A friend of mine once said that ‘a person knew they had truly died when they started to watch day time television.’ This statement might seem rather perverse but behind it lays an element of truth. With the advent of cable television and the extensive terrestrial UK television networks a person could watch one game show after another from dawn ‘til dusk if they chose to. My story describes the life of one such individual.

Mavis Deacon, a fifty-year-old mother of five, lives in a three-bedroomed council house in Tooting, London. She is well known in the neighbourhood for being outspoken and using direct speech to the populous. Mavis is shrouded by numerous peccadilloes and this adds to both her charm and notoriety. One of these peccadilloes is to clear the meal table of the left overs to fill her doggie bag.

During term time she is a dinner lady at the local Catholic Primary School and the children love her stories and social comments. She has a mind full of local gossip and the lunchtime staff often remain behind in the staffroom for a chat and a cup of coffee before returning to their dull, routine lives. Once the conversation dies down Mavis returns home and watches her favourite quiz shows on TV until her husband Derek comes home from work.

"Clarence House, you pillock!" shouted Mavis at the inanimate TV set. "The Queen Mother used to live in Clarence House, not Buckingham Palace! Everyone knows that you dumb arse!"

The TV presenter duly corrected the panellist and informed him that he was now out of the game. The TV audience clapped politely hiding their smirks of mirth. Mavis picked up her anti-static duster stick (a product from the shopping channel) and proceeded to dust her Toby Jugs, Babycham glasses and Coronation memorabilia. She continued to stare at the screen absorbing the trivial information and responding to the questions in complete reflex.

As the Grandmother clock in the hallway struck 6 o’clock Mavis sat down in her ‘Thora Hurd’ style armchair and helped herself to peanuts from a yellow, plastic bowl. She caught a glimpse of herself in the wrought iron, convex mirror and adjusted her limp perm. The adverts had started and she nearly rose from her chair to check Derek’s supper that was cooking slowly in the oven. But something caught her eye. She remained motionless and absorbed the information as it was revealed.

"If you have a loft full of memories and history, this show is for you! Channel BK5 is looking for new contestants to join our successful show. If you think you fit this bill ring 0208 775 8911 and speak to one of our representatives. They will tell you everything you need to know. Don’t be shy! Ring now!"

Mavis grabbed a pen and paper and quickly wrote down the number. She switched off the TV and picked up her white, slim-line phone and dialled the number.

"Hello you have reached the information desk of ‘Going for a Song.’ My name is Hilary, how may I help you?"

"Yes, hello, my name is Mavis Deacon and I wish to appear on your game show."

"Good evening, Mavis. Thank you for ringing Channel BK5. May I take your full name?"

"Mavis, Delores Deacon."

"And your date of birth?"

"13^th June 1952. I don’t remember the Festival of Britain you know!"

"Yes, neither do I. Now, what is your address, you wonderful being?"

"52, Purbeck Mansions, Tooting, London SW17 3LJ."

"You’re in luck. We have a space on our next show on the 13^th June. Would you be able to attend?"

"The 13^th June. Oh, dear that’s a school day. What time’s the show?" asked Mavis quivering in anticipation.

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© 2002  Steven Longman-Marshall – all rights reserved.