job interview 3

When I get back to the table, I am careful to take a smallish sip from my pint of landlord. This is a job interview after all. No deep swigs for me. Not any more. Redford takes things to the next level. He's frank about the state of the show. 'Thing is Steve, it's fucked. Completely fucked. Stories are rubbish. Writing is shit. Actors are feeble.'

This could be true. It seems harsh but I don't know, I haven't watched the show. Not ever. No-one I know has (except Redford. Oh and except my friend Marcella. But she writes for the show. So doesn't count. And even she doesn't watch it often.)

The Show has five million or so regular viewers and yet you never meet any. People will tell you that their mum watches it. Or their granny. Or there's a maiden aunt they sometimes visit in an old peoples home in Scarborough who always has The Show on, which is why, for them, it is forever associated with the smells of bleach, cauliflower and wee-wee.

Despite - or because of - this people feel warm about The Show. In the media The Show is often praised, if faintly. It wins plaudits - awards too sometimes - for its gentle humour, its humanity, its heart.

'We've got to change everything,' says Redford firmly.

'Everything?' I say, (remember, I'm trying to sober up... I'm playing for time here.)

'Everything.' Redford repeats.

'What about the gentle humour? The humanity? The heart?'

Redford explains - as if to a slow child - that say the words gentle humour, humanity, heart to todays TV executive and they hear bleach, cauliflower, wee-wee. They hear the scrape of zimmer frames approaching. They see hoods and scythes. Say gentle humour, humanity, heart to Tristram the executive producer and he hears an accountant, dressed all smart casual, muttering 'aging demographic.' And an aging demographic is, as any fule kno, the wrong demographic.

I'm not sure why this is. After all young people don't watch TV. They don't. No, they don't. Stop arguing with me and think about it for a second. Yes, they have it on. Constantly. It's on all the time, an endless parade of legs and teeth, tears, kisses, people falling over, car chases and giggling. (Not explosions. Explosions are strictly DVD. Explosions are too expensive for TV), but they're not watching it. It prattles on in the corner, more or less ignored, like an amiable, occasionally entertaining mate. The kind who loses keys and gets entangled with the wrong sort of lover, the kind that doesn't learn from mistakes and can't stop talking. An idiot friend, the fuck up, the kind we've all got and that make us feel better about our own lives. (if you haven't got a friend like this - then I'm afraid it's you.)

For young people TV is like that. A chatterbox, you can safely ignore, who makes you feel slightly more in control and won't interfere while they get on with talking with their real friends via facebook or Bebo. Or they shop. Or play computer games. Or drink. Or talk. Or shag. Young people act on the advice they we so signally failed to take from why don't you back in the 1980s. They do something - anything - less boring than television. They don't actually switch off of course. They don't need to. They're not listening anyway.

It's the middle-aged and upwards that actually watch television. We're the ones who care, who bother to look through the listings magazines.

I say this to Redford. There's a pause. That's it, I think. I've messed up. This interview is terminated. But I'm wrong.

'I agree with you.' Says Redford. 'Only I'd keep that to yourself.'

Redford explains that he's been given permission to overhaul the show from top to bottom. There's going to a purge. A blood-letting of French Revolution proportions. 'Camera crews, make up, directors, set designers, storyliners, writers, actors. We've got to have a clear out. Start again. We're building up to a plane crash moment.' There's another significant pause. One of the things I was to learn during my stint on television is that The plane crash is never invoked lightly. Like priest mentioning Our Lady, continuing drama people always want to cross themselves when mentioning planes and the crashing thereof.

Ah yes, the plane crash. Even I have heard of the plane crash. The plane crash is one of Soap World's legendary moments, one of its key myths. You're reading this, so I guess you already know about the plane crash, but just in case: the plane crash was the moment when a show wiped out several key members of its cast by the simple, if brutal, expedient of having a plane fall from the sky. A breath-taking use of deus ex machina that was both ridiculed and shoved the programme to the top of the ratings. It also played out within weeks of the Lockerbie plane disaster where a plane, blown up by terrorists, crashed on the small town below. This event made the timing of the storyline cruelly distasteful. Or perfect. Or both, depending on your personal morality and position up the TV heirarchy.

It's time for Redford to put his cards onto the sticky, beery pub table. 'I'm thinking that you might fit into our new story team.' He said.

'Why?' I said. 'Why me? What have I done?'