I Bring Joy

Lights, cops, action.

A London street party.

Beats fireworks any day of the week.

It's just white noise though.

I sometimes feel I hide amongst it all,

trying to feel invisible.

It's not that hard in London, the city that never talks.

Cheers, 5G.

I think I'm pretty normal, standard dietary requirements.

No allergies, a preference for oat milk.

Nothing to raise an eyebrow over.

But I have started killing people recently,

which is a thing, I guess.

My day job requires the opposite of anonymity.

Flamboyance level 10.

Higher and faster, Joy.

Watch Meghan.

Take note of her timings.

She is really nailing it today, girls.

Some of you are a bit slow,

you're not all hitting those marks on time.

You need thick skin in this job.

More actors here than a drama school.

You'll get it eventually.

Thanks, I'll keep at it.

You only get out what you put in.

But a Shakespearean tragedy, it isn't,

more the pity.

Okay, back to first positions.

"Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,

vexing the dull ear of a drowsy woman."

What's everyone doing after this?

I have an audition.

A BBC drama.

Is it called "Run & Gun?"

Yeah, why?

I've got an audition for that on Friday.

Okay, well, good luck.

Likewise.

Too kind.

"Too kind."

She's so annoying.

No shit.

She's beaten me out of two commercials already.

You can't hate her just for that.

Guess not.

Except I can.

I do fucking hate her.

I wanna kill her.

It's good to have some competition anyway.

Life is all about rivalries and how you handle them.

Nobody wants to just get along.

Everybody wants to be a winner.

Sorry, I know I'm rambling a bit, but...

I just wanted to get my head around it all,

get my thoughts in order,

'cause this whole thing is confusing.

It's not like one day, I woke up

and just decided to kill someone,

this isn't pre-meditated, this wasn't planned,

it was the opposite, I'm not that person.

But I guess, you know, sometimes life buys the ticket

and you ride the train.

Super poetic, right? Mad skills.

So the day I changed trains, I was at the pub,

I was out with my girlfriends.

She's a bully.

That is not what I said.

She totally bullies me.

Don't be a pussy.

And now you're doing it too.

My voice is being silenced.

She looks hot on Insta too.

Hm, as always,

that's the most important measure of a person.

You're only saying that, 'cause yours sucks.

Mine doesn't suck.

Why does it suck?

Heads up, incoming.

- Ooh! - Stranger, get over here.

So you ladies are looking foxy as always.

Likewise.

Let's sing it.

Please.

The tour?

Yes, the tour.

And the Legend?

Oh, the fucking Legend, dearie me.

Well, you know what's coming.

How bad?

Rumours are accurate.

Wow.

Shots and stories!

So the actual tour was awesome.

Costumes, crew, routines were killer.

Hotels and food, lovely, properly looked after.

Boys?

Fuck, yeah.

For my very scintillating Insta Fam,

welcome to a standard night out

in the company of London's hottest.

Cheers.

- Cheers, ladies. - Cheers!

Yolo!

Oh, God.

Nobody still says that, Rox.

What? Yeah, they do.

Oh, shut up, it still works.

The Legend.

Yeah, the Legend.

So the Legend sent two girls home.

Well, didn't send them, they just couldn't stay.

Lines crossed?

Room keys acquired.

Rooms entered?

Yep and ejected by both girls shortly after.

But did the girls want to leave?

So it was suggested,

that as the atmosphere got irrevocably affected,

leaving without fuss

and with great references

was better for their careers.

How did the other girls feel?

Fucked off, I bet.

But a three-month tour is money in the bank.

Nobody's walking out in protest.

Exactly and the two girls got paid out in full.

What were they gonna say?

They actually both pissed off to Bali

for the remaining month.

The Legend got given a talking to by management after that.

I was preoccupied with Rachel's stories.

We've all had our experiences,

but the Legend,

of all people,

how depressing.

At least the girls got away clean.

So then this happened.

Your fucking purse now.

Fuck off.

Let go of me.

Oh, for fuck's sake, Feds.

I'll call you back.

I don't know, I'll call you back.

You're in a hurry.

Correct.

Why's that then?

'Cause I'm late obviously.

What's in the bag?

Why?

Shoes.

Open it up, let's have a look.

Someone's been shopping.

No, not really.

"Not really," what does that mean?

I customise trainers.

So you bought these?

No, not all, I bought some, people gave me some.

- Come off it. - Come off what?

- It's my job, mate. - I'm not your mate.

You've got a spot

just off the Essex Road, haven't you?

Yeah, you know it?

I recognise your logo, "TF,"

that's your tag, right?

Tag, name, brand.

Look, don't let us keep you.

On your way.

Yeah, you just stick with your Hi-Tecs, mate.

Reported stabbing on the Clephane Estate.

Available to respond?

Unit 7 responding. Send location.

Stand by, 7.

I could have gone to the police,

I could have told them it was an accident.

But my unashamed eyes would reveal what I really think,

that he deserved it, he totally deserved it.

Someone had to do it

and it's right that it was someone like me.

Best view in my flat and I share it with the toilet.

All right, darling?

No.

Maybe next time, innit?

I don't bite, you know.

I moped around all day,

stopped short of popping by the scene.

Obviously, I was tempted.

I just felt fuzzy,

no desire at all to report it.

I didn't feel a bit bad about it,

I didn't feel anything.

Later on, I did start to feel a sort of discomfort,

although not in the way that you might think,

not guilt or regret.

More like, was I careful? Will I be caught?

Good afternoon.

Our top story today should be global warming,

but due to the government's selective use

of their own advisors,

we are once again waiting for a coherent plan.