The Appleton sisters are demanding soap roles
and suggested Peggy Mitchell's long-lost daughters.
Tell them we're onto it and get "Family Affairs" on the phone.
We've had a fax from the Playing Fields Association.
They don't want Heather Mills McCartney to present the awards after all.
Why is it they always chicken out at the last minute? Well, you know what to do.
- Book Ant and Dec instead? - As usual.
Sure? Playing Fields Association?
Why not? They were fine fronting the Booker.
- And... - What?
Bugger!
No disrespect, Martin, but why did the Tories come to you?
Remember the Iron Lady in the iron tank?
- The who in the what? - The famous tank-driving Maggie.
That was me. Tebbit and Hurd called it "inspired".
Bernard Ingham loathed it, but everybody loathed Bernard Ingham, so...
- You have no idea who these people are. - You want a tank?
If they want to launch a youth-led campaign with a phat tune, why come to you?
- They came to me and I gave it to Alison. - Why?
Alison, I thought this was something Cat could help you with.
I don't need any help.
Alison, I thought this was something Cat could help you with.
Cat? Did anyone call for me yesterday after I'd left?
Um...
Kym Marsh, Emma Bunton and Gary Barlow wanting lunch at the Ivy with Simon Cowell.
Vanessa just wanting lunch and... Julia Stour.
Ah. The same Julia Stour who edits the thing I'm hanging in front of your face now?
Yes.
The one about whom I gave specific instructions to notify me should she call?
She said it would wait until tomorrow, which is today.
"Alan Broadman, arguably Britain's most popular funny man,
"inflicted a vicious beating on his pregnant partner
"in the car park of Croydon Ikea on Bank Holiday Monday.
"Yesterday, a spokesman for Mr Broadman was unavailable for comment."
I landed him the richest golden handcuff deal in the history of light entertainment
and now he's about to tear it up.
But, most embarrassing,
I've also just made him the face of Danish furniture giant, Smorga.
Which rather begs the question, what the hell was he doing in Ikea?
Alan. How are you?
So you haven't seen the papers yet this morning? Excellent.
It was an unfortunate accident.
The footage makes it look like Nina's being hit,
but she tripped over an abandoned trolley.
Alan was struggling to stop her from falling whilst juggling three bags and a table leg.
"Ms Nomax sustained a black eye, a cut lip, a fractured arm, a broken ankle,
"dislocated jaw and extensive bruising,
"consistent with an unremitting attack with a blunt instrument."
I wondered if you might pop by the office this morning.
How about digging up some dirt on Nina?
She's out of rehab with a history of abusing partners.
Alan was merely protecting himself from another violent attack.
Plus her drug habits left her with an uncontrollable temper and brittle bones.
She's the daughter of the Bishop of Gloucester, teetotal
and five months pregnant.
Couldn't we push Alan's charity work? Build up a positive profile.
Make him untouchable like Lineker or Palin.
The public are savvy to celebs pushing philanthropy when things go pear-shaped.
- Look at Geri Halliwell. - Has she gone pear-shaped again?
- Alan Broadman to see the Dark Prince. - Sorry?
The Lord and Master of the murky netherworld that is public relations.
- Right... - Don't worry. I'll find my own way up.
It's a five-minute re-brief.
It's not even a re-brief. I've mapped out a timetable.
- Natalie's just picking it up. - I'll be busy nursemaiding Cat.
- As a favour? - No.
I'm meeting with Carol Vorderman and if we get on to diets, I could be there all week.
Carol's tomorrow.
This morning Natalie Delphin's coming in to talk about promotion of her book,
"Learning to Love the Clitoris".
Thank you very much, Nick.
Ah! The perfidious lair.
The machiavellian core.
And there he is - Diabolus himself.
- Alan! - Big hug!
Still putting on weight? Must be doing well.
- Come in. - I am unworthy. I am unworthy.
She insisted we went to Ikea.
It was the stress of shopping, the noise, the heat, the people.
Then we argued about the Torskig, Helski and Marlsburg ranges.
She had a go at my flat-packing, my tool selection, my trolley driving, my parking.
Then you're in the car park clubbing her with a birch-veneered table leg.
Yeah.
No. Like I said, I can get him a spot on Sky with Adam Boulton or possibly "Newsnight",
but forget about doing a set at the Jongleurs.
Forget about the Comedy Store, too.
How can I put this?
Because the press called him Comical Ali doesn't mean he's ready for a live audience.
How's he going to deal with hecklers? There you go.
I put it all down to drink, drugs and the stress of the job.
Mention that unholy trinity to the press
and your career will be over sooner than Gemini's.
There is nothing more nauseating to the common working schmuck
than some pampered millionaire celebrity
banging on about how hard life is at the top.
But it's the truth.
How many times do I have to tell you? Nobody gives a shit about the truth.
That is why you employ me.
- Ah, and what have we now? - Belinda Bell-Parkin's diary.
It doesn't take long for the lynch mob to gather.
"This is the most cowardly of acts,
"perpetrated on a person in no position to fight back - someone who loves you.
"Callous... obdurate... unforgivable."
Didn't she form Battered Wives In Media?
I thought I heard the clattering hooves of a personal hobby-horse.
We've also had a call from a Terry Towser, threatening to sue Alan for loss of wages.
And just exactly who the hell is Terry Towser?
Alan's lookalike. He's had an appearance at his Rotary Club cancelled.
He was also at a barbecue with the Nolan Sisters last night.
Are you telling me the Nolan Sisters have lookalikes?
No. He was at the Nolan Sisters with the Clare Short lookalike.
Now, there's a very nervous man.
You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.
- You want to give Alan a disease? - Brilliant.
The British public likes to see people struck down,
so they can help them back onto their feet again.
- What disease? - Over to you bright young things.
- What about TB? - Boring. We want something more dynamic.
- MS? - We want something new and frightening.
Like SARS, not some affliction used by loafers as an excuse to bunk off work.
I think you'll find that's M.E.
- An uncle of mine had Creutzfeldt-Jakob. - That's more like it.
I think anything involving dementia would work against him doing game shows.
I don't know though...
Difficult to get everything from one disease.
Right. So we trawl for symptoms, ring-fence them, slap on a name.
You're suggesting that we invent a disease?
Cherry pick. Take the best bits from, say, cancer,
add highlights from other ailments and come up with a name. That can't be beyond you.
No. No.
Most obscure diseases are named after two people,
so I'll get Cat to scan the telephone directories for appropriate names.
Chop-chop, people. We've got a career to save and a pestilence to unleash.
How about San Pedro Carson's Disorder?
Perhaps not.
"Pick's Disease manifests itself in a kind of withdrawal and language difficulties."
Could be awkward for television interviews - someone mumbling and dribbling.
It'll be Eamonn and David Blaine again.
What condition explains Alan's behaviour and gets the public onside?
Napoleon lost the plot because he suffered from haemorrhoids.
But you're talking about the retreat from Moscow,
not whacking Josephine with a table leg.
So not haemorrhoids?
Bogart-Caines Syndrome?
Sounds like someone who does bad impersonations.
OK. "Dilutional hyponatremia sometimes induces a coma."
You are fucking joking! No, not you, Doctor. Go on.
Hodgkin's Lymphoma affects people between 15 and 35.
So it eventually turns black and falls off? That's not gonna work.
- Scrivener's Disorder? - We rejected leprosy? Too challenging.
Prentiss McCabe Syndrome.
Symptoms are misplacement of moral fibre, loss of faith, hope, ambition, will to live.
- Tourette's. Fuck! - Jamie...
What about worms in the eyes? Loa loa. It's tropical.
Get real, Alison.
"Rectal polyps or priapism,
"where you suffer from a persistent and painful erection."
- Well, we've all been there. - Yes.
- Breakfast? - Mm.
- OK. Marquierro-Hennell Disease or MHD. - Or MH.
Like the initials - makes it easy for the hacks to type up.
- Symptoms are... - Symptoms are...
general fatigue, dizziness and, in extreme cases, coma.
- Inappropriate flashes of anger, obviously. - Excellent.
- Also some weight gain. - Bad idea.
- Told you. - Yellowing of the skin.
Superficial skin discolouration is good. Also rashes, scabs, etc.
- Anything achievable with a make-up artist. - Give him some fits.
No known cure, but if treated early a normal existence can be regained after six months.
Make it 12. Milk the pathos.
Also add an element of risk.
Seizure, heart failure, collapsing kidneys.
Alan's got to be in genuine danger. Anything to add, Martin?
I think I might already have got it.
I'm not great at lying, Charles. It's not in my nature.
Battering girlfriends more up your street?
I don't know that I can pull this off.
Course you can. Stop worrying and make yourself ill.
Remember the seven-day rule.
You'll be off the front pages in a week,
then a couple of months harping on about MH.
After that you start getting funny again.
(ALISON) The rash appears after the headaches and dizzy spells.
- Does it matter? - Whose bloody disease is this?
- How are we doing? - We can launch Marquierro-Hennell.
- MH. ...onto an unsuspecting world. Here we go.
One feels almost tearful.
Belinda Bell-Parkin.
Charles.
I thought you said you were taking me somewhere nice.
The Ivy's full of desperate wannabes these days.
- Whereas this place is full of has-beens. - So we can eat in peace.
Before you start grovelling on behalf of your client,
I have absolutely no sympathy for a man who beats up a woman.
I stand by every word in my article
and nothing you can say to me over a moderately-priced lunch will change my mind.
Wine list, please.
Now...
You'll be surprised to hear that I agree with every word you wrote in your article.
Alan's behaviour was indefensible.
Indefensible. In his defence, however, I would say just three words.
Marquierro-Hennell Disease.
- (EMAIL BEEPS) - God!
- What? - The site's been hit.
Mrs Joan Hersh, Greater Manchester.
"Finally I can put a name to my problem.
"I've been an MH sufferer for the past two years and have been rebuffed by doctors."
That's genius, mate.
- It wasn't me. - Ali?
- What? - You hit the MH site?
- Why would I want to do that? - (EMAIL BEEPS)
- There's another one. - Jonathan Rawlings, Bognor Regis.
Fuck! It lives.
(EMAILS BEEP)
- Projectile diarrhoea? - Only in the worst cases.
Christ.
I hope keeping this under your hat isn't going to be awkward.
- That's my problem, not yours. - Belinda, please...
- If Alan knew I'd betrayed a confidence... - That's your problem, not mine.
Oh, God. I should have kept my trap shut, shouldn't I?
Listen... I don't want to compromise your personal integrity, but I do implore you...
People need to know about this, especially if it's affecting celebrities.
No, no. If it's my job to alert the nation to this terrible disease...
so be it.
Martin? Can we have a word?
What can you tell us about Alan Broadman?
- Well, he's contracted MH... - How serious is the condition?
I'm not a doctor, but even I can tell that he's not a well man.
However, he's battling on - Alan's a real fighter...
not with his wife, of course.
- What's going to happen to his career? - I'd sooner not say anything more.
Suffice it to say that Alan is showing enormous courage
in coping with this really horrific condition.
He'd expect to be back in the saddle in six months... 12 months.
According to the website, there are four different types of MH -
relapsing advanced, primary advanced, secondary advanced and advanced relapsing.
Which one has Alan been struck down with?
The first one you said.
- He's got relapsing advanced MH? - By and large, yes.
That's quite mild. Why all the fuss?
Well, you could say that, but...
Getting cogent information about this little-known disease isn't easy.
We're learning more about it every day, every second.
And er...
I think all that I can say is that whatever brand of MH poor Alan has got,
it's one of the... you know, really bad ones. Definitely.
- Thank you. - (REPORTERS CLAMOUR)
- Why is he smiling? - "Courage through the pain".
No smiling.
- He doesn't look nearly ill enough. - He's in the early stages of the disease.
You worked on "Holby City", get some greeny powder on his face
and darken his eyes, bit of cold sweat. Where the hell's the rash?
It will take another two months for the rash to manifest
plus a further two weeks for it to be fully visible.
We are talking about an invented disease?
- Yes. - So speed up the rash.
- Charles, according to my research... - Break out the vermillion.
And, Alison, Alan's going to be up to his eyeballs doing publicity,
so I want you to do the web diary.
The what?
I want you to write a diary for Alan, detailing his daily battle with the disease.
- Why me? - I can't think of anyone better.
You created the bloody thing.
Good. Excellent. Make it so. Fine.
My first mistake was to hide it, pretend it wasn't happening.
This isn't an illness that announces itself. You just feel knackered.
You're thinking, "What is wrong with me?"
That must be very hard for family and friends.
I can't even begin to imagine what they must be going through.
If I try and put myself in their shoes...
- I'm sorry. - No, not at all.
Let's talk about your work.
You were about to start a UK tour and two comedy pilots for the BBC.
This disease has not and will not affect my work.
From time to time I may nod off in the middle of a gag, but...
I'm only joking.
No, no. The doctors are encouraging me to work.
Working's good.
I've got a list of nearly 20 young pop stars and celebrities
who are definitely Conservative voters.
- Though not one of them will admit it. - Why not?
The Tories are the party of Phil Collins and Chris de Burgh.
- What about the song? - Still working on it.
- Where's Jamie? - (CAT) He's not in today.
What do you mean?
The website crashed and we lost the chat rooms.
So he said he had to chase up a computer geek he knows from uni...
in Ireland.
Any reason why no one else is helming the HM account today?
We're on Martin's Tory thing.
Having completed today's diary entry for Alan, I trust?
"Health took a downturn overnight.
"Three hours sleep and then at the studio by six.
"Slight headache and nausea. Temperature up to 99.8 -
"a rise of almost one per cent on yesterday. Weight remains stable."
Can't you inject some emotion? Make Alan sound less like a financial correspondent.
"Dear God, this is terrible. Three hours of pitiful sleep in a welter of sweat.
"Head pounding like drums. Dry mouth tasting of bile.
"Discovered two new swellings this morning. Still, mustn't grumble." That sort of thing.
- It doesn't feel right, Charles. - It needs a little work, I grant you.
No. I don't feel comfortable doing this. I can't do it.
Alison, some are born to glory, some have glory thrust upon 'em
and others will be stapling 10 x 8s to cheap CVs for the rest of their working lives.
Now hop to it.
There are now in the region of 700 cases of MH worldwide,,,
We've gone global.
Health authorities are gearing up for more,
0ver to our Health Affairs correspondent, Paul Adderley,
In the United Kingdom, most of the reported cases have been in the North East,,,
It's not a method I'd have considered, but I have to admire its effectiveness.
We simply hold a mirror up to the society in which we find ourselves, Martin.
,, with suspected MHD,
Meanwhile, the story of Marquierro-Hennell Disease took a tragic twist this morning
when Mr Patrick Costello, a council worker from Leeds, hanged himself,,,
Fantastic. Our first casualty.
Mr Costello, aged 47, leaves a teenage daughter who is being treated for shock,
How is it up there on the tightrope?
A bit blowy, but I'm halfway across.
- Just don't look down. - Eyes straight ahead.
You've had me lying to everyone. Including my family.
Making up symptoms for a fictional disorder,
writing a weekly column listing problems I don't have,
feeling pain I've never felt,
conning the world in the most distasteful and shameless scam ever.
And now I'm about to appear on "Blue Peter" on a sponsored bunny hop
with eight fantasist MHD sufferers
and you're asking me to fake a cardiac arrest to secure film rights to my own life?
- It's a mad, bad, Bedlamite old world. - No!
- Hm? - You're fucking mad!
You're tired. Take a couple of days off.
Come back in a week's time, all guns blazing.
We can talk about the seizure then. Pumps on.
(PHONE RINGS)
- Charles Prentiss. - Charles?
Belinda. Do I feel another glowing tribute to Alan hitting the pavements tomorrow?
Perhaps I should read you this copy,
"Are there no depths to which the public relations agent
"will not stoop to keep the golden goose sitting on the nest?"
Had a very pleasant chat with Alan Broadman yesterday.
He's currently at a secret location, paid for by this paper,
where he's working hard to patch things up with the lovely Nina.
OK. "Come On Join The Boys" based on the Slade hit "Cum On Feel The Noize"
"All You Need Is Us" - self explanatory.
"We're Still Standing" based on Elton's "I'm Still Standing", obviously.
I just had a few. S Club's "Bring It All Back", "I Have A Dream" by Westlife,
"Right Now" or "It's OK" by Atomic Kitten, Sonique's "I Feel Good"
or Blue's "All Rise".
- Excellent. - Good.
But we'll go with "Things Can Only Get Better".
Labour have already used it.
- They're hardly likely to use it now. - Yes, but...
It's ironic, Alison.
Should the artist prefer not to perform it for the Tories,
I've got Will Young to cover whichever song we choose.
- (PHONE RINGS) - One forgets how the threat of obscurity
can galvanise the minor celeb.
- Martin McCabe? - Martin? Charles.
The high wire is fraying.
It has been called the "most pernicious stunt ever pulled"
and the man behind it all has been named as Charles Prentiss -
a leading figure in public relations and partner in the firm Prentiss McCabe,
Alan Broadman was whisked away from the offices of a leading newspaper earlier on
and is said to be somewhere in Devon,
Um...
- "Butch Cassidy", you know the end? - Yes.
Is it ambiguous or do they get killed?
It's ambiguous. They get killed.
Look, um... are you, as it were?
Are you all right?
Everything we do is predicated on deceit. Everything.
Charles...
If we can't be honest with each other, Martin, then what's the fucking point?
We're shit, Martin.
We're in the gutter and we are not looking at the stars.
- Charles, you're tired. - We deserve to be punished, Martin.
If not now, then in the next life.
Look... you're...
You're feeling a bit low and that's fine, that's fine and...
Bloody hell, Charles, get a grip! Sorry. What I'm trying to say is...
I know things are looking bleak.
You'll find a way because you always do
because in extremis this is what you do so well.
Lying? Go on, say it.
Yes, all right! Yes, absolutely! Come back to me. Please, Charles, come back to me.
Shit! Fuck it, Charles! We're a team!
We were a team, Martin. Not any more.
No. We've got to find something else to do for what remains of our lives.
Make amends. Anonymous charitable work... I don't know.
- God, you're good. - One does one's best.
- Christ, you're good! - Sackcloth and ashes, Martin.
There's nothing the furry-tongued palate of the British taxpayer likes more
than to see the bad guy blubbing in public.
- Brilliant. But will they buy it? - They'll buy it because we're selling it.
Because no matter who they think is in charge, it's actually us.
Can you see anybody out there?
- A few cars. One or two photographers. - Where's your car?
- Just outside. - Keys?
We'll laugh about this in a couple of months.
As long as we aren't in adjoining cells.
Shall we?
(ALL CLAMOUR)
Gentlemen...
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