broadcasting licence onto Mike the Manic Mechanic," said Mrs G.

"That's right!" said Mike, bursting into the cafe. "Launching tomorrow morning, Mike and Motors TV!! It's a shopping channel!"

"Oh no," said Des.

"I'm going to be selling fantastic used cars at bargain basement prices!" said Mike. "I'm just looking for a presenter - Des, how do you fancy the job?"

"Weeeeell..." said Des. "NO!!"

Copyright © Robert Williams