Dead famous by Ben Elton

a bit, but I never realized he’d strike such a chord with the viewers.’
    ‘Yeah, well, he’s like a sort of pet, isn’t he?’ Said the girl.
    ‘Like Dennis the Menace, or Animal from the Muppets or whatever.’
    ‘I mean, you wouldn’t want to live with him yourself, but it’s top fun watching other people do it, big time!’
    ‘Woggle, he da man!’
    ‘Da top man. Respect! But the whole show is totally wicked,’ the guy added quickly, ‘so fair play to all of the posse in the house!’
    ‘Respect!’
    ‘Kelly’s my girl! Ooojah ooojah!’
    ‘You would fancy Kelly!’ Said the girl, punching her partner in the ribs.
    ‘Dervla’s easily the most beautiful.’
    ‘Dervla’s beautiful, that is true, and she melts my ice cream big time, so fair play to her for that, but Kelly, well, Kelly has…Something special.’
    ‘Big knockers?’
    ‘What can I tell you? It’s a boy thing.’ The boys in the audience let it be known that they agreed with this sentiment.
    ‘And don’t we so hate David?’ Said the girl.
    ‘We so do hate him.’
    ‘We so do not, not hate him,’ added the guy. There was much booing at the mention of David’s name, and the show’s producer dropped in a shot taken directly from the live Internet link to the house. David was sitting crosslegged on the floor playing his guitar, clearly thinking himself rather beautiful. There was more booing and laughter at this.
    ‘Sad or what?’ Shrieked the hip girl. Sipping his beer and watching all of this, three and a half weeks after it had been recorded, Coleridge was struck by how astonishingly brutal it was. The man on the screen had absolutely no idea that he was being jeered and ridiculed. It was as if the country had turned into one vast school playground with the public as bully.
    ‘All right, that’s enough of that,’ said the guy, clearly having an attack of conscience.
    ‘I’m sure his mum likes him.’
    ‘Yeah. Big up to David’s mum! But can you please tell him to cut that hair?’
    ‘And to stop playing that guitar!’ The interview passed on to the unexpected success of the third series so far.
    ‘So you defied the snooties and the sneerers, and the show’s a huuuuugge hit,’ said the guy, ‘which is quite a relief, Geri, am I right? Tell me I’m right.’
    ‘You are so right,’ said Geraldine, ‘and if I wasn’t a bird I’d say my balls were on the line with this one. I’ve sunk every penny I have into it. My savings and all of my severance pay from when I left the BBC. I’m the sole director of Peeping Tom Productions, mate, so if it fails I haven’t got anybody to blame but me.’
    ‘Gutsy lady!’ The girl enthused.
    ‘We like that! Respect!’
    ‘Too right I’m a gutsy lady, girl,’ said Geraldine.
    ‘I gave up a cushy job as controller of BBC1 to do the House Arrest thing, and everybody expected this third series to fall on its arse.’
    ‘Yeah, Geri, you really went out on a limb leaving the Beeb,’ the hip late-night guy said.
    ‘I know your name has often been mentioned as a possible future Director General.’
    ‘Yes, I think they wanted to offer it to me,’ she said, ‘but stuff that, I’m a programme maker, I ain’t spending my day kissing politicians like Billy here’s arse. I ain’t grown up yet.’ The camera pulled out to reveal Billy Jones, who was the other guest on The Clinic, and who was smiling indulgently. Billy was the Minister for Culture and had agreed to appear on The Clinic as part of the government’s strategy to reach out to youth.
    ‘I regret greatly that I shan’t be having my arse kissed by a ady so charming as you, Geraldine,’ Billy Jones said, and got a laugh.
    ‘So, Billy,’ said the girl, turning to him with a serious expression on her face.
    ‘How do you rate House Arrest, then? Top telly or pile of poo?’
    ‘Oh, House Arrest is so top telly,’ said the Minister of Culture.
    ‘No way is it a pile of poo.’
    ‘And what about people who say