Sequel: Untitled Two ›
Untitled
Chapter Thirteen
I arrived at the studios within plenty of time. I went and sat in the little waiting room bit before the studios just to go and look over the papers that I would have in front of me whilst I ranted about how the media portrayed our generation as being stabbing lunatics.
God the sex had been good. The last time I’d had a shag as good as that was pretty much never. Josh had been good, but Darren was literally just something else. I hope he stays there all day, then I’ll have him to come home to. Which will be just the icing on the already ladened cake of glory.
I was getting distracted. I needed some space from him. I’d have plenty of time for proper undistracted and not a care in the world sex after I had made this stupid report/speech thing.
No, it wasn’t stupid. I was going to change the nations view of teenagers. Which would help my generation, and would make Darren and the parents and the sibling proud of me.
That was something, I’d hardly said hello to the parents and sibling in ages. Neither of them could make it to my party. So I promised myself, once and for all, that I’d have a good long chat with them when I got back from here later on. Providing Darren wasn’t horny enough to knock over a bus.
A woman came through:
“Richard?”
“Yes?”
“Your public awaits.”
Shit. I’d hardly looked over my papers at all. My mind had wandered. Oh well. I’m sure that I can refer to them once I get in there. It’s what I normally do anyway.
She led me into the studio where I was to address the entire listening public of the nation. She rushed straight back out and fetched me a coffee just to my liking. She asked if I needed anything else, I replied no, and thanked her.
Radio 4 was currently broadcasting from elsewhere in the country, which was why I could be taken into the studios and be ‘sat down in the chair of despair in the room of doom’. God, that had been a good phrase that my French teacher had used before this whole thing with the BBC had happened. I had liked her, she was by far the best teacher at that school. And that was how she would talk about preparing for a speaking exam. She was great.
It was now 5 to 3. I was told that I had five more minutes through a little thing that popped up on my work MacBook. Although I could really have worked that out for myself. That’s the only problem with technology, and providing you don’t become over reliant on it, you might have a brain by the end of this century.
3 more minutes. I decided to look over my papers, to see what I should mention first.
2 more minutes. I started drinking my coffee.
1 more minute. This was when I was to just sit there, and do deep yoga breaths and close my eyes for 20 seconds, and then open them just before I went on air. It helped me get my bearings. I opened my eyes.
The red light came on.
“Hello everyone, today I would like to discuss how on earth the media can get away with constantly telling everyone, that us teenagers are all completely and utterly idiotic creatures, that smoke, drink, take drugs and shag and stab everything that moves.”
This was going to be a good discussion.
God the sex had been good. The last time I’d had a shag as good as that was pretty much never. Josh had been good, but Darren was literally just something else. I hope he stays there all day, then I’ll have him to come home to. Which will be just the icing on the already ladened cake of glory.
I was getting distracted. I needed some space from him. I’d have plenty of time for proper undistracted and not a care in the world sex after I had made this stupid report/speech thing.
No, it wasn’t stupid. I was going to change the nations view of teenagers. Which would help my generation, and would make Darren and the parents and the sibling proud of me.
That was something, I’d hardly said hello to the parents and sibling in ages. Neither of them could make it to my party. So I promised myself, once and for all, that I’d have a good long chat with them when I got back from here later on. Providing Darren wasn’t horny enough to knock over a bus.
A woman came through:
“Richard?”
“Yes?”
“Your public awaits.”
Shit. I’d hardly looked over my papers at all. My mind had wandered. Oh well. I’m sure that I can refer to them once I get in there. It’s what I normally do anyway.
She led me into the studio where I was to address the entire listening public of the nation. She rushed straight back out and fetched me a coffee just to my liking. She asked if I needed anything else, I replied no, and thanked her.
Radio 4 was currently broadcasting from elsewhere in the country, which was why I could be taken into the studios and be ‘sat down in the chair of despair in the room of doom’. God, that had been a good phrase that my French teacher had used before this whole thing with the BBC had happened. I had liked her, she was by far the best teacher at that school. And that was how she would talk about preparing for a speaking exam. She was great.
It was now 5 to 3. I was told that I had five more minutes through a little thing that popped up on my work MacBook. Although I could really have worked that out for myself. That’s the only problem with technology, and providing you don’t become over reliant on it, you might have a brain by the end of this century.
3 more minutes. I decided to look over my papers, to see what I should mention first.
2 more minutes. I started drinking my coffee.
1 more minute. This was when I was to just sit there, and do deep yoga breaths and close my eyes for 20 seconds, and then open them just before I went on air. It helped me get my bearings. I opened my eyes.
The red light came on.
“Hello everyone, today I would like to discuss how on earth the media can get away with constantly telling everyone, that us teenagers are all completely and utterly idiotic creatures, that smoke, drink, take drugs and shag and stab everything that moves.”
This was going to be a good discussion.