Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes Read Online Free PDF

arms in the air no doubt telling an outrageous story to the crew and some kind, innocent parishioners who’d stayed late to help out. God help them , I thought. As I approached, I could see that Al was now thrusting his hips backwards and forwards in an obscene gesture, to a mixed roar of amusement and bewilderment from his gathered audience.
    “Ooh you are a terrible boy,” squealed an old lady in a knitted hat.
    “And you’re a naughty girl, Edna,” he retorted, waving a finger at her. She squealed again, slapping his bottom in mock chastisement. I couldn’t help but smile at this until I noticed some of the older parishioners who clearly weren’t taking too kindly to Al’s floor show.
    “We’ve planted all the bulbs. Now we’re just waiting for you to stop messing about and give us our instructions,” said a stern, Sergeant-Major type. His team of pensioner parishioners nodded and my heart sank for a second time. The Major didn’t look like he’d be fobbed off with any TV show tickets, least of all to I Know My Mrs .
    I couldn’t face it, I needed somewhere quiet to think in peace, but while desperately looking round for an escape route, I caught Denise in the corner of my eye heading straight for me again. I wasn’t in the mood for more tales of Babylonian goings-on in the local pie shop, so I did an about turn and trudged in the opposite direction. I could feel a billowing mist of rising panic. We had only a short time before our first live show. Nothing was ready. It was a technical, logistical nightmare. The assistant producer was a Butlins Redcoat, the vicar was revolting and his wife was a crazed nympho. My list of ‘Ten Things That Could Possibly Go Wrong’ had just reached twelve. At least it had stopped raining.
    I trudged through the walled garden and towards the church, walking away from the vicarage and all the queries, questions and demands. I needed to sit quietly and plan the running order.
    It was more peaceful near the church and finding a low wall to sit on I started jotting down timings in my notebook, illuminated by the halogen lamps. I’d only been there a few minutes when I heard a conversation nearby. I could hear the voice of one of the researchers talking to Bernard the vicar. The girl, Sacha, was barely out of her teens and in combats and a heavy fleece with an iPod strapped to her hip. She was holding the compulsory bottled water in one hand and a mobile phone that was so clever it could land spaceships, with the other. It seemed Bernard was getting cold feet about becoming a ‘TV vicar’ and I could hear her desperately trying to convince him that God was ‘cool’ with the filming.
    “I’m just not sure I’m comfortable with the intrusion, dear. My wife urged me to take part because she feels it would be good for the Parish and well, she likes this sort of thing but I’m beginning to regret it. The church should be a peaceful place and I’m really not sure I can continue...”
    I felt sick; without Bernard we didn’t have a show. Forget settling sleepers and wayward compost – we were in danger of losing our star and as the producer I needed to deal with it. I put down my notebook and staggered across the grass behind the church. It was horribly muddy – as it wasn’t going to be in shot, it had been used as an access point by the TV trucks and the once manicured turf was churned up and slippery.
    “Hello there Bernard, the rain’s finally stopped then?” I called, planning to use my smooth-as-silk producer’s people skills to allay Bernard’s fears.
    However, within a few seconds of striding across the boggy ground, I could see this was going to be harder than I imagined. The church grounds sat at the foot of the hill so all the recent rainwater had drained into it and turned parts of the soil into virtual sinking sands.
    In the darkness I hadn’t noticed how bad this particular section had become and despite making several attempts to set off determinedly,