What’s The Fat Cow Wearing This Week, Then?
Catchy title for a TV show?
I think so, but the powers that be didn’t. It probably didn’t help that I was absolutely shitfaced when pitching my title idea to them either. (Don’t judge me for drinking Crispin, I can see the white tide marks on your nostrils).
So that fashion thing I did with a fat brand the other week is being turned into a television thing – WHICH I AM NOT TAKING PART IN because, apparently, I am “too gregarious and would probably turn up to filming drunk.” That production company know me too well.
Well enough to know that yes, of course I’d have a few before filming and that when they introduced me to the fabulously flamboyant, fasionable, trans-dressing* stylist-come-presenter, I wouldn’t be able to conceal my amusement. And I also wouldn’t agree to be dressed in the horrific ensembles they chose for me to wear for SHOCK SHOCK TV value.
I filmed the pilot for them though because they gave me a few hundred quid and I was skint.
Yes, of course I had a few before filming and when they introduced me to the fabulously flamboyant, fasionable, trans-dressing** stylist-come-presenter, I wasn’t able to conceal my amusement. They were totally right about me and my lack of professionalism.
Things only got worse when they brought the rack of clothes out.
I was pretending to be a 40 something business woman with a busy work life, a hectic social life and three children who was in a clothes rut. I called her Susan, because she seemed like a Susan.
The styling team had chosen this fictitious twat a selection of work and leisure clothes, and my god, they were dire.
The show is about fat people you see, so they were fat people clothes from the high street; Glitter, slogans and ill fitting business suits.
It was dire and I had to pretend to like them, as Susan.
It was shit. Some of those clothes had so many sequins on that I came out in a rash.
And the stylist-come-presenter? He was off his face by 4pm and had to be practically held up for the last scenes.
I LOVE DOING TV.
Filming done, we decamped to the pub where a three hour long argument ensued over what the show should be called. When you see it on the telly, you will fucking die.
*I’m not up with the PC lingo of the day, sorry.
** Seriously though, I’m not made for 2017