They were both nervous, not used to being public figures. Neither had ever had the need to call upon their shared legacy of parental infamy, yet here they were now, in the ‘Breakfast TV’ green room, waiting to be introduced to the nation.
“Coming up, after the weather,” they heard the presenter announce over the monitor, “we will be joined on the sofa by Oliver Wilson and Natalie Curtis. They are here to talk to us about tomorrow’s release of a quite incredible, long-lost Factory Records single.”
“Bloody hell,” said Natalie, “we’re almost on, and we’ve not decided yet. Who’s going to be Steve Jones?”
“What do you mean?” asked Oliver. He had been preoccupied, desperately trying to channel even an ounce of his father’s celebrated showmanship.
“Which one of us is going to swear on live TV?” she explained, “to help increase sales.”
Oliver suspected Natalie was joking, but those genes he had been trying so hard to summon finally kicked in. It was an idea worth considering!
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