In which I feel like Charlie Sheen on a winning streak and get a surprise at a party
"I hear you've been causing trouble for some of my competitors," drawled Rupert Sawyer down the phone in his warm velvet voice.
"I wouldn't exactly say ? I like that," he continued. "There's nothing wrong with a little mischief, you know. I look forward to seeing you later." It was an odd exchange, but in my limited experience of talking to the head of Channel 8, they usually were.
I must admit I hadn't expected a call from such a high flying member of the media elite ? indeed, it was lucky I had answered at all. Much of the past week had been spent dodging communication with various PRs wishing to express their distaste at much of Enter4entertainment's recent content ? in short, a run of scoops on their shows.
Over a period of seven days I'd shared more phone calls with Melissa than the entire three or four month period we'd been on-off dating.
I had never felt more alive. Not only was she dishing out information like Cowell candy, but she seemed as genuinely excited by what I was doing as, well, I was. Yes, she had a boyfriend, and yes, he was in fact the key to much of the information that was paying my rent ? but still I couldn't help but feel like every time we spoke I was pushing him a little further out of her life.
Of course, just like Aristotle, I was fully aware that I must beware the man of one book ? even if that was a dirty great tome entitled X Factor Secrets. It was with this half baked armchair philosophy brimming within me that I had begun investigating new and daring avenues of stat-ological prosperity.
Doctor Who, a tried and tested banker, appeared an obvious target. What would happen if I started uploading bits of the shows to the internet? Would the BBC really be able to get me? So far, it appeared not ?
It's easy to describe in numbers (75,000 views) but impossible to describe in words how exciting it was ripping The God Complex (Series 6 episode 9 to Whovians) off the BBC previews service and then uploading the first five minutes on the site.
Boom! What with a bust on the embargos for the contestants on Big Brother and Strictly last week ? I was no longer just surviving ? just like Charlie Sheen, I was #winning.
"I didn't know you'd be here," I said awkwardly to Melissa, all too aware that with such beauty is usually never far from a boyfriend. I was right.
"Oh, yeah, Martin does some work for Channel 8 sometimes ?"
"Ah, OK ?" I began, still standing a little too close to her for comfort after a kiss on the cheek.
"By the way, have you got the final four boys I sent you? I can't believe Frankie Cocozza and Craig made it through, can you?"
Before I had a chance to tell her that I was already virtually dining out on knowing who Gary Barlow and Robbie Williams had sent through from judges' houses to the live finals ? and to step away from her ? I was interrupted ?
"All right my old mucker!" exclaimed Sam. "You're on bloody fire! Not a bad do this ?" he said, as he grabbed another mini-cheeseburger from a passing waitress. "Sawyer knows how to throw a party. The last time I ate this well, I was in Soho ? and not at an all-you-can-eat buffet, if you know what I mean?"
I didn't.
"Guess who I brought ?" he continued. And then, as if from nowhere, John appeared.
"There's a bird over there that reckons she can get me to be the next star of the Batchelor," said John. "Alright, Mel, I almost didn't recognise you without the bikini ? did you see my comments on Facebook?"
She had.
Just as I was about to apologise for John, Sam unveiled the second of the plus two allocation he'd screwed out of the Channel 8 press office.
"I feel like Cilla Black," he said, as Mrs TV stepped out from behind an ornate pillar.
Before my estranged girlfriend had a chance to speak, Sawyer arrived with an attractive blonde on one arm and an extravagant cocktail in the other.
"Good, fantastic, you made it," he exclaimed to everyone (and no one) in such a way as it became apparent he may have enjoyed a little more than just the free bar. "And this must be your girlfriend ? very nice ?"
Instinctively I stepped away from Melissa towards Mrs TV, at the same time Mrs TV veered away from me towards Sam who in turn bumped into Sawyer, knocking his cocktail to the ground.
The sound of smashing glass silenced the room.
Beat.
I felt something rumbling in my pocket, I tried to ignore it. But then the ringing started ?
After some fumbling around in my trouser pockets in full view of the partygoers, I made an executive decision, I'd answer it ? It would turn out to be the worst decision I'd ever made?
(Our friend will return in "The Beginning of the End")
Source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2011/sep/18/digital-economy-or-bust
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