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Everybody Wants to be Famous

Phil, swivelled round in his massive office chair.

“Big boy, take a seat. I’ve got an opportunity for you.”

I took a seat.

“Do you wanna be on TV?”

I carefully considered the offer for a millisecond…

“Do I ever.”

“Good man, good man. I’d have done it myself but, you know I’ve got a great face for radio.”

How we laughed.

Pest control general manager, Phil O’Shaughnessy, was the best boss I ever had. Firm, but fair, and always one of the lads. He was the sort of leader you’d go over the top for. Phil was one of the few bosses who didn’t fire me or tell me in no uncertain terms to resign my position.

Ironically, some years later in a bizarre shooting incident he was the one who ended up getting fired…

The version of events I believe is the former paratrooper, Phil, was showing the bird control team his prowess with a firearm. It would seem there was an accidental discharge of the high powered air rifle. Phil shot a sewage technician from our sister company who was wandering across the yard.

Things quickly went to hell in a handbasket as the young man was hospitalised with a minor wound from a licensed firearm and was taking legal advice. In Europe, it’s quite different from America where guns are concerned as the authorities take a very dim view of shooting colleagues in the workplace. Health and safety got involved, followed by the police.

Word got out the cops were on the way to the depot. Phil, who had been googling the potential penalties for firearm offences went into a panic. So of course grabbed his car keys and went on the lam.

After searching the depot the 5.0 went looking for Phil at his home, but to no avail. I heard there was a warrant for his arrest, which I found hard to believe. What I do know is the boys in blue finally caught up with Phil a couple of days later outside Greggs in Swinton Precinct.

My erstwhile boss’s crime rampage wasn’t quite over yet. Phil, had a heart attack whilst being put in cuffs.

Our man once again evaded the law as he was stretchered into an ambulance and taken to Salford Royal Infirmary.

This proved to be the most temporary of reprieves. A few hours later the doctors revealed to the police Phil had faked his heart attack. He was promptly rearrested in his hospital bed and carted off to the station.

The jig was up.

If the Watergate scandal taught us anything it’s the cover up ends up being worse than the actual crime, and so it proved in Phil’s case. He got in more trouble for going on the run than shooting the man.

That said, he only got a fine and a bit of community service, I think. However, he did lose his job, and make the front page of the local rag.

I’m completely messing with the timeline here. That’s way off in the future. Right now, I’m sat in Phil’s office and we’re mapping out my journey to the stars.

The show I was to make my television debut on was called Princess Nikki. It was a showcase for the talents of reality TV’s Nikki Grahame

Grahame, was the breakout star in the television ratings sensation Big Brother 7. Big Brother was all the rage back then. Competing volunteers were filmed locked up in a house together for weeks on end. Hijinks would inevitably ensue as they attempted to impress the viewing public and avoid being voted out of the secure unit.

Nikki became famous for her outrageous hissy fits and temper tantrums during her incarceration.

The high concept of Princess Nikki was the classic fish out of water scenario. Nikki, each episode had to do a job she was entirely ill suited and unprepared for.

One week she’d be a farmer, the following week she’d be a zookeeper, and so on.

For my appearance Nikki would be assisting my company clearing out a filthy, vermin ridden house.

House clearances weren’t my thing. I was the pest control guy. My colleagues Matthew and Rob were to be the clearance men on the show.

Matthew and Rob were large, grizzled faced men with shovel hands. They cut an intimidating presence.

Like most reality TV Princess Nikki was about as real as a Rolex from Taiwan. The house clearance was a semidetached on Offerton Estate, in Stockport, which the production company Endemol had filled with said filth and vermin for the purpose of the show.

I arrived the day before filming whilst the crew prepped the set. As I placed the dead rats in the property I had a powerful realisation…

This was my big break. With my boyish good looks and easy charm I was going to be plucked from obscurity and become a star.

I’d start off on Princess Nikki. Then I’d do something like a fly on the wall documentary about pest control. I’d be the nation’s pest controller. As my talents got recognised the offers would come flooding in.

Chat shows, talking heads, presenting, maybe even go around the world on adventures. I’d be like a scally Ben Fogel.

Furthermore, I had discovered Nikki and I shared the same birthday. Surely, this was a further sign it was fate, no?

Ok, I know I was getting carried away. I’m not delusional, but just for a moment it was a possibility. Stranger things have happened and all that.

Turned out stranger things haven’t happened…

We did a screen test first thing next morning, which was followed by a production meeting. It was here all my ambitions of getting addicted to prescription drugs and throwing empty Moet bottles at my assistant died.

“Ok everyone, that’s about it. Nikki will be leaving her trailer in about thirty minutes. And can Matthew and Rob go to makeup, please?”

Huh… What about me?

“Yeah, we don’t need you for filming. We’ve decided to go with just the big lads.”

Matthew and Rob cheered…

“We think the contrast between those two and Nikki works better on camera.”

Noooooo…

“You’re too fresh faced and clean cut for this.”

Talk about damned with feint praise…

“No offence, but you look a bit gay.”

These were less progressive times, and the meeting erupted in laughter.

What about the sign? Nikki and I have the same birthday.

Then I remembered the last time I believed in fate…

I was in love with my then girlfriend’s best friend, Denise. Denise’s first husband was called Guy and her second husband was called Lewis. What were the chances of that?

We were destined to be together.

Denise and I went out on a date. There wasn’t a second date, because Denise said I was a bad kisser.

I now know if I see a sign the exact opposite of what I want will happen.

I had to stay for the shoot as the pest control consultant. I decided to be the best pest control consultant ever.

I’d like to say I took this approach because I’m professional and a team player…

In truth I desperately hoped Endemol would realise how brilliant I was and put me back in the show.

Now I really was delusional.

Jokes, witty one liners and having the crack with the crew. For the rest of the day I was on top form.

Completely pointless mind you.

After the shoot had finished and I’d collected my dead rats there was a wrap up meeting.

“And thanks for your help, Guy. In hindsight, I wish we’d put you in. You’re great fun, and you’ve got a look of (Big Brother presenter) Dermot O’Leary.”

Because I can’t have nice things Rob had to question the producer’s sincerity…

“He’s only blowing smoke up your backside because he didn’t want you in his telly programme.”

Matthew wasn’t entirely convinced either…

“And you don’t look like Dermot O’Leary. You look like the Pink Pest Controller.”

Even Princess Nikki who I was seeing up close for the first time was laughing along with everyone else.

That’s the thing with nicknames. You can’t choose your own, you never know if it will stick but, when one does you never lose it.

For the rest of my rat catching career I was forever known as the Pink Pest Controller.

(A clip from the episode of Princess Nikki I didn’t star in)

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