Nanny Piggins and the Daring Rescue 7 (11 page)

Derrick was the first back to the house. He was generally not as quick as Nanny Piggins, but she was carrying a handbag containing 20 kilograms of chocolate buttons, which slowed her down. Derrick jabbed his key in the front door and struggled with the lock. When Nanny Piggins caught up with him she could not bear to wait a moment longer.

‘No time for keys!' she yelled. ‘It's starting in six seconds.' So she slammed her trotter into the door and kicked it open.

They raced into the living room and flung themselves on the couch, switching the television on just as the opening credits began. They all breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Oh I do hope they let Bethany out of the mental hospital in time for her to ruin Crevasse's wedding,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘And that wicked Vincent is finally punished for ruining Ariella's nail-polishing business and trying to sell her daughter to a band of travelling flamenco dancers,' agreed Michael.

‘Those flamenco dancers, they can't be trusted,' sobbed Boris. (He always cried the whole way through
The Young and the Irritable
because he was Russian and there were so many tremendously happy and terribly sad things in every episode; just hearing the theme music made him burst into tears.)

But then, just as the credits ended, the most dreadful thing happened – the show did not begin. A title card appeared on the screen and a voice-over announced that ‘Today's episode of
The Young and the Irritable
will not be shown due to a writers' strike'.

‘Nooooooooo!' screamed Nanny Piggins.

They watched in horror as a six-year-old re-run appeared on the screen. (You could tell it was six years old because Brianna was trying to win Buff Jnr's love by dressing as a man, and getting a job as his chauffeur. Whereas in the current day Brianna was divorced from Buff Jnr and was trying to win Buff Snr's love by dressing as a man and taking a job as his gardener.)

‘This is awful, this is dreadful – it can't be allowed! We have to do something!' cried Nanny Piggins.

‘Like what?' asked Derrick.

The children were used to thinking of the television as an all powerful box that sat in the middle of the living room and, when switched on, brought happiness to whoever gazed upon it (provided they were not watching the news, or a documentary, or a movie in a foreign language that required a lot of reading subtitles). It had never occurred to them that they could in any way influence what was on the television.

‘Should we write an angry letter?' suggested Samantha.

‘No, that would take too long,' said Nanny Piggins, shaking her head. ‘It would take at least fifteen minutes to write the letter, then two or three hours to go through the thesaurus finding extra words to let them know how really cross we were. Then two days for the letter to get to them in the mail. So it would be almost three days before we got to see a new episode.'

‘We could ring them,' suggested Michael.

‘No,' said Nanny Piggins sadly. ‘They've got caller ID down at the television station. They won't take my calls, ever since that time I rang up and screamed at them because they interrupted the cartoons to give a cyclone warning.'

‘Then what are we going to do?' asked Michael.

‘I don't want to watch a re-run. I can't bear to watch Ariella falling in love with Buff Jnr again. It was bad enough the first time,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘It's the saddest love story ever told,' agreed Boris. ‘I kept wanting to scream at the screen – “Just pull off her moustache and kiss her!”'

‘There's only one thing for it,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘Read a book?' suggested Samantha.

‘Don't be ridiculous,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘We shall have to go down to the television station and protest in person. Wait here while I go and put my hot-pink wrestling leotard on.'

Eventually the children were able to persuade Nanny Piggins that while going to the television station to complain was fine, going down dressed in a wrestling leotard could be construed by some people of a less passionate disposition (ie a jury) as premeditated assault. And for some strange reason, the legal system frowns on people who think about crime much more than those people who just do it on the spur of the moment (which seems dreadfully unfair to conscientious criminals).

When they got to the television station they easily got past the guard at the front gate. Nanny Piggins simply rolled down the window of Mr Green's Rolls-Royce and screamed, ‘Let me in!' She did this with such venom and entitlement that the guard naturally assumed she was a major television celebrity and did as he was told.

Once inside, they headed straight for the building with
The Young and the Irritable
written in large letters across the top and huge banners hung from the roof to the ground, featuring the faces of the lead characters, either glowering or beaming out at you (according to whether they were good or evil).

Nanny Piggins pulled up in front. ‘I'll admit, children, I'm torn. While I know it is my duty as a television viewer to give these television producers a stern talking to, I am overwhelmed by a feeling of awe and respect for such a hallowed and important place.'

‘It's like walking into a cathedral,' agreed Boris.

‘Or a supermarket with a two-for-one special on family-sized bars of chocolate,' agreed Nanny Piggins.

But, nevertheless, Nanny Piggins summoned her courage and marched into the building. She had to kick in very few doors before she found the executive in charge. (It is easy to identify a television executive: he will be the one wearing cowboy boots and inappropriately propping them up on the table during meetings.)

‘I demand you return
The Young and the Irritable
to the air immediately,' she declared.

‘We want to. We lose $500,000 for every day we can't deliver an episode. But there's nothing we can do, the writers are on strike,' complained the television executive.

‘Why are the writers on strike?' asked Nanny Piggins shrewdly.

‘You know writers, all they ever want is more money,' said the television executive shiftily.

‘Boris, hold my handbag. I think I am going to have to bite this man. I can tell he isn't telling the truth by the way his eyes dart around furtively, just like Vincent in the episode where he was caught putting a bomb in Manuella's sewing machine,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘All right, all right,' said the television executive who was, like all bullies, a terrible coward. ‘Maybe they went on strike because we needed money for the executive polo luncheon, so we sold all their desks and chairs and made them work on the floor of a disused shipping container in the car park.'

‘That sounds tremendously uncomfortable,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘Yes, in hindsight, we probably should have had a window put in and air conditioning installed,' admitted the television executive. ‘I think it was the lack of natural light and the 45 degree-plus temperatures, as well as being crowded in a tiny space with 20 other writers that finally made them crack.'

‘You must get them back,' cried Nanny Piggins.

‘We tried to. But they've been snapped up,' said the executive producer.

‘By another television show?' asked Nanny Piggins.

‘No, by a cleaning company that specialises in public toilets. Apparently the hours and working conditions are much better,' said the executive glumly, ‘and it requires much the same skill set.'

‘Then hire new writers,' demanded Nanny Piggins.

‘The problem with that idea is that we can't find any writers who have ever watched the show. And the plots are so complicated, it would take them weeks to catch up on the backstory,' said the executive producer.

‘Nanny Piggins knows all the backstory,' said Michael.

‘You do?' asked the executive.

‘Oh yes, I've watched every episode since I was a newborn piglet,' informed Nanny Piggins. ‘And mother always made us watch the re-runs of the early episodes because she said it was important to study the classics.'

‘Do you want a job writing for the show?' asked the executive.

‘Surely you need someone with professional experience?' said Samantha.

‘Nah,' said the executive producer. ‘Writing a script is just like talking, except that instead of saying the words you write them down.'

‘There must be more to it than that?' said Derrick.

‘Have you ever watched the show?' asked the executive producer.

‘Well, I don't know, we do have plans for this afternoon,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘We can dress up as pirates and ransack Mrs Simpson's mulberry tree tomorrow,' suggested Derrick.

‘All right, I'll do it. I do have a few ideas,' admitted Nanny Piggins.

And so Nanny Piggins set to work. The executive tried ushering her into the writing room (the shipping container in the car park), but Nanny Piggins convinced him it would be a better idea if he gave up his palatial corner office and let her work there (there was a certain amount of foot stomping involved in the convincing).

She was soon tapping away at a typewriter. Nanny Piggins did not use a computer. She did not think it made a loud enough noise. With a typewriter you really get a sense you are making progress because of the ding it makes at the end of each line.

Boris and the children were busy too. It was their job to fetch cake – and act out scenes when Nanny Piggins was trying to work out who should be staring meaningfully off camera with a hurt expression on their face and who should be grinning wickedly and twirling his moustache. This was almost always Vincent, although occasionally Sabrina as well.

There was a knock at the door.

‘How are you going with the script, Nanny Piggins?' asked the executive producer. (She had banned him from her writing room because she said the smell of his hair dye put her off what she was writing.)

‘Huh,' said Nanny Piggins, which is what she said when she did not want to distract her brain with trying to think up words.

‘It's just that the actors are arriving for the read-through, and when we get them to read the back of cereal packets instead of scripts, they notice and complain to their agents,' said the executive producer.

At that very moment Nanny Piggins slapped the carriage of the typewriter across, giving one final ‘ding'.

‘All done,' she announced.

‘What happens?' asked Samantha. ‘Does Dante learn to speak again and tell Isabella that he loves her?'

‘Does Crevasse climb out of the well and tell Sienna that he loves her?' asked Michael.

‘Does Elizabetta recover from the snake bite that she got when Bridge put a cobra in Dyson's bed, because he thought he was having an affair with Bethany?' asked Derrick.

‘And do I need to go and buy another box of tissues?' asked Boris.

‘Yes, to all your questions!' announced Nanny Piggins, ‘and a whole lot more.'

After photocopying the script, Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children went down to the rehearsal room. The actors were sitting at tables arranged in a horseshoe shape. Nanny Piggins took her place at the head of the horseshoe, while the script assistant (a young woman who Nanny Piggins had largely employed to scour the city looking for more sherbet flying saucers) passed out the scripts.

‘Shall we begin?' said Nanny Piggins confidently.

‘There are an awful lot of lines saying, ‘Mmmfff om-mmm-m-m,' noticed the actor who played Crevasse as he scanned through the script.

‘Yes,' agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘That's because that is the noise you make when you eat cake.'

‘I don't make that noise when I eat cake,' contradicted the elegant actress who played Sabrina.

‘Then you have never eaten a truly delicious cake,' said Nanny Piggins, ‘Here, I'll give you some. I happen to have a slice of caramel-coated angel cake that I whipped up this morning.' Nanny Piggins fished the slice out of her handbag. There was some lint and old cough lollies from the bottom of her handbag stuck to the toffee icing. Nanny Piggins just picked them off and handed it to the actress.

The actress looked disgusted. But she had a large mortgage and did not want to offend the only remaining writer on her show, so she took a bite. ‘Mmmfff-om-mmm-m-m,' said the actress.

Nanny Piggins smiled, ‘Good, isn't it?'

‘Do you have more?' asked the actress as she gobbled down the entire slice.

‘Oh yes,' said Nanny Piggins. ‘I never leave the house without basic supplies. Michael, would you mind running out to the car and bringing in two dozen, no, better make it four dozen cakes?'

‘Sure,' said Michael, running from the room.

‘Today I'd like you to try method acting,' said Nanny Piggins.

‘What's method acting?' Samantha whispered to Boris.

‘It's kind of the opposite of what you think acting should be,' explained Boris. ‘Instead of pretending to do something, a method actor actually does it. So if a part required them to act like they were jumping off a cliff, a method actor would actually jump off a cliff.'