Inspired by an annoying TV presenter
The man behind a very popular, annual, main channel UK TV series manufactures another episode, to humiliate a very annoying news anchor woman. All names have been changed to acknowledge celebrity status
What could I do to find another successful group of friends, they usually are, to form another choir for my hugely popular TV series The Choir? I have exhausted the ideas, choices and myself in putting this show on the road. Travelling the length and breadth of the UK many times, repeating the journeys several times to meet the groups, rehearse them, appoint a mentor, visit again with them and get to choose the final short list was a struggle, not to mention semi-finals, finals, involved a lot of logistics and finally fond and sad farewells.
Bren, my wife was worried I might conk out even at my young age of 41 because of the stress. Eve and Gregory our kids had no idea of that but missed me as I did them. But, and it’s a big but, we needed the money, so I was determined to try one last episode which would see us safe.
I racked my brains, scouring lists, thinking of obscure groups of people which the big dirty public could be interested in, from a choir point of view. It had to be the singing – for fucks sake I had met some pretty ordinary souls and some exceedingly ugly ones too, but my idea of ugly doesn’t include the male of the species, they are just guys.
The TV kicked my mind at breakfast. That very annoying presenter on the BBC Nora Manchester, her shrill voice was once again rudely interrupting some expert, not letting him get a word in at all – the cow! Bren admonished me for snarling at the screen – I do it often and anyway the nanny had taken the children to school, but that brown, smarmy and – I must add - very attractive woman was one of my pet hates and is a proverbial pain in the arse. I had met her on that show and at a couple of award ceremonies and in person she is just as irritating and shrill as on telly. However she is good looking and feeds my constant demand for watching any coloured women in any circumstances. I have never shagged one but I would shag Nora, and Serena Walliams, Michelle Oboma, Diana Abbet, Opiah Windey, Tyria Barks, Giana Mills et al.
“She wouldn’t get on one of your programmes Gav,” Bren chuckled, loading the dish washer.
“No she effing wouldn’t darling,” I agreed squeezing past her to get to my study. In doing so I placed my hands on her hips and felt her round soft shape through the white cotton tee-shirt she wears for bed. Many men would have reached down below it’s hem and felt her bare arse and pussy, she was always bareback in bed, but I knew she didn’t like that sort of thing – never has been one for impulsive sex, needing a romantic and measured foreplay. On my way to my studio I thought, because my hand had been so close to it, about Bren’s twat. It’s neat, just like her, no large fanny flaps and a trimmed bush, down to a limit which I just about approve of, although I like a shaggy forest really.
I glanced in the hall mirror and vainly examined my hair. It’s really greying and at 41, it’s ridiculous, but my dad’s was the same and Bren reckons the stress of making the choir projects doesn’t help. Bren is attractive, dark auburn hair to her shoulders, with a lovely round face. She’s always been a bit dumpy, OK legs, never a Page 3 stunner, superb mum, lovely manners and attitude and was, I say was a damn good shag. For some reason she’s off sex at the moment, but that’s married life – maybe it was me - can’t recall. I found something on the internet and called her into the study as she passed to go up stairs. She’s very intelligent and educated with an MA for ... I can’t remember. She read the item and said she would look in detail later, after popping to Waitrose for something for dinner.
Off she went about an hour later, looking very yummy mummy like in a floral dress, bare legs, two inch kitten heels, her hair up, all of which made me more randy so I sneaked a look at favourite voyeur videos, can’t resist, being addicted and happened on one titled Indian Aunty takes a shower. Nearly all those videos feature large – So I have never minded the fuller bodied lady, mature, native women, never the refined, wealthy, westernised wives of industrialists that country is becoming renowned for. But anyway I jerked a swift one into a tissue, viewing this plump, very brown, elderly native woman washing her enormous, swinging tits – she had massive nipples - and swiping a cloth through her crotch. Under her saggy belly it was just possible to see a large outcrop of pubes and I cursed the amateurish skills of the voyeur who took the video. I resumed my search. Bren had left the TV on in the kitchen and that fucking Nora screeched again and suddenly and idea bloomed.
If I could muster a crew of British ‘slebs’, controlling it myself with no outside influence, could I sell the idea to the programmers? The fame culture is rife at the moment – for fucks sake I am one apparently and they had been badgering me about another series. The idea met with Bren’s approval. I took it to the management, they took their time as usual and after several months, granted me carte blanch on choice with a rider that I had to include all of the PC issues. Fuck! that means queers and disabled.
Breakfast again and fucking big mouth Manchester nagged at me again. Thinking back to several of the previous programmes there were some times when individuals were in receipt of my personal one to one attention. Nora had been in Strictly Come Dancing and the ‘sleb’ contestants had personal dance tuition, not from me, so she would have had.
Amongst my contacts in the corporation, there’s a chap Jim, I know well, I did his wife Imelda a favour shoehorning, that’s a laugh if you saw Imelda into the first ever Army Wives choir after she failed the auditions. Jim can lay his hands on just about anything, he was so grateful.
Oddly she was as black as the ace of spades, very very ugly and seriously pregnant, but I could have got her into the choir easily if I could have got into her knickers easily, ugly or not, a black ugly cunt would have broken my duck and I’m not proud and fussy, but it didn’t happen and when it comes to singing I am strict, not about fucking. When I had commented on his wife’s bubbly persona, Jim was very gratified, thankful his beautiful, his words wife was still around when he finished his armed forces service and returned from Afghanistan. We got chatting about women in general and my liking for black women’s looks and he tipped me off about some videos, hence her late admission to the choir. He failed on not telling me about Imelda’s body, but that wasn’t part of the general discussion.
He promised to seek out in-house videos of Nora’s practice and tuition sessions, no questions asked, and duly got them to me. Some of these clips were shown on prime time build ups to the main show, both went on for months and some weren’t. I studied them in slo mo, where she showed legs, leotarded crotch, little cleavage etc. Hmm! Worth a try I thought. But why? She was extremely annoying on Breakfast and also the clips I had, but if I could engineer a way of fucking her wow! It would be breaking a duck, shagging a well known and loved??? ‘sleb’ and ridding myself of her infernal annoyance. I could watch and listen to her, smug in the knowledge she’d opened her legs for me. Beat that Charles Stout, but maybe he’d shafted her, who cares, I was on a mission, a very dangerous mission, putting my job at risk.
There was a lot of toing and froing but I ended up with a final list of ‘slebs’ who were conned into appearing in a mega special charity show just before Christmas, when it was on screen, but no details of the conetnt and my choir were released to them. I had whittled it down as bit of private fun to match Nora in terms of ‘slebs’ who I can’t stand. The names I wanted all agreed, it was amazing the pull of this programme and the group I was going to meet in the TV centre in London were Mike Portico, Euan Davies, Zandr Bell, Tassie Darly, Mitt Barker, Marion Margoyes, Jonny Carven, Stella Macgiven and Elspeth Harmison and of course – thankfully Nora Manchester.
I did ask that smug, stuck up bitch Fiona Bruce, who seems to be on TV everywhere, but she refused. The stick insect she is, had no sexual interests for me – I’d just love to get near and humiliate her.
The chosen few were all in one of the green rooms where there was a supply of wines and nibbles. Jim had engineered a secret viewing for me of them all via a so-called smoke alarm which concealed a motion/audio sensitive camera, linked to a monitor in one of the many green rooms and offices in the TV centre, since a lot of executives and engineers had transferred to the new place at Salford Quays, Manchester. Dress code had been casual but with plain tee-shirts.
It was fascinating to watch and hear for a while.
I had made more or less the plans I had for the series and the various ‘roles’ the individuals would appear as. Not fancy dress, just my ideas. Mike would be the token stuffy, ex puffta, ex-politician, Euan the token queer, Marion the token fat lesbian, Stella the good looking dyke, Tassie and Zandra the good looking, typical blondes, Nora the token coloured and the rest, including Portico were TV presenters who had to get their self important selves in by asking the interviewees ‘this looks interesting, can I have a go?’ ... so annoying.
.... There is more of this story ...