Serious Damage

Serious Damage by Thomas Martin

‘In the first place,’ barked Mark de Lacey, famed early morning TV presenter, as he slammed his left index finger against his right index finger which was pointing at his celebrity guest, Rebecca Roche, who was on the show this morning to promote her new book, Bigger Meals on a Smaller Budget, ‘you want people to eat larger portions.’

‘Secondly,’ he continued, slamming his left index finger against the second finger of his right hand (he was noted for these gestures), ‘you want people to buy cheaper, less nutritious food, and, number three, (as you might expect by now, the third finger of his right hand had been called into play), ‘you are doing serious damage to the health of those who follow your recipes. Surely anyone who followed them would become obese in a very short time? Aren’t you doing serious damage to those people?’

‘Serious damage my ass,’ retorted Rebecca, following up quickly with a mischievous ‘oops, can I say that on this show?’, while putting her fingers over her mouth in mock horror.

‘You just did, so let’s move on,’ remarked Mark peevishly, as was his way whenever he felt the initiative slipping. Mark was an accomplished broadcaster, but he had a tendency to get a bit ratty if he felt he was losing control of an interview.

‘Ah, sure, nobody watches this anyway, do they?’ added the bold Rebecca, putting her foot in it again.

‘Now that’s something you definitely can’t say on this show,’ blurted out Caroline Courtesy, Mark’s occasional co-host, as she squirmed uncomfortably on the oversized studio sofa. She was not the least bit happy with the way this interview was going. She attempted to bring it back on track. ‘But how do you explain not causing obesity when you’re advocating larger meals?’

‘But I’m not promoting larger meals’ protested Rebecca in that rich baritone of hers which sometimes caused people to think she was a man, ‘ I’m advising people on how to shop more judiciously and make more meals for less money. It’s more to do with economy than health or fitness or weight loss.’

‘Then the title you have chosen for your book is unfortunate,’ interjected Mark.

‘The title I have chosen is catchy, and that’s what counts in the world of publishing. As a failed author yourself, you should know that.’

With that stinging remark Rebecca was referring to Mark’s book of a few years previously, a premature biography which was savaged by the critics and sold in very limited quantities. It was last seen remaindered in Easons for 7.95.

He decided to go on the attack. ‘If your meals are as healthy as you claim, why have you come here dressed as you are?’ (Rebecca had come on board wearing a more or less shapeless onesie, as though she had wandered in from a jogging session.)

‘What’s that supposed to mean? I like jump suits. They’re quite trendy these days.’

‘Maybe so, but it does hide your surplus avoirdupois, does it not?’

‘Surplus? I have no surplus. I’m a large lady; my husband likes me this way. But I’m as fit as a fiddle.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘So how fit are you?’

‘I don’t know. How would you measure it?’

‘Could you, for example, run a marathon? Have you ever run a marathon?’

‘No. I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t. Have you?’

‘As a matter of fact I have.’

‘Good for you, but you don’t have to be so smug about it.’

‘I’m not being smug, I’m just stating a fact. What about you – have you any facts to back up your claim?’

‘What do you want me to do – run up and down the Naas Road?’

‘You can’t do that – the Naas Road is off limits to pedestrians. But perhaps there’s another way.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Yes. Can you skip?’

‘You mean like boxers do – with a skipping rope?’

‘What other type of skipping is there?’

‘Well, for a start, there’s the type of skipping that children do when they’re pretending they’re riding horses, that’s one type. And then …’

‘Now you’re just being childish. You know very well what I mean.’

‘You have a chapter on addiction?’ interjected Caroline, having quickly consulted the bullet points on her clipboard, which was resting on her knees; she was anxious to take the initiative from Mark, as he was very unpredictable when a mood like this took hold of him. Who could forget the incident with the dog trainer?

‘Yes, I’m glad you mentioned that,’ responded Rebecca, delighted that the conversation was returning to her sole reason for being there – to promote her book. She continued… ‘because there’s one very valuable tip in it that I want to stress – if a food is addictive, it’s bad for you.’

‘But surely we can be addicted to good food, like anything else?’ asked Caroline.

‘To food, yes, but not good food, not natural food. If you eat a good, natural food, once you have sufficient, you won’t want anymore, at least until the next time, the next day, perhaps. But processed foods contain chemicals which render them addictive, so the more you eat, the more you want, way past the point of sufficiency. That’s how people become overweight, become unhealthy, because they’re eating the wrong food. And because they eat too much of them, they’re spending too much, which is the point of my book.’

‘But isn’t natural food more expensive?’ asked Mark, stabbing the air with his first two fingers, as though ramming the words home. He was famous for his fingers. He loved his fingers.

‘Some are, some aren’t. But you eat less of them, so it balances out.’

Mark saw his chance to have another attack. ‘If it balances out, as you say, then you’re no better off, are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re buying less food, but you’re paying more for it, so you end up spending the same.’

‘No, not really. In the beginning, perhaps. But you’ll get an immediate benefit, because you’ll be healthier. And, with the passage of time, and some judicious shopping around, you’ll reduce your overall expenditure, because, when your body adjusts, you’ll no longer suffer from artificial hunger pangs, so you’ll cut out snacking between meals. It’s all explained in the book.’

‘Which is available in all good bookshops. Yes, we know the line. But I’d like to get back to yourself. Do you practise what you preach? Does your daily diet consist of the meals described in this book?’

‘Yes, of course it does. I’d be a hypocrite otherwise.’

‘OK. So, to get back to the question I asked you before I was interrupted’ – glaring at Caroline – ‘just how fit are you? Can you skip? If I had a skipping rope, how long could you skip for?’

‘As long as you like. You don’t actually have a skipping rope, do you?’

‘As matter of fact…’ replied Mark, reaching behind the couch.

‘Good God, you have one.’

‘We have everything here,’ interjected Caroline, attempting to register her relevance once more, ‘including a stopwatch. How long will we ask her to do it for, Mark?’

‘Oh, I don’t think she’d last a minute. Shall we say a minute, Rebecca?’

‘All right, I’ll do it. Where do you want me, apart from the obvious?’

‘Over here,’ Mark said, ignoring the innuendo as he tentatively guided Rebecca by the arm, touching her ever so lightly, as though she might grab him if he went too near, ‘stand on this mark.’

‘What mark? Oh, I see. X marks the spot. So this is a set-up.’

‘Never mind about that,’ said Mark, handing Rebecca the skipping rope. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Ready when you are.’

‘OK. I’ll count you in. One, two, three – go!’

As Caroline started the stopwatch, Rebecca began skipping, but in doing so, she raised her arms higher than the boom operator had anticipated, as a consequence of which she captured the boom mike with the rope and brought it crashing to the floor. This resulted in the operator being pulled off balance, causing him to crash into the glidecam operator, who fell backwards into the lighting rig, causing the quartz lamps to also come crashing to the floor, resulting in hot shards of glass flying all over the set. The backdrop, the material of which had been purchased, no doubt, like a lot of the studio equipment, from a shaven budget, smouldered for a few seconds and then burst into a galaxy of flame, causing the crew to panic, to run in all directions, to the various exits. The floor manager, being of sound mind and sober for once, grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher and went to work.

Within minutes, the conflagration was contained, the danger was past, but the studio was reduced to a skeletal shell of its former glory, all evidence of glamour and design having been erased in seconds.

Standing bewildered in the centre of it all stood Rebecca, who had been completely forgotten and pushed to one side in the melee. Surveying the result of her little demonstration, she remarked, to no one in particular, but in the hope that a camera was still running somewhere, ‘now that’s what I call “Serious Damage.” ’