Based on the not-terribly-exciting BBC Consumer help programme thing, where Nicky Campbell shouts at people who make washing machines and kitchens and tells them it’s really “Just not good enough”. Enjoy… If you can.

“Shit! Get it out, get it out!”, he squealed. “They’re about to switch live to us.”
Nicky Campbell’s day had not been going well. His coffee had been too hot in the morning, his bagel had burst all over his new gay pink shirt in the afternoon and now this. Some fucker had set him on fire seconds before the cameras were due to go live.

“I’ll fucking murder whoever did this. I swear”, he screamed as the red light blinked on. Nicky was live on the BBC. Presenter of “Watchdog” and being of Scotness, he was used to this kind of shit. He’d grown up on the streets of Glasgow, or at least he thought he had - he hadn’t checked recently - where being set on fire was something you just had to get used to. The corridors of the BBC were no safer. Acts of random arson were commonplace. You brought three changes of clothes to work every day. At least one set would be burnt to fuck come home-time.

“Nicholas! You little shit! Are you traipsing fire int’a the living room again?”, his father would have bellowed. “Yes pa. Sorry pa, won’t happen again, pa.”

Water sprayed into his face, his chest, two of his shoulders and his crotch, extinguishing the blaze. He spoke his lines, presented with years of practice through the fine mist that had now formed around him. “Welcome to Watchdog. The show where you, the consumer, have…”, he stopped mid sentence. He raised his eyebrows, listening. The crew were staring at something behind him. He turned slowly to see what the rustling, moving noise was behind him. “Oh Christ, no…”

Julia Bradbury was standing on the desk, naked, swinging her pendulous breasts in full view of Camera 2 while laughing softly to herself. Nicky hung his head and begun to cry.

Curiously shaped clouds in the sky are laughing at me. Make them stop, please