Fade in. Then out again. Boom moved a little to the left. “Dammit, Nigel, where did you learn to be so royally useless.” Boom replaced in original position. Sullen indignation of Sound Recordist.
I sit here, reclining in my fashionable regency chaise longue, wreathed in finest crimplene, swollen with pride. An almost paralytic amount of it, to be precise, and curiously enough measured in gills – a truly archaic unit of measurement.
“More wine, dear wife,” I call in my arrogant yet probably endearing manner.
She sways in like Badgers never had a graceless moment, though her brother Derek has the coordination of a baby elephant with a case of rickets, so I know it to be just plain luck.
“Get your own wine,” she shrieks.
Briefly I ponder the nature of the universe. That a mighty god watches us always begs the question where the f*** was he when I asked her to marry me. Off fishing probably. Or carving figurines of dolphins. Or whatever – for is it not sang, “God Only Knows”, and that is a direct quote, entirely unedited or paraphrased. From the bible and everything. Maybe.
I wasn’t really regretting the decision to abandon Belgium to its fate. And I think we can all say, with total lack of offence, that nobody likes Belgium anyway. Romaine was worth it. The way she walks (erect), the way she talks (orally), her very attitude (spunky).
“CUT! Come on! We’ve talked about this, man. Stick to the script. People died in the congo for this, or something. Just keep it together and leave out the sexual weirdness.” A pause. “Nigel, move that fucking boom, or I will use it to clean your oesophagus. From below. Good. ACTION!”
“Was it worth it?” I ask, doubts assailing me like chickens fired from a cannon into the side of a barn.
She grimaces in a fever of over-acting, throwing herself to the floor before spearing me with a glare and saying, scornfully, “We got the world. Nobody likes Belgium. I can’t believe THE INTERVIEW OF THE CENTURY ended in our world domination, in a quite unbelievable and entirely un-thought-through way.”
“Yeah,” I said. I’d failed Belgium, but married the leader of the earth’s first global tyrannical dictatorship. It was a small price to pay. If only for the fringe benefits. I get free parking and everything. Screw Belgium.
“CUT! Thank Christ we can all go home now.”
Cue embarrassing bloopers reel, featuring the moment on the set of the interview when the interviewer is unwittingly racist, and the time the actor playing Sir Kenneth Badger accidentally shot an urchin in the back.
Fade to a distinctly inspiring void that consumes the universe.
Let there be light.