by Sandy Barker
The Dating Game
Sandy Barker
One More Chapter
a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2021
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Copyright © Sandy Barker 2021
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Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com
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Sandy Barker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
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All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
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Source ISBN: 9780008509323
Ebook Edition © September 2021 ISBN: 9780008509316
Version: 2021-08-13
Contents
A Note From the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Cast of Characters
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading…
We think you will love…
About the Author
Also by Sandy Barker
One More Chapter...
About the Publisher
For my fellow Renegades, Andie, Nina, and Fi
I love you gals – thank you for being in my family of friends
A Note From the Author
Because this book is about the world of reality television, there are a lot of characters. But don’t worry! I’ve got sneaky little reminders for you about who’s who woven into the story―and if you get completely lost (it’s not as bad as trying to remember all the characters from Game of Thrones, I promise), here are a couple of tips:
If you’re reading on an e-reader, there’s a function that will tell you about a character if you tap on their name. And I’ve also provided a cast of characters for you at the end of the book.
Happy reading!
Chapter One
‘Okay, Abigail, time to sell off a little piece of your soul. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. Hah! Mama needs to pay her rent, more like.’
I don’t often talk to myself out loud. All right, that’s an abject lie, but sometimes I need a little pep talk, like when I sit down to write my columns for the online tabloid, Food for Your Mind―Hula Hoops and Jaffa Cakes, anyone? That’s not its real name, of course, just a more accurate version of its actual name, which is (stupidly) Feed Your Mind. I’m not sure who came up with that, but it was pre-me and may indicate that they had loftier goals than photographs of celebs without makeup, gossip, and the trite tripe that I write, sarky recaps of reality television shows.
Last night was the premier of the latest season of The Stag, an archaic show about a single man seeking the love of his life―hah! more like fame, fortune, or someone to shag―amongst an array of women―the ‘Does’―who are so homogenous and awful, they all blend into one fake-tanned blob.
It’s rumoured that each season, the winning Doe gets her happily ever after and a hefty ‘dowry’ somewhere in the vicinity of £50,000. If that’s true, no wonder they clamber over the Stag like bargain hunters on Black Friday. It remains a rumour, however, as the Does are sworn to secrecy―and not just about the ‘prize’. They film the show weeks in advance and every Doe, even those who are sent packing from Stag Manor after the first Pin Ritual, must remain tight lipped until the finale airs. I couldn’t manage that for five minutes! Fortunately, I don’t have to.
My mission, should I choose to accept it―and I do, because of that ‘eking out an existence’ thing―is to write witty recaps of each episode for our readers―far less taxing than keeping a slew of epic secrets. And my fans love my work, especially my recaps of The Stag. Sure, my posts about Isle of Passion, The Incredible Chase, and I’m Super Famous, I Want Out! go down a treat, but this is my opus, where I really get to sharpen my snarky, sarky teeth. The Stag has begun and hunting season is open! Brilliant―a tagline for my first post.
I do all this anonymously, of course. I am now somewhat famous―well, my alter-ego is. Apparently, Zoe Ball thinks I’m hilarious―Zoe Ball! So, not wanting to appear in my own online magazine, caught down at the local Tesco sans makeup and wearing last season’s Lululemon knockoffs―the scandal!―I, Abigail (Abby) Jones, write my witty repartee under a much more exciting moniker. You see, I am the Anastasia Blabbergasted. It’s quite a clever name, if I do say so myself.
And, besides my editor and my best friend, Lisa, no one knows. No one.
Right, enough of that, Anastasia. Time to stop faffing about and put that BA in Journalism to work!
The Stag Recap: Hunting Season is Open
by Anastasia Blabbergasted
The Stag has begun and it’s hunting season! Ah, Staggy, so good to have you back.
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The producers have really upped their game this year with our delectable stag, Jameson (a good thing his father’s favourite tipple wasn’t Glenlivet!), aka Jaimie. If Henry Cavill and Alex Pettyfer had a love child, it would be this 6’5”, chiselled, Greek-god-in-an-outdoor-adventurer’s-body.
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And this season’s Playboy Mansion Stag Manor certainly is a step up from the last one―quite literally; did you see that imposing staircase?―with not one pool, but two! If the mercury cracks 22°C (all appendages crossed), we’re bound to see some serious water action. Cue the barely there bikinis, sarky comments about cellulite and breast implants, and the montage sequence of splashing about and squealing, poolside posing, and a slick of spray-on tan floating on the surface of the pool―not to mention, many, many shots of those lovely Staggy abs!
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So, the tried and tested format for the premiere is trotted out again (why mess with perfection?), with Jaimie waiting anxiously to meet and greet each Doe as they arrive in a limousine (nothing but the best for our girls). And how much does your heart twang for our little (big) Jaimie when he whispers to himself, ‘I hope they like me,’ just before the first Doe arrives? Aww, bless. Yes, this Staggy is straight out of a lusty romcom―even if he spells his name wrong (come on, the hint’s right there in your name―it’s ‘Jamie’, love).
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Aside: Whoever designed that pathway from the limousine to Staggy is a maniacal sadist.
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The brief: Nervous women wearing sky-high heels and floaty, drag-on-the-ground gowns will walk along this path at night-time. The design: Slippery flagstones surrounded by gravel.
May the odds (of not slipping and falling) be ever in your favour!
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Another aside: We all agree there’s only one limousine, right? And that the Does are lined up on the other side waiting in turn to ‘arrive’?
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Thought so.
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And what about our Does! In assembling Jaimie’s harem this bevvy of beauties, the producers have obvs scoured Britain for the brightest, most gregarious, most altruistic, and socially-aware young women (Greta, Malala―watch out!). Sorry, just checked my research―that was for Britain’s Got OBEs.
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This season’s casting call was for women who are constantly told how special they are, even if completely unremarkable, and were raised by parents who allowed talking back and slamming doors during their teen years. Vacuous celebrity hunters, influencers, wannabes, wannabe influencers, pouters, flouters, and BLTs (bossy little things) were also encouraged to audition.
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The producers then assembled a cast so diverse, they’ve even included a natural redhead! I didn’t know until I saw this season’s premier that hair colour was a protected class. Thank you for enlightening us, Marie-Alice! (Love a double-barrelled first name, BTW―super posh!)
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As usual, for your viewing pleasure, I have categorised members of the beauteous bevvy as follows:
(potential) Brides
Villains
Dark Horses
Miscellaneous
Filler
Let’s start with the last category: Filler
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Do not bother to learn these Does’ names; do not seek out their online profiles; do not become invested in them in any way whatsoever (even if you drew one of their names in a sweepstake), because they are just there to fill up spaces on those ridiculously long sofas. (Quick question: where do you buy those, or are they custom made for Stag Manor?) One by one, the Filler Does will be picked off in early episodes, tearily departing Stag Manor sans one of Jaimie’s pins as if they’ve (actually) spent more than five minutes alone with him. Case in point: Byeeee Cassie and Helen (oops, I learnt their names, but let’s not bother with the other four).
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The Villains!
Ah, yes, the ones Jaimie will be told asked to keep around (until it becomes FAR TOO OBVS that the producers are doing that), just to up the drama.
This season’s (wonder) Villains include:
Veronica For the oldest Doe in the Manor, you sure do pout, shout, and carry on a lot – put your big-girl knickers on, Veronica―it’s going to be a bumpy season!
Serena In case you missed it (and really, how could you have?), Bond villainess, Serena, is a ‘bossy little thang’. She described herself as ‘the boss’ so many times, I was able to decline the word in Latin by the time her meet and greet with Jaimie (or is that ‘meet and grate’?) was over. Let’s see … bossa, bossum, bossae, bossā
Donna Is this girl a plant? Her acting is so bad, she’s like a reject from a casting for Emmerdale extras. And I love a good swear, truly I do, but what’s with using the F-word as a noun, adjective, and a verb, Donna? You’ll definitely keep the censors busy.
Marie-Alice (Or ‘Marie Claire’, as Serena calls her accidentally-but-really-on-purpose) is a #hotmess #trainwreck who will probably set feminism back 500,000 years. With all that airtime, the producers clearly love her, though Jaimie doesn’t appear to be particularly impressed. And not that it really matters, but I’m not either.
Dark Horse
This season, the (only) one to watch is Simone! She doesn’t seem to take herself―or this show―too seriously, and more than once she may have induced full-on snort laughter (don’t judge me). Arriving at Stag Manor dressed as a llama?! Genius―the perfect way to stand out in a sea of pageant gowns. Not to mention that she’s gorgeous, though seems to have no idea. Yes, our little (big) Jaimie’s eyes lit up at the sight of Simone―a fascinating mix of mirth and lust―and she’s my pick for Dark Horse. Or, rather, Dark Llama. Baaaa! (Llamas go ‘baaaa’, right?)
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Miscellaneous
These are the (somewhat) odd Does who don’t fit into any other category. They are marginally more interesting than the Filler Does, but definitely not Bride material:
Kerry PLEASE CALM DOWN, KERRY! Nothing is that funny, love, not even Simone. And your laugh sounds like a donkey going through menopause―that will get old fast!
Natalie Sweet, but she has one of those wide-eyed smiles that betrays she has no idea what’s going on.
Daisy No, Daisy, I’d bet my winged eyeliner that you will not get a one-on-one date―seriously, though, who bets on their eyeliner? Unborn child, absolutely, but eyeliner?
(potential) Brides
Only two that I can see: Julia and Chloe. These are the most real/lovely/I-would-be-friends-with-them-in-real-life Does of the lot. But as Julia is a mum of two and our little (big) Jaimie is a young man about town, how would that even work? Besides, did you see those fireworks between Jaimie and Chloe when they first met. I’m fairly certain I heard one of the crew bellow, ‘Get a room!’
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So, punters are already calling Chloe for the win! Huzzah.
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But even if it is a(n almost) foregone conclusion, won’t it be such fun to watch all the DRAMA unfold? Dah-duh-duhhhhh!
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Til next time …
There, that should do it―£750 please. I know that may sound like a lot and it is considering it’s for three hours of work―one for viewing and two for writing―but Feed Your Mind makes oodles of advertising money from Anastasia. She’s a brand and she sells so aren’t I entitled to my little piece?
The best weeks are when shows air concurrently. That keeps me busy, sure, but for someone who grew up in council housing, I like being able to put money away, build my nest egg. I’m not entirely sure what I’m saving for―perhaps the sense of security. My mum never had that chance when I was growing up. It was just the two of us and she worked three jobs and we lived payday to payday. I also give money to my mum, even though she tells me not to. I can’t help it―I love my mum.
I live a modest existence. My one-bedroom flat is more of a bedsit, I only buy clothes and shoes from the sale section (more often than not, that’s a supermarket’s sale section), and I rarely splurge on anything―but it’s enough. And with Anastasia bringing in my ‘bread and butter’, I have time for what I love to do―what I trained to do―which is proper writing.
I am constantly pitching to (real) magazines and news organisations, mostly deep dives into societal issues. I’ve had some pieces published―on average two or three a year―though sometimes it strikes me that I left university a decade ago and have little to show for it.
But I hold onto my dream, to have my own column in a real magazine and to write under my own name―only my name. Until then, I will don the moniker of Anastasia Blabbergasted, providing light entertainment to readers across Britain, and try not to think too much about how I am (probably) contributing to the degradation of society.
Chapter Two
The ringing of my phone permeates my dream as an ice cream van, only it’s blaring Duo Lipa’s latest song―my ringtone―instead of ‘Green Sleeves’. Just as I’m about to flag it down and ask for a 99, my eyes pop open.
Only two people would ever call me first thing in the morning: my mum and my editor, Prue. Prue van der Puttin―truly, that’s her name. Though, sometimes I’ll drop the ‘van’, the ‘der’, and one of the ‘t’s because she can be a little, er, dictatorial.
Prue Putin, editor extraordinaire, able to leap errant commas in a single bound and reduce a grown man to tears with merely a glance. Cut-throat, curt, churlish and charmless―that’s our Prue!
I would never say this out loud, of course. I am not an idiot nor a masochist. Staying out of Prue’s firing line is one of the core competencies of my job. It’s why I am one of her ‘darlings’
. I cannot even imagine what it’s like being in the other stable of staff writers―‘those people’, as she calls them.
All this flies through my head in a microsecond and I’m in such a rush to answer my phone that I knock over my water glass, drowning one of the 3-for-£5 books I picked up yesterday at The Works. Maybe it’s salvageable―I hope so. I love a good romcom.