Sometimes, I wonder if I’m being filmed. Not in a weird, stalkery way, like the one with the shaved head from The Wanted would feel if he knew how much I Googled him. More in a hidden-camera-let’s-mess-with-her-mind way. Like the time I attempted a nice game of pass the parcel at my son’s birthday, only for Smack My Bitch Up to be on the party tunes compilation. Or the day I was having a stab at shifting some baby weight at the local swimming baths and the strap on my costume broke, resulting in me flashing a single, pallid knocker to the year 7 swim class in the next lane. There are occasions when so much stuff that shouldn’t go wrong, goes completely wrong and so many good, simple intentions go arse-up that I end up asking if it’s all a big, fat prank. Maybe there’s some kind of phone vote involved. And a bunch of viewers who revel in my misfortune so much that they’ll gladly spend money on a premium rate number if it means they can help bring about my nervous breakdown. Basically, I think my life is The Truman Show meets Beadle’s About. And yes, I know they say Beadle’s dead but what if he’s not and what if that was all part of this elaborate, creepy ruse of his? He crash-landed a spaceship in someone’s garden for pity’s sake, faking his own death is totally the next step up from that.
Um, so ok, that’s the theory. Now picture the show – a really small camera has been hidden in my hair. I think it’s the start of a dreadlock brought on by the fact I’ve not had chance to shower for four days. It’s not. It’s a camera. Anyway. This is the voiceover. It’s the voice of Jeremy Beadle obviously, you know, what with the whole not being dead thing:
“Here’s tonight’s fraught mother, Abby. She’s had a crisis of confidence in her parental abilities and has decided to offset that morning she gave the kids Dairylea Dunkers for breakfast against a trip to the forest to pick some berries to make jam with. That’s what she wants to do, but viewers, how this actually works out is up to you…
If you’d like to see Abby enjoy a nice, low-key afternoon of berry-picking and jam-making with her children, text NICE to this number
Alternatively, if you’re laughing at her naivety and want these genteel, idealistic notions booted into touch, text FAIL”
For whatever reason – maybe because I’m a bit ginger or because I’m really intolerant of people who use apostrophes in the wrong place – the nation hates me. They all text FAIL.
“What our victim doesn’t know is we’ve had a dog do its business in the forest. What she also doesn’t know is that her daughter trod in said dog poo earlier. Watch what happens when, in an attempt to placate her whining daughter, Abby obliviously picks her up and….hang on….wait for it….YES!….BRILLIANT!….she’s done it, she’s smeered dog shit up her mother’s back! See Abby’s face crumple! Is she disgusted? Defeated? Viewers, I think it’s a bit of both!”
Cue the uh-oh-what-a-knob music
To round-up, the hidden hair camera captures me unsuccessfully trying to wrestle two uncooperative children into my car whilst simultaneously gagging over the smell of dog muck, right before Beadle bids everyone goodnight with a chuckle, a shake of his head and a cheeky wink.
Thinking about it, does anyone have Channel Five’s number? I think I could be on to something…