If you are a regular visitor to Redheadandproud, you will be aware we have been involved with the BBC, looking for Redheads to appear in a Weakest Link Special.
Well, on Wednesday 12th December 2001, nine Red Tops of varying hues and tones - one of which was Red and Proud's very own Simon Red - were eventually rounded up and despatched to Pinewood Studios for an evening in the presence of Mrs Penrose - better known as Anne Robinson.
The BBC have struck gold with The Weakest Link, the show has now been sold to over 70 countries worldwide, the most successful export being the US version, also hosted by Anne Robinson.
Our Redhead Of The Year is indeed a busy woman; she spends two weeks filming at Pinewood then flies to the States for seven days in front of the cameras out there.
Once arrived at Pinewood, having passed through the security checks and been welcomed to the studios by "Annie's" worryingly youthful team of helpers, the contestants are led into the Green Room to drink BBC coffee and prepare for the forthcoming battle.
As the other contestants arrive, the ladies from the wardrobe department appear to inspect one's choice of shirts and blouses. With a tut and a shake of the head, striped and checked garments are instantly rejected, and anyone who has had the temerity to bring something black are immediately given a telling off.
"Anne is the only one who can wear black" is the mantra.
Then it's off to make-up; faces never intended to be beamed into unsuspecting viewers' homes are patted and brushed, buffed and polished by battle hardened girls who love a challenge.
After the lines, bags, stubble and creases are disguised as best as the state of the art cosmetics can manage, its time for a pep talk from the production crew.
"You are already winners by just being here!", we are told by the hyper-enthusiastic Roz,
"We're all going to have a ball!" she continues, "Enjoy, enjoy!" she goes on.
I push the similarities to a "Happy-Clappy" religious meeting to the back of my mind and take a look at my rivals.
These other eight people are after MY money.
They must be stopped.
It is MY money.
The first thing that strikes one about the contestants is that the "Redhead" theme has been adhered to very loosely. Indeed.
Of the other eight players, two, maybe three are bona-fida Red Tops - the others are a motley bunch of drab tones, spiced up here and there with a late night henna application or a full blooded crazy colour rinse.
One thing I do find strange is that one of the reserves, hovering around just in case one of the chosen nine go ga-ga, has a fine head of rich auburn. A true Redhead, no doubt.
Perhaps she's as thick as two short planks.
"Come on!" trills Roz, "We're off to the studio - who wants to sing a song ?" I avoid her wide-eyed gaze and look at the floor.
Silently and songless we march single file into the studio.
This is where it all happens.
We are led to our neon lit podiums and told by a world-weary floor manager not to touch anything "Especially the lights, 'cos they'll break and they cost a fortune" he barks.
Those of a more petite stature - ok, the short ones (yes, me included) are given little metal bases to stand on so we can see and be seen.
Then we are instructed on how to write.
It's not as easy as it first seems.
Those metal disc things have The Weakest link logo on, and are placed upside down in a hi-tech looking dispenser thingy.
So, to vote someone off the game, one has to cradle the disc in ones arms, use a big black felt pen then turn the disc and put it in the right way round.
I think.
Just in case the contestants cannot grasp this, a helpful stagehand lurks in the gloom, ready to advise and inform at any given moment.
Suddenly, like a bat flying into a cave, Anne is with us.
My friendly smile is met with a withering glare.
"OK" I think, "If that's how you want to play it".
Beneath my podium, unseen by prying eyes I flick her a "V" sign.
"Welcome To The Weakest Link" cries Annie, and we're off.
There's dry ice everywhere, the air is full of electronic drum crashes and synthesizer chords.
"What kind of food does Rick Stein cook?"
"Which football team are nicknamed The Red Devils?"
"How long is a piece of string?"
Brows are furrowed, heads shook, knees knocked - only the strong will survive.
"Who is the Weakest Link?"
I don't know.
I was too busy telling Anne that Belfast is the capital of Northern Ireland to take any notice of the others.
I take a look at my peers and randomly pick out Louise. I scrawl her name on my disc.
To a man, the others vote for Al.
Poor Al.
He's back in the Green Room before his coffee has gone cold.
Mary, 78 years young - she's next.
Dizzy Amanda, one minute standing to my right - the next, gone.
Susan, the primary school teacher - "Goodbye!"
I feel vulnerable.
I am alone at the right side of the semi-circle.
The other four seem miles away.
"Simon, Did you have problems getting girlfriends?" asks Anne.
"Why is your complexion like that?"
"Who cut your hair?"
She's just getting going, warming to her task.
Another round ends, they're closing in.
Anne again asks who is The Weakest Link.
"Simon".
"Simon".
What?
"Lloyd" I retort.
There's another vote for the odious Lloyd.
I'm hanging on.
It's a hung jury.
The Weakest Link isn't big enough for me and Lloyd.
Once of us is on borrowed time.
My fate is in the hands of a slip of a girl from Northern Ireland, I flash her a weak smile.
I contemplate a wink.
It's to no avail.
"Simon" she thunders.
It's over.
I am led off to complete my "Walk of Shame".
Then I'm in a small stuffy studio, encouraged to be rude about the other contestants, Anne Robinson, Mother Theresa, anyone really.
I do my stuff.
"Its a pig circus " I bleat.
They like that.
"I hate Lloyd, his eyes are too close together. He's Welsh and keeps sheep"
They're rubbing their hands.
So, it's back to the Green Room.
"Oh hard luck", coos old Mary.
"Yeah" adds Al, "That Lloyd is a right dickhead"
We all nod sagely.
I am amongst losers.
We are all on the scrap-heap, and to add insult to injury we are encouraged to cheer on the remaining team members and prepare to congratulate the eventual winner.
I can't stand it.
I have to get out of here.
A pretty blonde girl has been instructed to keep an eye on us, but she turns her back for a second too long, and I'm in the car park, striding towards my car.
Behind me, I hear my name being called.
"Don't turn around" I tell myself.
Thank God, the engine starts first time.
I stare straight ahead and cruise past the security guard.
I am on the Queen's highway.
I am free.
Who won?
God knows.
All I know is I didn't.
I was The Weakest Link, but most of all, I am a very bad loser.
Simon Red |
