5punk

<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v241/ ... sThere.jpg">

On a particularly lazy Monday afternoon, a group of ten 'programme developers' from the Braxian Broadcasting Company sat around a long glass table on the eightieth floor of the glass-fronted broadcasting tower. A few members of staff had hangovers, slumped across the table with their heads in their arms, the others were brainstorming ideas, scribbling brainless reworks of previous programmes, and little stick figure men in the margins of their notebooks.

A senior looking staff member waltzed into the room, and the group slowly sat up and attempted to look as if they were doing something.

"Ideas then? Anyone at all? We've a evening slot to fill, and nothing but reruns of 'Braxia's pets do the funniest things' to fill it!"

Nobody made eye contact, peering down at their notebooks in hope that an idea would spring out and hit them in the face like a custard pie. Even the temp, whose night job was a circus entertainer, who actually had a custard pie on his desk, was lost for ideas.

One of the souless employees raised his head and hesitantly asked..

"What happened to that travel program guy? Ed.. Ed Barker was it?"
"Earl Baker", corrected the woman next to him.

The Forty-Something television personality had started off presenting a children's television programme and worked his way up the food chain; handing out awards at ceremonies, touring coastline locations in' It's a Knockout' (a program that seems to have universal appeal, literally), and brief stints presenting a national lottery program.

Last month, a pilot episode of a travel program called 'Wish I was there!' was sent to the company and quickly rejected, on account of Braxis VI's recovering transportation network, but desperate times called for desperate measures..

----

Three weeks later, a bout of messages were sent from the Braxian Broadcasting Company to every country, municipality, and sovereign state of Mongo, and the surrounding cluster of inhabited planets, asking if anyone would care to host the presenter, and show him what their country was like. No doubt the publicity received from a programme that aired to eighteen-million people, twice a week would be invaluable, and would certainly boost tourism.. They'd do well to show Mr. Baker a good time.

---

<b>OOC:</b>
A chance for some fun, here.
Send your request to the BBC to have Earl visit.
You'll get a reply, and a roleplay can get underway. Show him the true sights of your city and hope for a stellar review, or you could bribe him with cakes, money and women? Either way, potential for some really fun stories here. After he's left your country then I can make a post about the review programme.

Earl woke up to the chirp-chirping of his cellular phone at some ungodly hour in the morning. It was dark outside and his alarm clock flashed midnight in big red numbers, left unset after a short power-cut earlier in the day. It didn't matter though, it wasn't as if he needed to be anywhere in the morning. In recent months the supply of work had dried up and Earl spent his days tending to a selection of potted plants and cacti in his greenhouse.

It was Dave Anchor, his agent from the BBC. Hesitantly he answered the call and put it to his ear.
"We've got something for you Baker!" Dave clucked, before he had a chance to say hello.

Earl pulled back the sheets slowly and swung both legs out of bed, rubbing at one of his eyes sleepily. He murmured a response, but his ever-enthusiastic agent was determined to rouse this sleepy television celebrity and get him back on the box.

"That holiday pilot you did - They've had some interest and need you to shoot off first thing in the morning. It's all been arranged!"

"What.." Mr. Baker had been awake approximately fifteen seconds, and was still struggling to comprehend speech.

"Programme contract signed. Deal made. Big aircraft. You travel. Nice time, yes?" The good Mr. Anchor thought it would be better to spell it out in easy to understand chunks.

---

Three hours later, Earl was suited up in a very business like suit and tie, and sat midway down a private airplane, the broadcasting company's own. His mind drifted as he placed his head in his palm, elbow resting on the window's edge, peering out to the runway as it began to move away. The take-off was smooth, and they were in the air in little time - a small digital map flashing up on the seat in front to show where abouts they were on planet Mongo.

The white arrow began to pick up speed and trailed a dotted red line as it arched up into the sky and began to turn, drawing all over the map of Braxis VI. Thoughts turned to tropical beaches where cocktails would be served by beautiful women in grass skirts, and posh country retreats with acres of land available for leisure activities.

The little white arrow settled down and pointed towards Sangaia and Aquilos, but soon arched over these countries and carried on.. The tropical shores of Esher disappeared behind a cloud shelf, and the cold Brevic ocean replaced it, all of the lush green land this far north began to turn white, dashing the dawn light back into the sky - the snowbound land positively shined.

The pilot's voice smoothly announced that they would soon be landing in '<a href="http://snipurl.com/ecoar">The Holy Republic of Bigswisscheeseland</a>' in a matter of minutes, via the series of cabin-mounted speakers.

Earl closed his eyes and slumped back in his seat, letting out an exasperated groan.

Waiting for Mr Barker as he left the plane to collect his luggage was a roar of a voice.
"Aaaah welcome Brother Barker"
A large man wearing what appeared to be a polar bear as a coat stuck out his shovel like hand towards the Presenter.
"I am Brother Givoni, Head of Tourisim here at the most holy Nation of Bigswisscheeseland, I trust your flight was comfertable?"
A short, balding man with a face that looked like somone had attempted to put out a forrest fire on it using only a screw driver appeared from Behind Givoni.
"This is Brother Forteesven, he will be your personal body guard whilst you enjoy your stay here, not that our nation is in anyway dangerous. Think more of him as a guide"

"I shall show you to your accommidation Brother Barker" Snorted the pink Pickled Gherkin.