Refusing to once again drag himself through the rush hour traffic and hoards of London drunks and tourists at 6am this morning to report on a minor piece of election news in front of Westminster, television reporter Greg Phillips decided that his time would be best spent catching up on three extra hours of sleep and then Skyping in his report from his front room in his pants.
“Did you see Fast and Furious 8?” Greg asked his producer over the laptop screen while eating his second bowl of cereal.
“We have pretty bloody good CGI nowadays, so why the fuck do I have to be in make up at 5am, freezing my tit’s off while a bunch of drunk northerners shout ‘southern wanker’ at me while i’m reporting some nothing story about Jeremy Corbyn’s cleaner not being a real immigrant, just so you can get a nice looking shot of an old building everybody has seen a million times before?”
“Surely there is an intern somewhere that we’re not paying who’d be able to knock it up on photoshop? We could jazz it up a bit as well, chuck some lasers on it or something.”
“Look until I get a reasonable answer as to why this is still seen as worthwhile expense to the tax payer then i’m going to report on all my stories like a normal person, in my pants, shouting at Twitter.”