Just before lunch, I decided I needed some 'me time' to re-energise from this CBB fiasco. So I instructed my driver to take me to Green Park. Once upon a time this was where I came to pick myself up after the occasional hiccup at Horseferry Road. I paid £1.50 for a deckchair, sat down, soaked up the sun and thought to myself: "Do it. Show 'em who's boss."
Belief, belief, fucking belief. That's all I need. It has served me well before, and by god, it will serve me fucking well here too.
After all, you don't get to the lofty heights of the Youngest Channel Controller in the History of British Television™ if you let the odd Ofcom report get in your way.
Refreshed, I rocked back up at TVC at 3pm with fresh determination.
No doubt to Hincksy's surprise (a canny move, even if I do say so myself) I rang him at Elstree where he is busying himself with, yes, irony of ironies - BB8!
I didn't mince my words: "Hincksy, you've got the greenlight mate on Salopes Anglaises: the first ever bourgeoisie period history ASBO reality format."
He squeeled with delight and I could hear someone in the background getting a 'high five' - good man.
Didn't tell him that Martin Davidson has expressed doubts about how 'authentic' we can make it, but at this stage that's the least of my worries. It is edgy and noisy and different - exactly the territory My Channel should be occupying. I know there's lots of question marks hanging over the precise format but nothing we can't iron out in pre-production. Called a few people to let them know the good news.
Enough 'chit-chat', it's time to fucking rock n' roll.
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