Skin Deep 267

Skin Deep 267 16 August 2016 267

“Wow. That guy has got a lot of tattoos.”

“Which one?”

“Duh—the one with all the tattoos!”

I looked at the TV screen again and still couldn’t pick him out and there were only four people in the damn room. Eventually, I saw through the magic curtain that half the nation has hanging across its eyes and there he was—the man with the tattooed arms. It was like being the stupid person in a spy novel for children because everybody knows to read the invisible ink written with lemon juice, you simply need to hold the page over a candle.

Everybody but me. I didn’t see it.

Not seeing what everybody else sees was quite something. It was like having the lemon juice thing explained to you for the very first time and quite magical. I felt special. Luckily, this doesn’t happen all the time and I very much enjoyed the first season of Blindspot.

(That would be the worst show in the world if you went totally tattoo blind right?)

Anyway, this last couple of weeks, I’ve been approached by four… that’s four… different production companies looking for assistance in making their television shows.

Having run the entire ‘reality’ race filming the obvious, the desperate and the wannabes, we seem to have moved on to digging a little further beneath the surface for bigger stories with juice inside them. Dinosaur bones!

I’m still not going to help though. I’ve not looked super closely but to the best of my knowledge, these people are not tattooed themselves—not enough to have the authority to portray a whole industry to a nation. The use of the word ‘tats’ is a dead giveaway on that front.

In fact, it would be like you—yeah, you with the glasses—and me grabbing a couple of cameras and making a show about how reality TV production people make reality TV shows. It would obviously be brilliantly fascinating for all the wrong reasons, but like we should give a damn if anyone is pissed about it.

We have become coin making machines of the highest calibre and women fall at our feet like leaves from a tree in the middle of autumn.

Such an attitude (and a public one at that) will probably do me no favours in the long run but I’ve seen what happens in the long run. You get tired, your legs start to shake, people throw water at you and when the race is over, people only remember those who came first, those who came last and the one that did it in a Papa Smurf costume.

It took me years and a lot of coffee to get this smart. 


Footnote: If there’s anybody reading who didn’t know about the lemon juice secret writing thing, I’m truly sorry. That blank sheet of paper your wife left on the table before you never saw her again that smelled a little zesty? Yeah…

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