Free Inconceivable by Ben Elton Page A

order for my office to generate a payment from finance (BeebCash Plc) I needed first to prove that I had secured the most competitive tender for the work. Daphne said that she was required to approach a minimum of two outside costumiers to see if they would iron my tie more cheaply than Beeb Frox. Only when we had three estimates to compare could we commission the work.
    Meanwhile, it would also be necessary to decide out of what programme budget the ironing of the tie was to come. Clearly this would have to be Livin’ Large , but if that was the case their Line Producer would have to sign the chit. Also, Livin’ Large was not made in house but by an independent company called Choose Groove Productions. Incidentally, I must add here that this does not mean that Choose Groove Productions make Livin’ Large in any practical sense, oh no, the BBC make it, with BBC staff in a BBC studio, paid for by BBC money, the only difference being that some bloke with a ponytail in Soho takes a thirty-grand-an- episode production fee and gets to stick his company logo on the end of the programme. It was to this lucky recipient of the BBC’s forced entry into the marketplace that Daphne would have to go to get budgetary authorization for my tie to be ironed.
    In the end, Daphne flattened the tie underneath a pile of old copies of Spotlight for a stick of my KitKat.
    So anyway, to get on with the story, this afternoon there I was, fronting up to the gates of Downing Street and being saluted through by a policeman. It was like a dream. I walked up the street with my briefcase, just like cabinet ministers do on the news, and in through the famous door.
    I must say it’s bloody dowdy inside, or at least the bits I saw are.
    Amazing. The entrance hall is like a rundown hotel. Nobody could accuse any of the previous fifteen administrations of wasting money on decoration because I swear that the place hasn’t had a lick of paint since Chamberlain was waving his bit of paper about.
    While I was waiting I noticed an old plastic carrierbag chucked on the threadbare carpet against the skirting board. I remarked to the amiable old doorman that I hoped it wasn’t a bomb and he said that he hoped so too but that it probably belonged to somebody.
    Anyway, after about ten minutes one of the PM’s ‘forward planning team’ arrived, a young woman called Jo whom I think I recognized from her having been on Question Time . She ushered me into a small room with a chair and an old couch and some dirty coffee cups on a table. Here she ‘briefed’ me on the background to this particular ‘outreach initiative’. She told me that the Prime Minister was Britain’s newest, youngest, hippest prime minister since Lord Fol d’Rol in 1753 and that her office had the job of reminding people of this fact and generally demonstrating that the PM was neither fuddy nor duddy.
    ‘We want the kids to know that their PM is not just the youngest, most energetic and most charismatic premier in British history but that he’s also their mate, a regular bloke who likes popmusic, wearing fashionable trousers, and comedy with proper swearing in it. Which is why we think it’s important to place him on Livin’ Large .’
    ‘God yes, great idea,’ I said, pathetically. It’s amazing how even the proximity to power seduces a person.
    ‘But in a dignified context,’ Jo added firmly. ‘No gunk tanks or ‘gotcha’s. It struck us that some kind of ‘youth summit’ would be appropriate, you know, the boss chats with the future and all that. It could be an extended version of that section where the celebrity guest takes questions from the kids.’
    I said it sounded fantastic and that the BBC would be honoured.
    ‘But nice questions, of course, not political. That wouldn’t be appropriate. Questions about the issues that matter to kids.
    Popmusic, fashion, computers, the Internet, that sort of thing.’
    My mind reeled. This was fantastic . A genuine television