Blazin Squad’s Fire Safety Tips, Pt. Two

So, it’s been a while, but if you can’t remember we left off at having piqued the interest of Blazing Squad’s management and now it was a case of reeling them in. I told the agent it was fine that the ‘band’ wasn’t fully reformed and that it would probably be prohibitively expensive to have all 50 members clowning about anyway. Their website suggested only six original members remained, but the cheeky so and sos thought they could push for the inclusion of a mystery seventh member. I replied:

Six is fine, could you let me know what six of the original group it would be? If the potential 7th member was Kenzo or Striker that could be advantageous, but as I said, six is great. Those dates are ideal actually and if all goes well we might not even need them for the 7th, but we’ll see. Do you have an email for one of the guys I could possibly have? I would like to send through a script for them to peruse and we could really hit the ground running on the day.

Perhaps you weren’t a keen Blazin Squadder in your day and haven’t clocked the mistake up there yet. See, there is no ‘Kenzo’ or ‘Striker’, as the real names were actually Kenzie and Strider. That small piss take was a shot across the bow so to speak, a portent of what was to come. Alas, their busy agent didn’t pick up on it and so the email ping pong continued briefly before I got word that they were on. Now I just had to come up with some terms of agreement. Do you know how much a man has to pay six members of an early noughties rap boy band to do a make believe video for the NUS about fire safety? This much:

I think in total we would have the guys for around 7 hours in total. We would arrange transport and food and a fee of £600 each.

They were on it like a business of ferrets on a stick of rock (i.e. voracious, just take my word for it). It was, as the French like to say, le game on. Now the real fun began. I toyed with the idea of sending my dad down to Highams Park station to pick them all up in the back of his two seater van like a bunch of scally builders out for their first day on a new site. First things first though, I needed a date, time and location. I thought why not have them turn up at my old alma mater, King’s College, London. So it was all arranged. I was just waiting for the agent to confirm the names of the members who would be turning up, and in time I got this:

Names are;

Sam Foulkes
Oliver Georgiou
Marcel Somerville
Lee Bailey
Stuart Baker
Chris McKeckney

Errr, sorry what the fuck is this? Which one is Freek? Where is Reepa or Rocky B? She couldn’t legitimately think this was proper behaviour. They built their reputations on funky nicknames and now I was having to deal with a Marcel and an Oliver. Fuck off.

As it turned out I was a bit bored of it all and I had a trip to Lebanon coming up that needed a bit of organising for so I kind of forgot about it all. I had really planned on sending a very dorky script over, to give them the jitters about what they had actually signed up for, but before I knew it I was in Beirut and this had all but been completely forgotten about.

I don’t tend to check emails much when i’m away and when I did, I had some panicked messages in my inbox from their agent. I then realised the scheduled day of filming was only three days away. Shit!! I like to have a laugh, but I didn’t want to be a total dick, so I had to come up with something quickly, and it had to be good. I asked my brother to email this message:

Dear X,

I am emailing on behalf of Celebriteasing (not my real name) regarding the upcoming work he has scheduled with Blazing Squad. Unfortunately he has been detained by police in Monaco and we are not sure when or if he may be released. I have spoken with him very briefly on the phone and he has asked me to contact you to apologise and cancel the planned meeting and filming session. He will be in touch when he is back in the UK.

She was not happy and remarked loosely about the lack of professionalism and how I had let the boys down. Sorry what? I’m in the nick, love. No concern about my wellbeing, no sympathy for the monotony of my daily rations of baguette and brie. What a bitch. Anyway, it was of course quite some time before I was ‘released’. My time inside a make-believe Monacan prison has served me well, though, and I now had something masterly planned for a certain Antony Costa.

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