Spagboll Toastenquirer is, of course, UK TV’s leading domestic terrain naturalist. As we all know, the local habitat of the average British person has changed so much over recent decades. Consequently, it became apparent to the executives at the television channels that there was a way to generate money-spinning foreign sales and DVD boxed sets… document the changing nature of the UK’s domestic households. Furthermore, they believed they could – in a bold and innovative way – that would win TV awards… change the way people looked at their own lives and houses.
Of course, such a programme would also combine many lucrative bold and original TV genres into one new genre, thus saving a great deal of money. However, the executives believed it would still check off a large number of boxes once the time for the TV licence-fee renewal discussions came around again.
Therefore, TV executives came up with a concept that envisaged a nature programme combined with the domestic genres such as house improvement and cooking. A new TV concept that would combine all those genres, as well as history, science and almost everything else they could think of into the one programme. Thus, they could employ the most telegenic of their many presenters to front the programme without the need for signing any new contracts.
Toastenquirer first came to prominence, as it were, for her use of well-filled tight t-shirts in gardening programmes. The low-cut design she favoured managed to boost audience figures for what had become a rather moribund genre. Especially so when each episode involved a great many close-up shots of Toastenquirer bending down directly in front of the camera to bed her seedlings.
The pilot programme of Domestic Naturalist featured Toastenquirer exploring the kitchen of an ordinary suburban semi-detached house. The cameras followed Toastenquirer discovering such natural wonders of the domestic kitchen as the toaster, the rolling pin and – in a memorable sequence – a spatula. Of course, for many modern Britons the kitchen is a place where takeaways are warmed up in the microwave. So this wealth of domestic natural history was a real eye-opener for many viewers, especially when Toastenquirer did what she did with the spatula and a couple of freshly-made pancakes. Apparently, that night as soon as the show was finished, NHS casualty departments reported a surge in male wrist injuries, which they directly attributed to the sensually erotic way Toastenquirer tossed her pancakes. Not only that, the resultant activity under her t-shirt caused many viewers to immediately order the DVD boxset of the series before the pilot had even finished broadcasting.
This was Toastenquirer’s fame assured and another 12 series of Toastenquirer – Domestic Naturalist – as it was now called – were commissioned as soon as the pilot had aired.