Confessions of a Film Extra

‘Ladies please!!’

‘– perming a little kiddy’s hair.’

‘– looks more natural than yours!’

‘Baggage!’

‘Slut!!’

And, so help me, all the Mums start bashing the living daylights out of each other. Dominic and his assistants are spreadeagled protectively over their switches while Rose is trying to get into the studio with the rest of the mothers holding her back. Rising above this unseemly din can be heard the strains of ‘Dance to your Daddy, My Little Laddie’ sung by a very fat gentleman with a paunch so large that it looks as if he would have great difficulty getting into a position from which to achieve parenthood.

As always in situations like this I do not know what to do. To break into the studio seems like running stark naked into the audience chamber of the Vatican shouting ‘The Pope’s a Jew!’ and the sight of birds indulging in a punch-up freezes me to the marrow. The shenanigans in the control room are not going unnoticed by our studio panel and I am reassured about the state of Jason’s health when I see his face split into a wide grin at the sight of Rosie swiping another Mum around the kisser with her handbag. Only Miss Mealie is looking disturbed and I can see that Ralph must be able to contact her because she suddenly leaps up and tries to snatch the pills from Jason’s hands. Jason is not the kind of lad to take this treatment lying down and from what I can see on the central monitor screen, part two of the programme opens with the interesting sight of Miss Mealie and one of her little charges wrestling across the desk.

‘Dey my sweeties! My sweeties!’ screeches the treacherous little Jason. ‘My Uncle Timmy gave them to me.’

‘You swine!’ Rosie rounds on me immediately. ‘You’d stop at nothing to get on that programme, wouldn’t you?’

‘Now, Rosie, don’t be ridiculous –’

‘Poison your own nephew!’

‘Rosie. It was an accident. I thought they were the kid’s sweets. They haven’t done him any harm. Look!’

Miss Mealie has succeeded in wresting the pills from Jason and is quick to shove a couple past her own sensuous lips. No doubt she needs them. ‘Um, delicious!’ she pipes. ‘Would you like one of mine?’

Before Jason can think about it she pushes a packet of gob-stoppers along the desk and little Greedy Guts is on them like a flash. He is obviously the same stickler for principle as his Dad.

‘There, that’s all right then, isn’t it?’ I say, relieved. Miss Mealie clearly thinks so too.

‘Right, now here’s a question from Pauline Rogers of Twenty-four Crowmart Lane, Dagenham. She wants to know what the panel’s Daddies do when they come home in the evening. Who would like to answer that one? Jason?’

But Jason is not expressing a willingness to answer any questions. He now is looking very thoughtful and Miss Mealie has to probe. ‘I expect you’re glad to see Daddy when he comes home in the evenings. What do you do?’ She leans forward expectantly and Jason clears his throat and vomits all over the desk.

Chapter Two (#u60588bb1-0b50-5f2c-94f6-db7c88e697be)

‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ says Miss Mealie.

‘I think it made the whole programme very relevant,’ says Dominic soothingly. ‘It was terribly “now”. That’s what tellyvision is all about.’

We are in the saloon bar of the pub opposite the studio having what Dominic calls an ‘unwinding drinkypoo’ and I am wondering if one is going to be enough to get out all the twists.

‘Does your sister often behave like that?’ asks Miss Mealie.

‘You mean like when she threw me through the glass window?’

‘I was thinking of when she tried to strangle you with the microphone lead.’

‘She took evening classes in karate. That’s where she got the technique, she always had the temper.’

‘Remarkable. I sometimes think these programmes bring out the worst in the mothers.’

‘They don’t do a lot for the kiddies either,’ I say, gingerly rubbing the ankle that Jason tried to separate from the rest of my leg.

‘I won’t miss him,’ says Miss Mealie with feeling. ‘I don’t think I offend you too much when I say that?’

‘Oh no,’ I agree, ‘I wouldn’t miss him if I was looking down the sights of a rifle.’

Miss M. takes another hefty swig at her brandy and I signal for the barman to repair it.

‘He has some very nasty habits. He never went to the toilet, you know. When we came to check his locker we found out why.’

‘We had the same trouble with the broom cupboard at home,’ I say. ‘Mum used to think it was the cat. She belted the living daylights out of the poor bleeder.’

‘What have you got on tonight, Timmy?’ says Dominic suddenly, giving me one of those funny looks, as if he means in the underwear line.

‘Well, I – er,’ Miss Mealie is screwing up her eyes in a ‘don’t do it, buster’ grimace, ‘I’m going out with one of my mates,’ I lie. Miss Mealie nods approvingly.

‘I thought of having a few people round for drinks,’ says Dominic expansively. ‘Why don’t you and your friend drop in?’

‘I think he’s got tickets for something,’ I gulp.

‘Well, afterwards then.’

‘If we don’t get out too late. Ta very much.’

Dominic’s eyes narrow. ‘I hope you’ll be able to make it,’ he says firmly. ‘I want to get this situation regarding the new format straightened out as soon as possible. With us having to replace young Noggett it’s a good moment to introduce a new face at the head of the table.’ He looks at Miss Mealie whose smile is about as natural as a set of orange peel gnashers.

‘Jason is definitely out, is he?’ I ask trying to conceal my satisfaction.

‘Definitely. He’s lost the public’s confidence. They can accept what happened but they won’t want to bite their nails down to the quick waiting for a repetition. It’s not fair on the child, either.’

‘Indeed, no,’ I say, shaking my head gravely.

‘I must be off,’ says Dominic giving my arm a squeeze. ‘I’ve got to chill the crème de menthe. Do hope you will be able to look in later. It will definitely be worth your while. And – er, do bring your friend, there’ll be lots of people. Forty-seven Carmarthen Mews. You won’t forget it, will you?’ He gives a little wink and practically dances out of the pub.

‘The place is riddled with them,’ says Miss Mealie disapprovingly, before he is out of earshot.

‘U-mm,’ I say. It is occurring to me that I might be on the outskirts of a dicey situation. Dominic Ralph may well have a scrambled hormone balance but he is in a position to turn me into a telly star. As the solution to any sexual hang-ups that I feel in the next few minutes, Miss Mealie has a much bigger future, but she is obviously not sobbing with gratitude about the prospect of sharing the billing with Uncle Timmy. Maybe I had better keep the demon lust under control tonight and slip round for an arm distance chat with Dominic later.

‘I never meet a real man these days,’ says Miss Mealie, running her finger round the rim of her glass. ‘Only poofs and snotty little kids.’

‘Don’t you like children?’ I say innocently, sliding her glass towards her.

‘Are you kidding? Hey – did you hear that? Joke.’

‘Fantastic,’ I say.

‘The only thing I hate more than kids is mothers. But then you know that. Do you know what I like?’