finishing alice

"Well, Mr Snuggles," I say to a waistcoated hedgehog, in a sing-song baby voice that makes me want to throttle myself, "I think we have real star quality here in Alice." I pick up a different toy. "But how, Tobias Turtle, are we going to get her properly out of her shell?"

Alice's explanation of the Electromagnetic Spectrum differs from Einstein's

Marilyn Monroe, I tell her, was just a girl from the country to begin with. At my place over the last few days, I've been corrupting Alice with VHS. And we've been to see Batman. I've even (risky) taken her to the Curzon to see a Truffaut film. I get her to take the ribbon out of her hair and wear it down. I encourage her to make sexy starlet poses.

Then I tell her my cousin is a film-maker. I say I've told him all about her: Her...freshness, her vivaciousness, her individuality, (her gawky retard version of a 'come hither' look), her joie de vivre. I think I can get her a screen test. I can't promise anything beyond that. Truth is, she'd been simmering for a while before I came along. She was ready to melt.

Back at base, her virginity overcome, I feel obliged to complete the job and get her that screen test. I've just been on the phone to an 80 Marlboro voice from "Wet n Wild Films". She's booked in for next Tuesday.