Read Online Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes by Sue Watson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sue Watson
Tags: Humor, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, General Humor, Humor & Satire
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Nadia Sawahla but she’s far too busy.” I said, smiling sweetly. I’m becoming a twisted TV tart , I thought. Maybe it is time to get out .
If Debbie was nervous about the live broadcast, she hid it well. I wished her luck and she staggered off through the mud while I climbed into the satellite truck. This is where a live programme is transmitted from for an outside broadcast and where the producer and director and the more vital people like technicians sat during the programme. It’s always small and hot and cramped in those things, but the excitement and nervousness was tangible. It was ‘live’ and anything could happen.
Our director Sam told the cameras where to be and the vision mixer switched between all the different cameras, showing off the garden and checking everything was working before we set off on our first ‘journey’. I could see from the monitors that Denise was ready for her close-up and Al was also in the garden giving Bernard a pep talk. I noticed Bernard looked a little pale and pressed the ‘talkback’ button in front of me to find out from Al if all was ok.
“Mmm, he’ll be fine honey. Just a little bit of vomiting. I’m mopping him up now.”
“Christ Al, we’re coming to him in about three minutes, we’re about to go on air. Make sure he’s clean.” My heart was in my mouth. This first show needed to be brilliant so that people watched again. The thought of our leading clergyman vomiting in his own flowerbed seconds before we went on air made me want to be sick too.
As the music started my stomach filled with butterflies and the PA began counting down from ten. It felt like I was in the cockpit of a small plane about to take off. The weather could be calm or stormy and I was filled with exhilaration and dry-mouthed fear at the same time. There was nothing quite like this feeling and for those ten seconds it was actually almost worth all the crap and hard work.
As I watched on the monitors, my heart racing, I could see (with great relief) that Gerard’s violet garden looked a little less lurid on camera. It actually added a bit of colour to a potentially boring backdrop and it was certainly different.
Surprisingly, everything started well. Debbie did an opening piece to camera introducing the programme and establishing our location. She then introduced Bernard; “What a beautiful setting you have here, Reverend Butterworth. How long have you been vicar of this parish?”
Bernard looked straight at the camera and opened his mouth then he looked back at Debbie and back to camera. For what seemed like half an hour – but was only a few seconds – Bernard stood in front of the camera opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He’d been fine in rehearsals, but like so many people he’d completely clammed up as soon as the camera was whirring.
I looked at Sam and he looked at me; “Shall we do a tight on Debbie?” I was loathe to cut Bernard’s part so quickly in favour of waffle in close-up from Debbie but it had to be better than dead air and it was becoming horribly clear that nothing was coming out of Bernard’s mouth.
I could feel heat rising through my body and the blood rushing to my head. Debbie may not have had star quality, but she was a safe pair of hands on air and with my guidance on talkback we could get through it with Bernard still in vision. “Hang on Sam,” I said, calm taking over. I leapt onto the talkback that Debbie could hear in her ear.
“You’ve been at this parish for twelve years now,” I said in a presenter’s voice over the talkback. Debbie looked calm and repeated the sentence.
“Get the wife on, quick!” I shouted, hoping that crazy Denise in the role as ‘tainted Angel of Mercy’ would be able to step in and talk lucidly and colourfully (but not too colourfully) about a vicar’s life in a Northern town. She’d been schooled by me on what would be appropriate and warned not to talk about ecclesiastical orgasms or the
If Debbie was nervous about the live broadcast, she hid it well. I wished her luck and she staggered off through the mud while I climbed into the satellite truck. This is where a live programme is transmitted from for an outside broadcast and where the producer and director and the more vital people like technicians sat during the programme. It’s always small and hot and cramped in those things, but the excitement and nervousness was tangible. It was ‘live’ and anything could happen.
Our director Sam told the cameras where to be and the vision mixer switched between all the different cameras, showing off the garden and checking everything was working before we set off on our first ‘journey’. I could see from the monitors that Denise was ready for her close-up and Al was also in the garden giving Bernard a pep talk. I noticed Bernard looked a little pale and pressed the ‘talkback’ button in front of me to find out from Al if all was ok.
“Mmm, he’ll be fine honey. Just a little bit of vomiting. I’m mopping him up now.”
“Christ Al, we’re coming to him in about three minutes, we’re about to go on air. Make sure he’s clean.” My heart was in my mouth. This first show needed to be brilliant so that people watched again. The thought of our leading clergyman vomiting in his own flowerbed seconds before we went on air made me want to be sick too.
As the music started my stomach filled with butterflies and the PA began counting down from ten. It felt like I was in the cockpit of a small plane about to take off. The weather could be calm or stormy and I was filled with exhilaration and dry-mouthed fear at the same time. There was nothing quite like this feeling and for those ten seconds it was actually almost worth all the crap and hard work.
As I watched on the monitors, my heart racing, I could see (with great relief) that Gerard’s violet garden looked a little less lurid on camera. It actually added a bit of colour to a potentially boring backdrop and it was certainly different.
Surprisingly, everything started well. Debbie did an opening piece to camera introducing the programme and establishing our location. She then introduced Bernard; “What a beautiful setting you have here, Reverend Butterworth. How long have you been vicar of this parish?”
Bernard looked straight at the camera and opened his mouth then he looked back at Debbie and back to camera. For what seemed like half an hour – but was only a few seconds – Bernard stood in front of the camera opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He’d been fine in rehearsals, but like so many people he’d completely clammed up as soon as the camera was whirring.
I looked at Sam and he looked at me; “Shall we do a tight on Debbie?” I was loathe to cut Bernard’s part so quickly in favour of waffle in close-up from Debbie but it had to be better than dead air and it was becoming horribly clear that nothing was coming out of Bernard’s mouth.
I could feel heat rising through my body and the blood rushing to my head. Debbie may not have had star quality, but she was a safe pair of hands on air and with my guidance on talkback we could get through it with Bernard still in vision. “Hang on Sam,” I said, calm taking over. I leapt onto the talkback that Debbie could hear in her ear.
“You’ve been at this parish for twelve years now,” I said in a presenter’s voice over the talkback. Debbie looked calm and repeated the sentence.
“Get the wife on, quick!” I shouted, hoping that crazy Denise in the role as ‘tainted Angel of Mercy’ would be able to step in and talk lucidly and colourfully (but not too colourfully) about a vicar’s life in a Northern town. She’d been schooled by me on what would be appropriate and warned not to talk about ecclesiastical orgasms or the
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