blew him a kiss. Mervyn gave her a grin. Then he noticed his new fan, Stuart, sitting in the front row. Mervyn only glanced across to the audience for a second, but Stuart was waiting to catch his eye. The fan assumed the grin was for him, grinned back and gave a fluttery little wave like an adoring girlfriend, much to Mervyn’s embarrassment.
Simon Josh came on stage, clearly savouring his moment in the spotlight. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are so privileged to have with us three people who were, literally, the life blood and soul of Vixens from the Void . Let me invite on to the stage, Script editor Mervyn Stone, Producer Nicholas Everett, and last, but by no means least…’
Waiting in the darkness, Mervyn could have sworn that someone gave a bitter chuckle. It sounded like Bernard.
‘…Special effects wizard Bernard Viner!’
They mounted the stage to thunderous applause.
*
‘So, Mervyn, what made you come up with the idea of the Styrax? What made you come up with a race of supercars who rebel and take over their planet?’
‘What made me? Our audience figures made me.’
There was a well-rehearsed ripple of laughter as Mervyn gave his equally well-rehearsed opening line, of which the attached anecdote had become part of fan folklore since it started popping up on convention videos. Mervyn gave a ‘but seriously though’ cough and continued. ‘Well… I had been scratching my head all day thinking about what we could possibly do to open series two with a bang, and Nicholas thought it would be a great idea to have an original and distinctive new monster to kick things off.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Nicholas, deadpan. ‘Brilliant idea of mine… To have an original and distinctive monster…’
‘…And of course he left me with the task of coming up with said original and distinctive monster…’
Nicholas gave a theatrical sigh and pulled an expression of world-weariness.
‘Well it was my idea, Merv… You can’t expect me to do everything… ’
More titters from the darkness.
‘Well I was stumped, wasn’t I, Nicholas?’
Nicholas dipped in with practised ease.
‘Oh yes, he was indeed. He was pacing up and down in the production office just above TC8 with a face like thunder, shouting “I must have a monster! I must have a monster!” I popped my head round the door, and said “Merve, love, if you’ll just let me finish this scene, I’ll come out there and shout with you.”’
Another familiar burst of laughter and applause. Nicholas had done nothing of the sort, of course. It was a spontaneous ad-lib from a panel some years ago which went down very well, so it had stayed in. It helped to ‘oil the wheels’ in the telling of a tale that had already been told too many times before, and wasn’t really true in the first place.
Mervyn continued the anecdote. ‘When I finished that evening—still scratching my head over the lack of a monster—I found I couldn’t leave. My car had been boxed in by a rather stylish Austin 11. I was stuck there for two hours—security was ringing round like mad trying to find the owner, and while I was sitting there on the wall with darkness falling like snow around me—not to mention the snow falling like snow around me—I realised that I was in thrall to this damn machine. Of course, this was the mid 80s, and the fact the country had been held to ransom by weekly fuel crises was still in living memory… I was, in effect, a slave to my car at that moment, so what would it be like if they really took over? So the idea came there and then.’
Nicholas was smirking now.
‘So I rushed up to the production office to tell Nicholas, only to find he’d disappeared… He’d been called out by security to move his new car…’
‘…My newly bought Austin 11…’ supplied Nicholas.
‘…Which was thoughtlessly blocking in the script editor of Vixens from The Void ,’ completed Mervyn.
There was a warm round of applause, as if they had just
Simon Josh came on stage, clearly savouring his moment in the spotlight. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are so privileged to have with us three people who were, literally, the life blood and soul of Vixens from the Void . Let me invite on to the stage, Script editor Mervyn Stone, Producer Nicholas Everett, and last, but by no means least…’
Waiting in the darkness, Mervyn could have sworn that someone gave a bitter chuckle. It sounded like Bernard.
‘…Special effects wizard Bernard Viner!’
They mounted the stage to thunderous applause.
*
‘So, Mervyn, what made you come up with the idea of the Styrax? What made you come up with a race of supercars who rebel and take over their planet?’
‘What made me? Our audience figures made me.’
There was a well-rehearsed ripple of laughter as Mervyn gave his equally well-rehearsed opening line, of which the attached anecdote had become part of fan folklore since it started popping up on convention videos. Mervyn gave a ‘but seriously though’ cough and continued. ‘Well… I had been scratching my head all day thinking about what we could possibly do to open series two with a bang, and Nicholas thought it would be a great idea to have an original and distinctive new monster to kick things off.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Nicholas, deadpan. ‘Brilliant idea of mine… To have an original and distinctive monster…’
‘…And of course he left me with the task of coming up with said original and distinctive monster…’
Nicholas gave a theatrical sigh and pulled an expression of world-weariness.
‘Well it was my idea, Merv… You can’t expect me to do everything… ’
More titters from the darkness.
‘Well I was stumped, wasn’t I, Nicholas?’
Nicholas dipped in with practised ease.
‘Oh yes, he was indeed. He was pacing up and down in the production office just above TC8 with a face like thunder, shouting “I must have a monster! I must have a monster!” I popped my head round the door, and said “Merve, love, if you’ll just let me finish this scene, I’ll come out there and shout with you.”’
Another familiar burst of laughter and applause. Nicholas had done nothing of the sort, of course. It was a spontaneous ad-lib from a panel some years ago which went down very well, so it had stayed in. It helped to ‘oil the wheels’ in the telling of a tale that had already been told too many times before, and wasn’t really true in the first place.
Mervyn continued the anecdote. ‘When I finished that evening—still scratching my head over the lack of a monster—I found I couldn’t leave. My car had been boxed in by a rather stylish Austin 11. I was stuck there for two hours—security was ringing round like mad trying to find the owner, and while I was sitting there on the wall with darkness falling like snow around me—not to mention the snow falling like snow around me—I realised that I was in thrall to this damn machine. Of course, this was the mid 80s, and the fact the country had been held to ransom by weekly fuel crises was still in living memory… I was, in effect, a slave to my car at that moment, so what would it be like if they really took over? So the idea came there and then.’
Nicholas was smirking now.
‘So I rushed up to the production office to tell Nicholas, only to find he’d disappeared… He’d been called out by security to move his new car…’
‘…My newly bought Austin 11…’ supplied Nicholas.
‘…Which was thoughtlessly blocking in the script editor of Vixens from The Void ,’ completed Mervyn.
There was a warm round of applause, as if they had just
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