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Thursday 4 December 2008

First Man Falling

How I was saved from Mongolian torture

The real truth about reality TV shows

As I walked in, another young man walked out. He was considerably larger than me and had very little hair. In fact he looked terrifying. I sat down on the vacated chair, and waited and smiled. I had meant to bring a book, but I couldn’t find Andy McNab, only my sister’s Harry Potter, so I hadn’t bothered. After another ten minutes I was called through. Sitting at the table were the producer and director of the show. I sat down and smiled even more. It had become a nervous tic. One thing I was not going to mention was my father’s profession, because I wanted to come across as a Mowgli figure rather than the son of an actor who might sound like a stage-school brat. ‘Are you Julian’s son?’ So that was the end of my disguise. I was no longer an outdoor adventurer, but just another privileged spoilt child. I thought it best to carry on smiling.

‘Why do you want to come on this show?’ I began to talk about cultural opportunity and Western values being juxtaposed with the simplicity of tribal living. They looked puzzled at my answer, and I looked puzzled at their reaction. Then they asked how I would feel about being away for a long period of time.

Resisting the temptation to mention that I had gone to boarding school at seven, I said it would be fine. I was aware that I was still smiling. It was about this time that I realised something was not quite right. What sort of adventure show worries about you being away from home? But it was the next question that really brought home the reality of reality TV: ‘How would you feel about a Mongolian tribesman piercing your foreskin with a stick?’ Right, I see, this is not really an adventure show at all, is it? It’s a TV show where they need to go a little further to attract new viewers, an exotic version of the moronic Jackass — one of my favourite shows, of course, but we will let that pass.

At last, my smile began to wane. Perhaps it was the thought of my foreskin being sliced on national television. Naturally, I agreed that would be fine and left the room in a state of bewilderment. What had I just agreed to? Why? Having been thoroughly down on reality TV shows, I had just tried to sign up for one myself.

My girlfriend was horrified when I told her what had happened. ‘I hope you told them where to stick their show.’ I assured her that I would not only turn the offer down, but complain to the BBC. A couple of days later a letter arrived: ‘Unfortunately you have not been selected to appear on Last Man Standing ...’ There is only one thing worse than being asked to appear on a cheap sensationalist reality TV show, and that is being an unsuccessful reality TV show applicant. But at least I have still got my foreskin.

More articles from: Henry Sands | this section

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