SCENE 1. EXT DAY – PETROL STATION
CLIVE THE BASTARD (BOSS OF REEL TV) GETS OUT OF HIS “REEL TV” EMBLAZONED BMW, “9M BICYCLES” BY KATIE MELUA STOPPING ABRUPTLY AS HE POWER WALKS ACROSS THE FORECOURT.
CUT TO A CONVERSATION BETWEEN 2 APPARENTLY WITLESS YOUNG CHAVVY ASSISTANTS.

Female assistant:
When I’m dead, I don’t want no full nuptial mas or naffin’, they can just take me to a moratorium an’ lower me into a hole. 42.80 enter your P.I.N ‘ere, you from Reel TV?

Clive:
Cash. (he unfurls a cylindrical wad of notes) I am an’ all (bellowed in a Victorian mill owner’s accent), you ever watch it?

Female assistant:
Have done. We had a bloke from Reality Bites in ‘ere a minute ago, was talking on the phone about kickin’ your arses in the ratings war or sammink.

Clive:
Did he look a bit like a dirty mole –
Female assistant:
Yeah-
CLIVE GETS CARRIED AWAY AND STARTS MOVING HIS FINGERS AS IF TO MIME THE CREATURES AND OBJECTS TO WHICH HE REFERS, ADOPTING A DERISIVE WHINING TONE, RIGHT IN THE FACES OF THE STAFF.

Clive:
Or a weasel, or an overcooked little dumpling left out in the rain, or a female sewer rat on the rag?

Assistant:
A fierce rival, yeah?

Clive:
Listen, you chavved-up Vauxhall Nova of a man, he’s not a rival, he and his monkey friend make sad little films for a station that is watched by 3 mental patients and one budgie and puts out 3 types of programme: shit, shite and tummy rubbish

Assistant:
Alright mate, I only –

Clive:
”Have you seen “Fart Club”?

Assistant:
Naah, but I saw “Casting Couch” – that was wicked-


Clive:
“Casting Couch”? An anus of a reality show in which escapees from the local loony bin pitched daft ideas to a poker-faced commissioning editor?

CLIVE LOOKS UPWARDS, AS IF WATCHING THE DEBACLE ON THE CCTV MONITOR, AS THE IMAGE OF A SMARTLY DRESSED WOMAN WITH A FOX’S HEAD ON APPROACHES THE DOOR. DISSOLVE INTO CLIP OF “CASTING COUCH”.

IN A BARE OFFICE, MS OF CYRIL, A C.A.M.R.A STEREOTYPE DECLARES:

Cyril:

I have what I would call a quantity script

VOICE OF COMMISSIONING EDITOR, OFF SCREEN ASKS WHAT IT IS ABOUT

Cyril:
It’s about urban issues in the 0ies.

SILENCE, NERVOUS SHUFFLING.

Cyril:
OK, this guy finds a sports bag full of bones – why? Turns out that a lot of animals have gone missing from the local pet shop, right?

HE LEANS FORWARD FOR EMPHASIS AND TALKS IN HUSHED TONES.

Cyril:
But dem bones is human bones, see? (Sits back). I don’ts wanna spoil it.

JUMP CUT TO WENDY, BOOKISH LOOKING WOOLLY CARDIGAN WEARER.

Wendy:
It’s a musical celebration of Magnus Magnusson…I’ve written some songs:

SHE STARTS TO SING IN A HAMMY WAY, THROWING HER ARMS ABOUT AS IF ON A BIG STAGE

Wendy:
Did you do it your way? Correct! What was your specialist subject? Liiiife! You passed your life with a high score and no passes but then…beep beep beep!

SHE FALLS TO THE FLOOR, CLUTCHING HER HEART.

Voice (off screen):
But Magnus Magnusson’s not dead.

Wendy:
It’s set in the future

DISSOLVE BACK TO THE PETROL STATION, PULLING BACK FROM CLIVE’S FACE, LOST IN RECOLLECTION

Assistant:
It was a bit shit, I suppose.

Clive:
They want to make worthy documentaries and we trounce them in the ratings war.. we make a fortune from advertising, they’re lucky to get dirty phone lines to peddle their filthy wares. If you hear anything else, you’ll tell me won’t you?

THE FEMALE ASSISTANT NODS, THEN CLIVE ADDRESSES THE MALE ASSISTANT.

Clive:
And you, Dumbo.

AS CLIVE TURNS ROUND THE WOMAN WITH A FOX’S HEAD APPROACHES THE COUNTER. “FOXY LADY” BY JIMI HENDRIX STARTS UP. THE WOMAN BEGINS TO HAND JIVE.
CUT TO CLIVE REVVING HIS ENGINE LOUD BUT NOT AS LOUD AS KATIE MELUA ON HIS CD PLAYER. CUT BACK TO FEMALE ASSISTANT ADDRESSING THE MALE ASSISTANT AS THE FOXY LADY DEPARTS.
Male assistant:
Such triumphalism demeans him.

Female assistant:
He should be more magnanimous in victory.

CLIVE DRIVES OFF, SHRILLY SINGING KATIE MELUA.

Clive:
There are 9 miiiiiillion bicycles in Beijing..

FADE TO BLACK