CHAPTER NINE
– UNREALITY TV AND NOBEL THRONES –
It was inevitable.
Television had to come calling.
But it was not live interviews they wanted. Nor was it with invitations to sit as a judge on reality TV shows. And thankfully it was not with invitations to sweat it out in some jungle oven or on a remote beach with scantily clad young women groping him. Though the last one was tempting.
No, the television approach that reached Fred via the public relations guru he had been forced to hire just to keep him off the front pages of the newspapers was rather interesting. It was one of the minor terrestrial channels that came up with the proposition.
“They want to make you a star,” the PR man told him. “They want to make you a household name and in doing so make you a vast amount of money.”
“I don’t want to be a star,” Fred said.
“You’ll be a household name. Like Richard Branson. James Dyson. They’re both Knights now.”
“I don’t want to be a Knight.”
“They want to give you a shed load of money.”
“I’ve already got a shed load of money. I think.”
The PR man was not to be put off. Fred knew that he was not really the beneficiary the PR man had in mind. Of course he wanted Fred to become famous. That would mean that in response he also became famous. And richer.
“Fred,” he said. “Fred, listen to me. You are already famous. You are already a household name. At least LIT-TISSUE is. And I can believe you’ve already earned considerable sums of money. But, hey, why stop there? You can take it a level much higher. They want to lift you up to unimaginable heights.”
“Why would I want to be lifted to unimaginable heights?” Fred wanted to know. “You know how they say about the bigger they are, the …..”
“Not you Fred. Not you. And not this. This is not some quick thinking pink pants and white shoes promoter who wants to ride on your coat tails to his own short period of fame. This is a genuine proposal.”
Fred had to concede that what the PR man was saying was close enough to the truth. The proposal by the television company was interesting. What they wanted to do was create a seven episode series about LIT-TISSUE. How the idea germinated. How it developed, covering the highs and the lows of trying to get it off the ground. Its huge success. The personalities involved.
“It could be a gold mine,” said the PR man. “And, if you don’t want to keep the profits you can give them to a charity.”
Fred pondered. “Hmmm ….”
“Bowel cancer,” the PR man almost shouted. “That would be the ideal charity. Research into combating bowel cancer. It’s a natural.”
Still Fred was not certain. The idea of opening himself and his life to the world through a television programme was not something he would normally consider for a second. But the thought that he could do something meaningful as a result began to appeal.
“I’m not saying I agree,” he said finally. “But what would actually be involved? I would need to know all the details before even considering it further.”
“Of course, of course,” nodded the PR guru. “Leave it to me. I’ll get all the info together and we can then discuss how to take it forward. This is a fantastic opportunity. Leave it to me.”
So Fred did that. He left it to the PR man who surprisingly came up with the goods.
Within another three months the seven part series was in production with one well known actor, two lesser known but credited actors and a retinue of unknowns. It would not be shown until the autumn schedules were decided but in the meantime the entertainment media picked up on the story and began covering it extensively.
THE LIT-TISSUE CHRONICLE was rapidly becoming the flavour of the month even though not a single frame had been seen by anyone.
“This is unreal,” Fred said to one of his friends over a meal at his second flat.
“Reality TV,” said his friend. “That’s what it is. Reality TV all over again.”
Fred shook his head. “No it isn’t. Reality TV is live television with real people doing real things in real time. This is unreality television.”
“Whatever. Whatever it is, you’re going rake it in.”
“I don’t care about that. Well, I do in a way, because the more money that comes in the more I can give to the charity.”
“There you are then. Your novel bog rolls will help save lives.”
Suddenly his friend smiled. “Novel bog rolls. Get it? Novel. Novels. Books. It’s brilliant.”
And that financial help came even before the first episode of THE LIT-TISSUE CHRONICLE was ready and scheduled to see the light of day. Advertisers leapt on it eager to pay just about anything to be associated with what was heading towards becoming the country’s top household product. The more the advertising revenue, the more money that landed in Fred’s business account. Had he bothered to enquire of his accountants what the balance was he would have been shocked into silence to learn that he was already a millionaire. The early forecast of his earning a shed load of money was dramatically short sighted. If it was a shed, Fred said to himself, it must be a bloody big one, at least the size of the shed or wooden hut at Bundingo more than fifteen thousand kilometers away on the other side of the world where he had experienced the first inklings of his project.
He had a lot to thank old Benjamin Thompson and his barbequed goanna for. Which got him to thinking. What could he do to express his thanks? A gift or donation of money of course was the obvious answer. But he wondered if there was something else, something that might benefit the aborigine residents of Bundingo long term.
The Noble Toilet Company claimed to be able to offer what they referred to as the ultimate in luxurious top quality portable toilet facilities. Along with the physical beauty of the toilet itself, said the company, users would appreciate the peace of mind and comfort – not forgetting the assurance – of being able to use a loo of superior quality. Pride, the company boasted, was at the core of their business.
Fred recalled having read a book about toilets and pride many years ago. Flushed with Pride: Story of Thomas Crapper professed to reveal the story of the life of Mr Crapper who was said to have invented the flushing lavatory.
What was good enough for Thomas Crapper more than a hundred years ago was certainly good enough for Bundingo people today.
It did not take long for the media to learn of Fred’s plans.
As soon as word got out that Fred was giving away tens of thousands of pounds to a small group of indigenous people in far flung Australia he was inundated with requests for donations to other causes.
And not only to causes but to individuals as well. Fred did not realise he had made so many dear and close friends over the years as in their scores they crept out from under their rocks where they had been hiding proclaiming sadness at how they had managed to lose touch in the past. But now they had all found their equilibrium again and had ample time to renew friendships. How they missed Fred. How they missed his humour and honesty and generosity. How they so wanted to get together and swap stories from days gone by. If he could let them know when would be convenient for them to drop in to see him they could certainly make arrangements for someone else to look after their aged bed ridden mother, their terminally ailing child, their injured partner, a plethora of other needs they had to face.
Fred did feel he had a keen sense of humour, perhaps slightly different to the average person’s, and he did believe that throughout his life he had been honest, at least most of the time. As for generosity he thought he was as generous as the next Joe Average. Before LIT-TISSUE changed his life he had given handouts to beggars in the street occasionally, he had donated small amounts to a few charities from time to time, and in his every day life he had not been a Scrooge in his relationships with friends and acquaintances.
But he was not gullible. He saw the long lost friends for what they really were. Scroungers who had not been able to make it on their own and who now saw him as a milky cow they could sidle up to and siphon off some of his hard earned good fortune. Well, they could all think again. The Bundingo aborigines deserved to share in his largesse. They had taken him in without question and fed him as if he was just some friend who had dropped in on them unexpectedly.
Ok, the goanna was a mistake. But old Benjamin Thompson was not to know Fred’s soft white stomach was more delicate than their toughened black stomachs. And it was that combination of generosity and involuntary poisoning that led to Fred now being the massive success he was.
So Bundingo residents and visitors would no longer have to face the ignominious hardship of having to use a falling down weathered wooden shed built around a box with a hole in the top and a drum underneath. The Bundingo dunnies were being replaced with modern state of the art luxurious portable toilet facilities. And of course an endless supply of LIT-TISSUE rolls.
The local newspaper ran the story under a huge heading: BUNDINGO GETS DUNNY BONANZA. Beneath it ran the sub-heading: From humble drum to noble throne.
And if the local accolades were not enough Fred soon had other bigger, more eager interested parties calling on him.