Happy Hour Part 4. Gav & Kev.

Compulsive readers (I know you're out there) will recall that Simon and Arthur are sitting in Nana Plaza reminiscing prior to visiting a gogo bar. The more beers they have the less likely it becomes. Suddenly...

"Arfer!!"

Oh no.

Two shaven headed, heavily tattooed young men wearing full Arsenal regalia have threaded their way over to Arthur and Simon and are preparing to sit down. 

‘Well, well look who's here. Gav and Kev.' says Arthur tactfully. 'This is my friend Simon recently arrived from the UK. Simon knows everything don’t you Si?’

‘Well, me and Martin Amis between us. I certainly have an opinion on everything which is the same thing. You have to in my business.’

‘Oh,’ says Gav, ‘What business are you in then Simon? Not a copper I ’ope.’

‘TV.’

‘I knew it!’ says Gav, ‘you’re that bloke!’

‘Fraid so.’

‘Look Kev! It’s that bloke. Smashtalk.’

‘Hardfaceoff.’

‘Tough Shit actually,’ says Simon, ‘Channel 4. Thanks for watching.’

‘I’ll be buggered,’ says Kev. ‘I’ve got an idea for a reality show. Bunch of blokes go to Thailand and meet some Thai girls…’

‘And…?’

‘Well they interact like. Have a few laughs. Never a dull moment. Lot’s of sex in it too…people will love it.’

‘Yes,’ says Simon, who has secretly approached BBC2 about doing some kind of documentary of his visit to Thailand, then thought better of it, ‘I can see a good audience for that. You might have trouble selling the idea to the Beeb. Or maybe not. Everything’s fair game on TV these days. People are hungry for diversion. Reality shows…so-called…the public can’t get enough of that stuff. Did you hear about the Dutch TV show. ‘Swap A Kidney’ or something? Apparently there’s an alarming shortage of donor organs in the Netherlands so someone at Endemol, big Dutch media production company, had the bright idea of getting terminally ill people to donate their organs. The audience got to vote on the most needy cases. I said something on my show about getting Hannibal Lecter to host it. If no contestants were suitable he could eat them. The actual operations could be done by naked Goth girl surgeons. Without anaesthetic. And so on. Lots of controversy. Always boosts the ratings. Turns out it was all a publicity stunt anyway. I’ve suggested a cooking show where celebrity chefs hack away at each other with meat cleavers. The winner gets to cook up whatever’s left. Hey this is just like old times…’

Arthur wonders if Simon enjoys being recognized. Simon senses Arthur wondering and considers elaborating on the nature of fame but decides to save it for later.

‘Fuck me,’ interjects Kev, ‘are we still doing dialogue? This sounds more like soliloquy.’

‘Sorry about that,’ says Simon, ‘I got a bit carried away. Jet lag.’

‘Have another beer.’

‘Better not. You see Gav, and Kev, I’m a communicator. That’s what I do. Communicate.  I don’t always say important and meaningful things but I do it in an entertaining way. The hard part is keeping it going. You need to be motivated. I do a show every week and I have a team of people working on it. I’m the public face of it. I get my energy from the studio audience but mainly I get it from the camera. Vanity? Sure that’s part of it but the thought of having my face and thoughts in millions of living rooms is what tickles me. I know a lot of people hate me too. They think I’m an arrogant prick but they keep coming back. It’s all nonsense, I know that, but it’s fun too.’

‘That’s all right mate. Have a ramble if you fancy it. Dialogue’s OK but after a while it’s hard to tell who’s talking to who innit.’

‘Very true. If you leave out the he said, said he bits it all tends to blend into an endless series of verbal exchanges. It’s only the punctuation that gives it any meaning.’

‘Just a long drone interspersed with inverted commas.’

‘It’s the author talking to himself half the time.’

‘Total self indulgence.’

‘And so on.’

‘Quite.’

'Language is a virus.'

'But it's all we have.'

Kev mutters something about the BBC being all poofters. Arthur looks a bit shocked.

‘Can we say things like that?’

‘Depends how it’s done. Ricky Gervais gets away with it.’

‘Ricky who?’

‘You really are out of touch aren’t you Arthur. Don’t worry about it.’