Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

On Returning From the Dead

I did indeed promise, dear reader, did I not, that I would relate not only the circumstances of my arrival in society, but perhaps also a brief account of my activities in what I believe you would refer to as the modern world.

The circumstances of my arrival were, I believe, first put into the mind of the millionaire Richard Branson upon watching the cinematic production Jurassic Park. I understand it was his reasoning that if dinosaurs could be returned to life then perhaps famous authors of the past could be re-created and formed into an elite crime-fighting organisation based in a revolving penthouse on the top of the Centrepoint Building. Although two days later it was discovered that his house had been filled for months with the fumes from an errant water-heating device, he had already put the initial stage of the plan into action and its subsequent cancellation left me alone in 1995, living on a building site about 200ft in the air near the Dominion Theatre.

As a woman who has always had her wits about her, I quickly found myself a position in the televisual media thanks to my closeness to the Charlotte Street offices of Channel 4 and an eventful half-hour spent shop-lifting in a number of Soho boutiques. Initially all this was very irritating, but I discovered powdered talcum, and then my clothing became a lot more comfortable. I was soon able to buy my first property, which brought home another miracle of modernity: that you can go to the lavatory inside the house! Yes! And you can imagine my delight when three days later I discovered my property actually had a toilet.

As I have already discussed in a previous missive, I worked on a few early shows in the genre of Reality Television. Frankly as a creative soul this genre does not meet with my approval, and when I was asked what should happen to these programmes, I suggested they should "End 'em all". Thus was I responsible for the naming of the premier production company in this genre. It is not something I am proud of, but I'm on a royalties-commission and it pays for a lot of Columbian Waltzing Powder.

And so as any mindful woman might in this accommodating world, I was able to accumulate a fortune. That left merely the affair of finding myself a man. This proved to be a matter of some simplicity, dear reader. I confessed to a circle of friends that I have not had sexual intercourse for nearly 200 years, and suddenly men are beating me off with a stick. No, wait, I've got that the wrong way around... Actually, no, not after last night I haven't. Oh, dear reader, to tell the truth, I'm walking like John Wayne this morning. But I digress (I'm certainly not moving in a straight line at the moment, that's for sure). This is a wonderful age to live in and in my few years here I've achieved the following:

I wrote the Doctor Who TV movie, although they changed my ending, in which the Master emerges from the Eye of Harmony dripping wet with his robes all clinging and tight and? Oooof!

I wrote the pilot for Alias, although there were a few alterations before it got to screen: it was a disappointment where they cut the scene in which Bradley Cooper emerges from his bathtub, soaking wet, his vest all tight and clinging and... Woof woof!

I wrote the treatment for Farscape which only had one small detail amended before being broadcast, in that the hero was no longer the world's only long-white-shirt-and-breeches-wearing shower salesman. I do still have the test footage of Ben Browder though.

I wrote Deep Blue Sea. They didn't change a thing. It was at this point I realised just how very awful Samuel L Jackson looks in a wetsuit.

It appeared I also had some promise as an Athletics reporter, but my audition was ruined when I mistook one competitor's approaching the assembled crowd for a desire for an interview. She pissed on my microphone, giving herself an electric shock in the privates that meant that she had to resign from the race. My career was over before it had begun, and for three months Paula Radcliffe was popular only at parties where she would fix balloons to the wall.

Oh, and I'm Belle de Jour.

1 comment:

Snooze said...

Jane darling, I like your scenes which were cut from all the shows. I wish you had worked on Van Helsing. Honestly, 2 hours and only in the last ten minutes is Hugh Jackman shirtless.