No? Well I’ll tell you now as you asked so nicely.

In British TV we have Continuity Announcers and their job is to guide you through your TV viewing.

You see the staion ID, hear the music and then a voice says “Now on ITV1 Was minor singing celebrity Elvis Presley killed by the Fish People of Crawly? Duncan Warrilow-Jackson investigates for our new series WTF”.

For around 7 or 8 years on a freelance or contract basis I earned part of my living doing the Continuity for a few TV companies here in the UK.  Am I qualified to watch TV and talk shite for a few seconds every so often? PAH! How hard can it be? More to the point, how do you make it easy? I can tell you that! When you say anything you must know in your heart of hearts that no one is listening.

Apparently someone was listening and that someone was a syndicated newspaper columnist. 

“Philip, you’re in the paper” said Polly as I walked passed her desk. Seeing my slightly bemused expression she thrust a newspaper into my hand “LOOK!” It was 15th January 2000 and what follows is the “column de jour”

I HAVE a crush. Yes, I’ve decided to treat myself to a new fantasy for the new year. I am truly, madly, deeply, utterly besotted with the man who does the voice links between programmes on ITV.

Of course I’ve never seen him, and I wouldn’t know his name, but he has a really lovely voice, the sort of voice you wouldn’t mind at all waking you up with a cup of tea in the morning, even if it was a freezing cold, wet, January Monday morning.

Also, he has a great sense of humour and I feel that he knows me.

This is not just my imagination, I have proof. The other evening, we were watching Police, Camera, Action (not that it’s my sort of thing of course, but Jamie will insist) and at the end there was a loose dog on the motorway and Voice Link Man said: “And I bet you’re out there watching this and saying: ‘Oh, bless!’” And that was EXACTLY what I had just said. So he and I must have some sort of psychic connection.

I was telling Judy about my theory at work the other day. We were discounting all the millennium stuff that hasn’t sold, though who would want to buy a Chuckle 2000 Snowman which giggles when its tummy is pressed, says: “Happy New Millennium” and then vibrates like a washing machine on full spin is beyond me. Especially when they still cost £7.99.

It’s not like they can sell them next year or anything, is it? They’d have to put them into storage for the next 1,000 years before they’d be any use at all. And by that time I bet the batteries would have gone flat.

Anyway, Judy was rather dismissive of my fantasy of Voice Link Man, saying: “And here’s Coronation Street. But just before it starts, I’d like to ask my psychic soulmate Ashleigh Down of Bristol if she’d like to …”

“For God’s sake Ashleigh, don’t be so juvenile. You only like the sound of him because you can’t see him and don’t know him,” she said. “How much is the Millennium Glitter Make-up?”

“Three ninety-nine,” I said. She was probably right. But that’s the whole point of fantasies, isn’t it? Not to have the disappointments of real life. If our dreams came true, then there would be no need to invent fantasies. I said as much.

“It still sounds like a schoolgirl crush on someone unattainable, like Robbie Williams,” she said.

I wondered idly if Voice Link Man looked anything like Robbie Williams. I wouldn’t mind an older, more mature version of Robbie Williams. Personally, I’m not keen on younger men. They tend to smell of cheap aftershave and hormones.

“You’re only doing this,” said Judy, “as a means of escapism. What’s going wrong in your life that you have to start imagining romantic liaisons with a voice off the telly? I mean, how sad is that?”

At this point I went into a sulk. There really was no need for her to be quite so rude.

To make Judy feel sorry for having been so mean to me, I declined her offer of going to Mountstevens for a pastie at lunch time, opting instead to go to the estate agents to get somebody round to value our house as a first step towards selling it. I have to sell it so that we can move so that Mrs Andrews next door won’t press charges about me breaking and entering her house. A somewhat drastic measure, but a necessary one.

I felt a bit embarrassed going into the estate agents, never having done this sort of thing before, but barely was my foot over the threshhold than a perfumed gentleman in a blue suit was upon me, asking what he could do me for, ho ho ho. I told him I wanted a valuation and he said: “No problemo. What time would suit madam?”

“Oh you can’t do it today,” I said. Blimey, I’d been planning on painting the lounge, giving the garden a good going over and moving the furniture to hide the stains on the carpets before the house was valued.

“Tomorrow then?” I shook my head.

Maybe sometime next week? Maybe. I’d have to let him know. He pencilled me into his diary for Monday. I made a mental pencil note to remember to cancel the appointment on Saturday. He really was very keen. I hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed when he saw my house. Its reality doubtless wouldn’t live up to his fantasy.

Phones rings - “Hello, Philip Banks”.

“Philip, how are you? It’s David, did you get my email?”

“Fine. Hi David and no, in that order”

“The President is giving his first F***! The Nation’s in a State address at 3am UK time and we’ve made a promo for it, need you to voice it as it’s on-air asap.”

“Why is he waiting until we’re all in bed before he makes this address? What’s he planning?” ….

The Whitehouse, some hours earlier. Adie paces nervously.

“Will you sit down, Adie!” barks Mr President. He sits.

“Excuse me Sir Mr President Sir. My name is Howard at this time. Pardon me Mr President Sir”.  The President looks puzzled.

“Why do they call you Adie? I figured it was short for Adrian, you know the British gay name.”

“Sir Mr President Sir. My name is called Howard at this time and I am YOUR AIDE”.

“So you can get a dog for my yougest daughter? He’s called Jazz, lives in Portgordon near Scotlandshire.” Aide looks puzzled. “Kidnap, I mean dognap it at 3am British time coz I’ll have an alibi for then. Gonna tell the American people I’m solving all our economic problems by printing more money, cool huh!”

“Is that all you’re gonna say Sir Mr President Sir?” The Aide looks slightly worried.

“You think it needs padding?” ……………………..”You do, don’t you? I can tell by the look in your eyes. Forget the dog, it’s time to write some fiscal bulls ..”  The Aide coughs loudly.

_______________________

How was the speech? The TV promo went well and Jazz is still here. That reminds me, time for a walk.

Anyone who underestimates the Chinese nation has obviously never tried Kung Po chicken or seen the size of it (the country not the aforementioned dish). HUGE! What’s more I would guess that the human population is in excess of 25 million!! Yes, really! I am not joking.

What did you think of the above? Bollocks wasn’t it? Welcome to the world of blogging! It’s a license for people like me to parade their ignorance to the world or for so-called entrepreneurs (business-speak describing someone between bankruptcies) to get their lame product/service related websites “top o’ the search engine”.  The latter in particular is a waste of time. All you need to do is include the phrase “heavily lubricated teenager” and you’ll get so much traffic to your web site the server will turn into an onion, pickle itself and then leap onto the plate of a passing Ploughman to supplement his lunch.  Having posted a photo of the newly oiled 17 year old camshaft of my Lotus Cortina I know this to be true.

Should anyone read this, be warned - I’m going to try and blog every day.

Eventually, the net will collapse with the centripetal force of links linked the links.