A little bit saucy... (From Bradford Telegraph and Argus)

A little bit saucy...

8:31am Monday 30th June 2008 in Leisure By Telegraph & Argus

"This is a very serious matter,” said the Assistant Editor with Special Responsibility for Monitoring Reporters’ Moral Welfare, looking very serious. “Sit down.” He closed the door of his partitioned-off corner of the newsroom.

The Scribbler and Thelma Gusset (pronounced “Gussay”) looked perplexed.

“These are disgusting,” he said, brandishing a sheaf of papers at them. “How you could possibly have written them is entirely beyond me, Gusset” he spat out, not even bothering to pronounce it “Gussay”. Then he glared at The Scribbler.

“You are obviously the intended recipient,” he said. “It’s well known to one and all that the pair of you have been having a very public romantic liaison for some time. The management has turned a blind eye to it, but this cannot be ignored.”

He spread the print-outs of e-mails on the desk. Thelma blushed crimson. As he cast an eye over their contents, The Scribbler turned a matching shade.

“You might well look embarrassed,” snapped the Ass Ed. “I have never read such filth in my life. You might nurse these disgusting thoughts about this man, Gusset. What goes on in your corrupted mind is your own business, I suppose. But to put them into words on a company computer is a disciplinary matter, and possibly a case for instant dismissal.”

The Scribbler read on and found it hard to believe what he was seeing. The print-outs contained extremely explicit references to sexual desires and acts, some of which he had not even heard of – and he considered himself to be a rather worldly chap. It was obvious that they’d been written by a woman, and were intended to be read by a man. Were these her secret desires? If so, she must have been terribly disappointed by his pedestrian performance in the hammock up there in his broom-cupboard home on the third floor of the Hall Ings building. He gave Thelma a searching look. She began sobbing softly.

“It’s not as it seems,” she blubbed. “These aren’t meant for anyone here. They’re to go in a book. They’re a sample of the work I’ve been asked to produce as part of my application to be a part-time Rude Bits Writer.”

“A Rude Bits Writer?” said the Ass Ed and the Scribbler together.

“Yes,” said Thelma, dabbing her eyes. “Have you never heard of them.” The men shook their heads. “Well,” she continued, “perhaps you’ve never read one of those romantic fictions which jog along very nicely and gently and then suddenly erupt into a passage of extreme passion which is totally at odds with the style of the rest of the book.” More shakes of the head.

“Oh well,” said Thelma. “Perhaps it’s a girly thing. Anyway, the point is that women readers like a bit of raunch, but not all woman writers are able to provide it, even though otherwise they can tell a good tale. So that’s where the Rude Bits Writers come in. They supply the inserts, so to speak. I was hoping to become one, and was practising during my lunch hour.”

“But why?” asked The Scribbler.

“The money,” said Thelma. “The cost of everything is going up. It’s hard to maintain even my modest standard of living on the pay of a provincial hack. So I was having to prostitute my art to make ends meet. That’s what I’ll tell the industrial tribunal, if you sack me.” And she gave the Ass Ed a hard stare.

“What are you doing this evening?” asked The Scribbler, as they returned to their desks with a promise that the matter would be forgotten on this occasion.

“Why?” asked Thelma.

“Just thought you might need a bit of help with your research,” he said, hopefully….