by Sam Holden
Dom reached into his pocket and brought out a thick wedge of notes.
'We call these "Reality Facilitator Tokens",' he said.
I couldn't help but laugh.
'How many Reality Facilitator Tokens is that?' I asked.
'Two thousand,' he said. 'A fucking fortune for these people.'
There was something very sneering about the way he went 'these people'. I would have been the same a few days ago, but I think my punch from Big Ted has given me a mixture of fear and respect for 'these people'.
10 p.m.
Money talks. It always does. I feel guilty that we are attempting to fool the Great British Public, but Dom keeps reassuring me that we are doing nothing wrong, and besides, everybody knows that programmes like this are made up. It's always been news to me, but then perhaps I'm naïve.
You should have seen Big Ted's eyes when Dom produced the cash. He didn't do so until we'd been there for a couple of hours, during which time Little Ted and Big Ted had had a (one-sided) fight, Epernay was caught stealing money out of Debbie's purse ('What do you want the money for anyway?' Answer: 'Fags.' 'I've told you, you've got to wait until you're ten!'), and Debbie had told me to fuck off after I had suggested that she might like to get Little Ted and Epernay involved in the cooking.
'Listen,' said Dom, as he took the envelope out of his pocket. 'I think we need to come to some arrangement.'
'Carry on,' said Big Ted, who was just about to go down to the pub.
'It's clear that our being here is proving to be a bit of a strain,' Dom continued. 'And I think that it's only fair that we recompense you for all the hassle.'
'How much?' asked Big Ted, reaching out his right hand, which I hitherto had thought was permanently set as a fist.
Dom held up the envelope teasingly, which was pretty risky considering Big Ted's hand could easily transform back into its usual configuration.
'Two grand,' he said. 'But on one condition.'
'What?'
'That you follow the script.'
'Script? What script? I ain't learning no lines.'
'You don't need to learn any lines. All you need to do is to make it look as though Sam's techniques are working.'
'What so like we behave all hoity-toity?'
'Exactly.'
'For how long?'
'Just until end of play on Friday. Then we'll be out of your hair. OK?'
'Sooner the better mate.'
Dom prepared to hand over the cash, and just before he released it, he said, 'And we'll need to buy you some different clothes.'
'Whatever,' said Big Ted, his hand greedily shaking at its imminent reception of the cash.
'You promise to do as we say?' asked Dom.
'Of course I fucking do! I'm a man of me word. A promise is a fucking promise.'
Dom released the cash, and Big Ted snatched it away, ripped open the envelope, counted out the one hundred crisp twenties, folded them, and then shoved them in his back pocket.
'Nice,' he smiled.
'What are you going to do with all that?' Debbie asked. 'Can we get a new kitchen? Come on Ted, I really want one.'
'Maybe,' he said. 'But I've got to go out now.'
'Where you going?'
'Out for a little shopping my love.'
'Where?'
'None of your business.'
'But Ted!'
'Shut it!'
And within thirty seconds he and Little Ted had gone, the screech of their departing tyres only matched in volume by Debbie shouting after them.
'TED!!!!'
'Will he come back?' asked a concerned-looking Dom.
'Oh yeah,' said Debbie, philosophically. 'He always does.'
'He's a softie at heart, is he?' I asked. 'Loves you more than he lets on?'
'Nah,' said Debbie. 'All his fags are here, that's why he comes back. He smuggled a vanload of Regals through Calais a few months back. He'll never leave 'em for the world.'
The Teds returned within half an hour, carrying an enormous cardboard box with the name of an electronics manufacturer up the side.
'What the fuck have you got there?' asked Debbie.
'A new TV,' said Big Ted triumphantly, panting with its weight. 'Widescreen plasma – a real beauty.'
'But we've got a new fucking TV in the lounge. What's wrong with that one? I thought that was widescreeen plasma and all!'
'This one is bigger, and it's got a faster frame rate.'
Debbie shrugged her shoulders.
'So fucking what? Where are we going to put it?'
'Next to the old one.'
Ten minutes later the Teds had set up the new TV. The lounge was now utterly dominated by the two screens. It felt like an electrical retailer.
'Cushty,' said Big Ted. 'Now we can watch the snooker and the football at the same time.'
'And may I ask how much it cost?' said Debbie, her arms folded.
Big Ted reached into his back pocket and took out notes.
'Here you go love, a down payment for the new kitchen.'
Debbie counted out the notes and threw them to the floor.
'Fifty quid! Go fuck yourself Ted!'
'Language,' went Ted, and then he and little Ted sat down on the sofa, lit a fag each and proceeded to zone out to some daytime TV. Debbie stormed out the room in disgust.
'Nice TV,' said Dom, studying it. 'We've got the slightly older model in my office.'
And then he turned to me.
'At least we used to.'
After lunch, or rather, after chips, we took the Lamperts shopping for clothes. This was the first bit of fun we had, and we genuinely had a good time. We went to one of those God-awful malls where teenagers sit around smoking all day (indeed, Little Ted seemed to be quite the King of the Mall), and we kitted out the family in ridiculously preppy middle-class clothes.
Even Big Ted looked nice in a pair of chinos and a blue Oxford shirt. Sure, there was a touch of 'dressing for the magistrate', but there was no doubt that to a TV audience he would look as though he was being changed by me. We got Little Ted into the same rig, and, amazingly, he almost looked like a public schoolboy. Alongside Epernay and Debbie in floral print dresses, the family's transformation was astonishing.
'I'm liking this a LOT,' said Dom, 'this is a mega-makeover!'
The fact that it was a load of invented crap didn't seem to bother him. And it didn't seem to bother our subjects as well, who went back home thinking that they'd just had the best day ever – which was fair enough considering they'd got a two-grand TV and a load of schmutter for doing sod all (i.e., their day jobs). And because I was the only person who seemed to be bothered, I did my best not to let it show.
When we got back, we decided to act out a scene in which Little Ted and Epernay actually ate with their parents, and what was more they actually had to eat something that looked as if it might put some colour in their cheeks. (Baaah! When I write things like that, I feel they should be said in an old-colonel-style voice.) The day before we had filmed what passed for a meal, which was more a case of the family wafting in and out of the kitchen to ping things in the microwave and eat them while smoking.
Today was different. We cooked them a shepherd's pie with peas and carrots on the side, and we served it on some brand-new crockery. (Naturally, all the shots showed Debbie taking the pie out the oven and doling it out, etc.) While they were eating, I was talking to the camera about how eating meals together was a way of enhancing 'intradependent family synergies'. Employees that ate together, I explained, worked well together. Companies in which everybody sits at their desks eating sandwiches and playing Minesweeper are companies that have low productive rates because their employees are not discovering methods of communication.
And then the fight broke out, just as I was saying: '. . . and the family that eats together, synergises together . . .'
Thwack!
'For fuck's sake!'
'Ted! Stop it!'
'Fuck you!'
/> 'Language!'
I turned round to see dollops of shepherd's pie filling the air like soft shrapnel.
'Now then,' I said in schoolmasterly tones. 'Stop this at once!'
My commanding presence was not quite as commanding as I would have liked, and I soon found myself under a barrage of more dinner. Dom was cackling away, at least until the camera lens took a direct hit. We retreated to the lounge, where we knew we would be safe from assault because the TVs were the only things they wouldn't want damaged. (Although I'm sure Debbie cherishes her delightful ornaments.)
'What the fuck started that?' I asked.
'I have no idea. One minute they were eating peacefully, and the next minute – wham!'
After a few minutes we returned to find that the Teds had vanished, Epernay was up in her room, and Debbie was stubbing out a fag in the shepherd's pie. We looked at her quizzically.
'Ted was trying to shove his vegebatles on to Little Ted's plate, and Little Ted weren't having none of it and so they started throwing the stuff at each other and then me and little Epie and then – well you saw what happened.'
'So they had a fight because they didn't want to eat their greens?' I asked.
Debbie looked at me blankly.
'Greens?'
Later, in the hotel, we agreed that today had been a vast improvement, and Dom said that he had at least two minutes of footage which showed the family behaving in a nice genteel way. A huge result, apparently.
Thursday 13 March
8.30 a.m.
Just phoned the children, and spoke to Halet. She was tremendously reassuring, and said that they had eaten good breakfasts, and that she was just about to take them to school. I spoke briefly to Peter, who sounded on top form, and said that Halet had a really cool way of brushing his teeth, and that he now wanted to brush his teeth the whole time because the germs were baddy aliens and he wanted to kill all baddy aliens because he was a brave spaceman and yes I miss you very much as well.
11 p.m.
Can't possibly write about today as am too drained and emotionally wrecked, but suffice to say, it's a wrap, as us TV types call it. Will write about it all tomorrow.
Friday 14 March
Home at last. Not just any old home, but our clean and tidy home, with just its one reasonable-sized TV and its nice sofas and chairs and things that sort of coordinate.
Yesterday was unbelievable, and I still can't believe that Dom has enough footage, but he swears he has. Anyway, the day went something like this. I'm going to present it in appointment-diary form, as that seems easier.
8.00: Turn up with crew. Knock on door repeatedly. No signs of life. We fear the family may have legged it.
8.15: Still nothing. We try calling their number, but 'We're sorry, this telephone number is unavailable'.
8.30: Eventually door is opened by a bleary-eyed Debbie. 'Sorry, got a bit pissed last night.' In we go. We explain that the children need to be on their best behaviour today, in order to show just how effective the Holden Childcare Programme has been.
8.35: Ask Debbie and Little Ted if they can change into their nice clothes. Little Ted explains, quite matter-of-factly, that he's sold them down the pub, 'for a bit of whizz'. Gofer dispatched into town to buy more clothes.
8.45: Big Ted emerges, says he's got to go to work today. 'Work?' we ask. We were rather counting on him being around. 'What sort of work?' Never you mind, we are told, but he should be back by lunch after 'the job is done'. Debbie asks if she'll get a new kitchen out of it. Ted explains that he was thinking of getting a nice new plasma for their bedroom. Debbie thinks he's joking. He's not.
8.48: Big Ted leaves. Little Ted asks if he can go. Big Ted says no, mutters something about 'health and safety'.
8.50: Big Ted returns. Goes upstairs and comes back down with a small toolbox. Grins at us and leaves again.
9.00: Film remaining three members of the family having an orderly breakfast. This time I manage to get in my 'a family that eats together, synergises together' without a fight breaking out.
9.30: Little Ted and Epernay help clean the kitchen, with much sulking and 'accidental' dropping of plates.
9.35: New clothes arrive. They're the same as the ones we bought yesterday, which causes much disappointment.
9.45: Debbie asks Little Ted to finish clearing up after breakfast, and he tells her to fuck off. She hits him over the head. He throws a plate at her; which just misses and smashes the (already cracked) kitchen window. During all this, we film Epernay stealing money from Debbie's purse.
9.50: I ask Dom why he did not stop Epernay. 'The observer should never react with the system,' he said. What crap. We've made up this system. 'Besides,' he adds, 'I can sell the outtakes of this to Britain's Biggest Chavs on Channel Six.' Dom is merciless.
Noon: A good morning's work, all in. We even bribe Little Ted with a packet of fags to make a Airfix Spitfire. Naturally he doesn't make it himself, and when it's finished he inserts a lit banger in its fuselage and throws it out the upstairs window. I have to admit, I rather share in the fun, although it feels a little treacherous blowing up a Spitfire and not a Focke-Wulf.
12.45: Big Ted stumbles back in, with cuts and bruises to his face and hands. He looks both terrified and angry. 'Get that fucking camera out my face!' 'Language!' hisses Debbie. 'Shut it fucking off!' The cameraman drops it to his side, although I later learn he left it running. 'Where yer been?' shouts Debbie. ' 'Ave you been thieving again?' 'Mind your business,' hollers Big Ted as he heaves himself up stairs clutching his little toolbox. Little Ted runs up after him. Epernay just looks bored and sighs a lot. Debbie is fuming. 'What do you think he's been up to?' I whisper. 'Thieving, just like I said.' 'Thieving what?' 'Cars mostly.'
12.52: High drama! The Teds reappear. Both look white as sheets (although not their sheets). 'The law! It's here! Outside!' They bolt to the back door, but there was the unmistakable silhouette of a policeman through the opaque glass. 'Fuck! Fuck!' 'Language!' Both the front and back doors smash open. 'Are you getting all this?' Dom whispers to the cameraman, who winks. In burst four policemen, and the place fills with a seething mass of fists, bodies, screams and expletives as the Teds try to wrestle with the many arms of the law. After a few minutes, the Teds are in handcuffs. 'Edward Lampert?' Big Ted grimaces. 'I'm arresting you for theft of a motor vehicle . . .' 'Oh Ted, for fucking idiot!' Debbie moans. The policeman reads Big Ted his rights, and then turns to Little Ted. 'Edward Lampert?' A surly nod. 'I'm arresting you for breaking the terms of your Anti-Social Behaviour Order . . .' The policeman's words are interrupted by a gentle knock on what was left of the front door. 'Excuse me? Is this a bad time?'
13.02: Standing there is a ridiculous character in a purple velvet suit and a frilly shirt. His hair is luxuriantly long, and he sports a large rough trade moustache. Behind him stands a cameraman. All of us, including the police, are utterly nonplussed. 'My name is Rupert Steptoe,' he says. 'I'm here, to, um, Pimp Your Lounge . . .' The rest of his sentence is drowned out by our laughter. Even Big Ted laughs.
14.00: We comfort Debbie and Epernay and decide to call it a wrap. Dom seems genuinely sincere in his offers to help. I make some noises as well, but know better than to make empty promises.
15.05: As we shake hands goodbye, I ask Dom if he really thinks we have a show. 'We've got plenty in the can,' he says. 'Remember, we've only got to fill 48 minutes – that's how long an hour of TV is because of the adverts. And some of that 48 minutes is intro and credits, and some more is that annoying reintro we've now got to do after each advert break, as people's memories are so shit. That'll bring us down to around 43 minutes. Twelve minutes of that will be introducing you and the concept, another 15 will be the family in nightmare mode, which leaves 16 minutes to show them getting better, and we've got more than enough of that.' 'Really?' 'Trust me.' 'Not a chance!'
Sunday 16 March
So the great embarrassment I've been enduring all weekend is that Peter and Daisy are SO
MUCH BETTER behaved. Sally can't stop going on about it, especially at lunch today.
'I just can't BELIEVE that Daisy is almost potty-trained,' she said, as soon as I had sat down after cooking a magnificent leg of lamb.
'It's brilliant, isn't it?' I said. 'Halet obviously came at just the right time.'
Sally laughed as I carved.
'So you're saying she kind of came in at a late stage and took all the glory?'
'That's right. I did all the hard work, and she scooped up the prize.'
'You are joking aren't you?'
'Not at all.'
We looked at each other and smiled, although mine was through rather clenched teeth.
'OK, OK,' I said. 'I admit, it seems as though Halet has done a great job, and . . .'
At this point, Peter put his hand up.
'Yes?'
'Daddy, please may I interrupt?'
Blimey, I thought, what else had Halet achieved during the week? Normally Peter just shouts over the top of our conversation until we give way to him. I could see Sally was thinking the same thing as well.
'Yes Peter,' I said, my gob well and truly smacked. 'What would you like to say?'
'Ah, I just want to say that Halet is very nice.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' I said. 'Why is she so nice?'
'Halet nice,' echoed Daisy with an enormous smile.
'She's nice because we do lots of things with her and she is very funny and makes me laugh because she is very funny.'
'How is she funny?'
'She likes doing funny faces and funny voices.'
''unny 'oices'' went Daisy. (Lower labial-dentals are clearly an issue for her.)
'What sort of funny voices?' asked Sally.
Peter then made a growling noise and burbled in some unintelligible language. He and Daisy fell about laughing.
'What does that mean?' Sally asked.
'I don't know,' said Peter, 'but I think it is very funny.'
Sally and I looked at each other, a little mystified.
'I don't know about you,' I said, 'but I'm feeling a bit jealous.'
'So am I,' said Sally. 'Here's to your programme not being commissioned so we don't feel jealous, and then again here's to your programme being commissioned so we benefit from more of the excellent Halet.'