The Boy Who Stops The Rain

Good news dear readers, Yusmany the beautiful peasant rain child I was telling you about finally arrives from Venezuela next week thanks to some seed money from Andy Mac.

As soon as he gets to rainy England (!) I'll pop him on a National Express coach up north to start filming a pilot for my new hit idea The Boy Who Stops The Rain, Channel 4's answer to Springwatch and Jesus of Nazareth.

[Lucky people of Rotherham you can see him perform his naked rain-dance at the Wickersley Working Men's Social Club Tuesday afternoon. Tickets are only a fiver. Senior citizens can get in for half price. Anyone who works for the MET office can take advantage of the buy 2 tickets get 1 free special offer.]

It's just a pilot dear readers, so you may never see the results. But when the series is eventually greenlit (who could live with themselves by turning it down?) and Yusmany becomes a national hero in Rotherham, I will have him visit other dreary places like Huddersfield, Wigan, Cleethorpes, Swansea and then finally Horsham-on-Sea to wave his magic weather wand to stunning results.

I am so excited at the prospect of this happy super weather-bending child making it as a bonafide star in this country that I have already trademarked his name so as to protect him from the capitalistic cynical vultures who will no doubt be circling him. Yusmany™ could be the brand that launches a thousand umbrellas and even wakes up the nation on BBC Breakfast with his weather map reading skills. With his dashing latino looks (hands off - he's mine, I say!!!) who knows where the height of his fame will take him?

In anticipation of our great success together I have already jotted down a rain inspired poem that we could co-publish together and release to promote the series....

Enjoy!

When a storm begins in the clouds,
it sometimes may look frightening.
You see a quick electrical spark -
Flash! goes the lightning!

Long and thin and streaky and fast,
its glow is oh so brightening.
Watch for the electric spark -
Flash! goes the lightning!

When a storm begins in the clouds,
it truly is a wonder.
You hear a rumble loud in the sky -
Clap! goes the thunder!

Lightning bolts are heating the air,
over clouds and under.
When the air expands enough -
Clap! goes the thunder.

The Headmistress xxx

Planning a Soirée

Dear Ladies (but only those who work in TV - sorry!)

I'm sure you'll sympathise with me when I say this: I simply haven't enough hours in the day to run a successful independent TV production company, inspire the people around me, pen poems for my new anthology, create life-changing TV formats for a cynical and world weary audience AND run my enormously hectic (but fulfilling) home life.

Just this evening, as I was knocking up a wonky willy organic choccie tart for the kids' lunchboxes tomorrow, I remembered that I still needed to:

1) Double check the aupair had cleaned the mansion properly and ironed my sexy powersuit for work tomorrow
2) Write a thousand words for The Spectator on the subject of 'female circumcision'
3) Watch as much of Hamish's output on my Sky+ as I possibly can before our meeting this week
4) Write a few letters (by hand, of course!)
5) Not to mention entertain my husband with the freebie naughty Ann Summers gear my Deputy Headmistress had managed to get from that silly Sex Coaches for the Over-50s format I've got in with C4.

(sigh) We females in TV have so much to deal with on our plates.

Yes, I know I can't complain having made a few sexy pounds being the all-singing, all-dancing, all-dieting, all-world conquering creative television entrepreneur that I know I am, but nothing compares to how limited and held back we are in this dreadful industry compared to men.

Not only are we expected to take care of our husbands, wash and feed our kids, flirt with channel controllers, pour over the women's weeklies to originate knock-out creative ideas for a female demographic AND suffer the indignity of period pains, but less talented MALE execs simply swan into meetings, wave their winkies in the air and strut away with all the big expensive commissions.

So I have decided that to help us girlies stick together I'm going to throw an exclusive tupperware soiree for the 21st century thoroughly downtrodden and struggling TV lady.

It will be a stress free, all-female friendly evening of wine, song, dance and poetry. I'm sure I can teach a few of them how to knit, and perhaps if all goes well - and after the odd glass of chardonnay - the conversation can turn to important issues like how to balance the work/life dynamic, breaking the glass ceiling, and perhaps most important of all, where have all the sexy, strong, single HETROSEXUAL male researchers gone to?

I know my many critics out there will seize upon this soirée as evidence of an all-female Bilderberg Group of well-to-heel TV execs with nothing better to do than bitch and bemoan their enormously successful and well paid lives, but if the likes of Hincksy and Pete 'Red' Barron can get together and bond over crap Status Quo cover songs, or Grandad Grade can do all his deals during high stakes Texas Hold 'Em poker and cigar nights, then what's stopping me from doing the same??

But who to invite dear reader? I don't want to offend the girlies in TV, but not everyone is important enough to come.

Who do you think should make my RSVP list?

The Headmistress x

POEM 7: Hamish my Hero!

Dear Reader,

For some reason my BlackBerry was not working whilst we were in North Africa, so I had missed the important news that the man they call 'the History boffin' has been appointed to run the Channel 4 documentary team overseeing the other super-clever boys and "Ms" Angry Mulvey.

To be totally honest, I am deeply worried about having to deal with a man who stole away my Deputy Headmistress earlier in the year, and someone who frankly looks like he should be running a provincial library rather than a cutting edge documentary department. This unfashionable bit of Channel 4 simply has no glamour, what with Meredith's farmer market cardigans and Simon's ill fitting chino trousers. From what I've seen Hamish actually dresses worse than dear old Angus McQueen ever did - which takes some doing!

Ivan, my financier has set me strict goals for 2008 to "diversify my revenue stream" away from the glamour of Sue's features department and to spread my fluffy wings and branch out into other parts of the broadcaster if my business is to survive (hello Andy Mac, have you missed me?! x)

But how can I be seen in the capital's best restaurants with the badly dressed Boffin by my side? What will the chatterring media classes have to say?

Oh well, nothing like a challenge! I remember fondly the last Head of Documentaries who I spent 9 months grooming, letting him wine and dine me, letting him get close to the intoxicating Headmistress midas touch, enjoying me, wanting me, needing me, loving me....

Sigh, now it all starts again:

I want to be your Ocean
I want us to ride the choppy seas
I want to build you a hurricane
of stunts and concepts that will make amazing TV
I want to be your Tsunami
that glistens and makes huge waves and roars
I want to build you a great island
that rocks and pillars all our shores

You challenge the idea of Diana's assassination
I just want to know what she was wearing that night!
You spend time with people like Starkey
I want to know how he'd cope in one of my play fights!
Oh Boffin, oh Boffin I want to dress you
in Hugo Boss and take you out all on my own
To seduce, enthrall and capture you
so we can make documentaries that make us both moan!!

x