The Happy Island Radio Show Problem

One morning, I was woken early by a hammering on my back door. I quickly dressed and rushed downstairs, to find Alun in an excited state, waving a piece of paper, which looked exactly like a BBC contract (the clue was the words ‘no need to pay tax on any of this income’ at the bottom of the contract, and the letters BBC at the top).

 

“It’s the BBC, Jed, they’ve confirmed the casting for the new Happy Island radio show.”

 

“Are you sure?” I said. “I’m surprised that got the green light, who’d want a radio show about an island with total population 0,000,002 people. Nothing ever happens. So who’s playing you?”

 

“Me.”

 

“Yes, you, who’s the actor playing you.”

 

“I am Jed, I’m playing myself. They auditioned hundreds of actors and actresses, but decided that nobody made a better Alun than me.”

 

“Really, but I thought you hated the whole idea of a Happy Island radio show.”

 

“I did Jed, but now I’m in the cast I’ll have some control over the project, so I’m much more confident it’ll accurately reflect life on Happy Island.”

 

“So who’s playing me?”

 

“Nobody, Jed.”

 

“Nobody?”

 

“We decided your character wasn’t really necessary.”

 

“Not necessary! How can the programme accurately reflect life on Happy Island when half the population have been edited out?”

 

“It’s artistic licence, Jed. You wouldn’t understand, you’re just a writer.”

 

“But a radio show about an island with just one inhabitant, it’ll be the dullest show in history.”

 

“Honestly Jed, you just don’t understand. We’ve decided to replace your character with one-off celebrity guests.”

 

xxx

 

The next morning, Brad Pitt was woken early by a hammering on his back door.

 

Brad slowly dressed and made his way downstairs, where Alun was waiting to deliver his lines.

 

“Who are you?” Brad said.

 

“It’s me Brad, Alun, your neighbour.”

 

“Why have you woken me this early?” Brad said. “My valet usually wakes me at 9.17 with newly-baked croissants and freshly-picked Nicaraguan coffee.”

 

“It’s the mainland council, Brad,” Alun said. “They’ve cancelled the morning boat. We’re stranded on this island, every link to the outside world has been severed.”

 

“Oh it’s fine,” Brad said. “We can take one of my yachts.”

 

“One of your yachts?”

 

“I only brought a couple of yachts with me, as I’m just here for one episode, but we could take Excalibur. Where did you want to go?”

 

“Go, I don’t want to go anywhere. I never leave this island.”

 

“Man, you’re missing so much. The places I could show you. We should go to the edge of the world, the view there is really spectacular. You can sit with your feet dangling on the edge of the void, looking out into space. Amazing!”

 

“You’re missing the point, Brad. This archipelago is dependent on the daily visit from the boatman, it’s our only lifeline to the mainland. The council’s cuts are destroying island communities like ours.”

 

“Cut,” the director shouted. “We’re going to have to lose that speech, it’s a tad political. Try something like: ‘Brilliant, let’s go cruising’.”

 

“Go cruising! This is Happy Island, we never go cruising. This is a sensitive, contemporary political piece about the damage to isolated communities caused by austerity, not a celebrity yacht cruise.”

 

“With respect,” said the director, “this is the BBC. We’re not interested in broadcasting programs about the impact of austerity, we prefer programmes about celebrities twatting around on yachts.”

 

“I could pick up Johnny Depp,” Brad said, “And we could sail to fairyland, it’s fantastic this time of year, it’ll make great TV. Even on radio.”

 

“Brilliant. Sorry Alun, but we’re going to have to cut your character.”

 

“Cut Alun? But you’ve already cut Jed. How can you possibly have Happy Island without Jed and Alun?”

 

“To be frank we’ve never really liked the idea of two men living alone on an isolated island. I just don’t see how that could be a series. We’re replacing Happy Island radio with Brad Pitt goes to fairyland.