Tag Archives: mel b

TV Pitches: The Spice Girls

Their musical reunion at the Olympics was only temporary, every Spice Girl in search of an interview is telling us. So where next for the peppery pentahedron? Here are some ideas…


The concept: Ambition-themed gameshow in which the Girls audition potential replacements from a crowd of needy schoolchildren

Emma: And now it’s Kayleigh from Swindon’s turn! Kayleigh, which Spice Girl do you… “wannabe”?

Small child: I wannabe Geri!

Geri: Kayleigh, you’re aware that to become the perfect simulacrum, your established interiority is forfeit? And that you may pass from physical existence into a theoretical state of hyperreality?

Small child: I like the dress with the flag on it! Girl Power!


The concept: Mel B oversees proceedings as the remaining girls pair up – quite literally! – to live as Siamese twins for a week. In the grand finale the winning pair undergo a full and irreversible surgical joining procedure.

Mel B: (bursting into room in which Emma and Victoria are sat glumly in a giant three-legged jumpsuit) Hi girls! How are you getting on?

Emma: (wriggling) I’m worried about what’ll happen if we win the challenge and have to live like this permanently.

Victoria: David says he’s alright with it. And I could get a new fashion line out of it.

Emma: (viciously) Stop fooling yourself Victoria!

Mel B: Chin up, ladies! It’s nearly time for the breakdancing challenge!


The concept: Undeterred that a programme of the same name already exists, the Girls present a fun exploration into the concepts of identity and consciousness.

Mel C: So you see Mel, the self is a narrative we create for ourselves, but an intangible one. Look at this hula hoop! Its centre of gravity is a point in the middle of thin air!

Mel B: Are we going to do hula hooping now?

Mel C: Well YOU’RE not, Mel! Being sporty is MY narrative!

Mel B: You’re really starting to episteme off.


The concept: Each Spice Girl tries out a different method of attaining immortality. Hosted by Esther Rantzen.

Esther: Well I think we can all agree Geri’s quietened down A LOT since we put her into cryogenic suspension. We’ll be checking back in ten years to see how she’s getting on.

Emma: How much more of this disgusting black fungus water do I have to drink, Esther? It tastes like the bottom of a carpet. And I’ve got terrible shits.

Esther: It’s Ling-Zhi, the Chinese mushroom of immortality, Emma – keep going and don’t be a baby! Victoria, how are you getting on uploading your intelligence onto that floppy disk?

Victoria: I’ve written my name on the label already!


The concept: The Spice Girls call for help repeatedly from the centre of an existential void. But no-one ever comes.

Celebrity families: the Browns

It’s with some trepidation that I approach the impressive maisonette where Derren and Melanie Brown live with their son Chris. Chris has been in the headlines for all the wrong reasons recently, whether relentlessly smashing his girlfriend’s face to a pulp, light-heartedly revealing his elephantine penis to the internet, or flying into a rage on the set of a TV interview and storming angrily off to throw furniture around.

But my fears are allayed when Mel B flings open the door. Dressed in a trademark animal-print bikini & cape, and a broad Northern smile, she cheerfully bellows “Come on in, he won’t bite!” in that accent of hers.

The reasons for this become clear as I’m ushered into the kitchen-cum-TV-room. Chris has quite literally been muzzled and is bound to a chair with gaffer tape. “It’s for his own good really,'” laughs Mel, offering me a Ryvita Mini. “To be honest we’re thinking of having him put down!”

Mel’s husband Derren, a reclusive mastermind and sometime lord of illusion, emerges from the shadows. “I knew she was going to say that,” he says, prestidigitatively.

“Come on, our Chris!” shouts Mel. “Time for your mango!” She dribbles some juice into the corner of his muzzle with a pipette, while his eyes blaze murderously with fury. “He’s a terrible disappointment really,” she confides. “I were only a teenager myself when I had him. But to be honest if I hadn’t, I reckon our Derren would have been off on the other bus by now!”

“It… was… a thought experiment,” says Derren tightly, engaged in some business with a smashed watch and a locked box. Looking up at me, he asks “Oh, would you get the door?”

“What?” I ask, and just then the doorbell rings. A dour figure is stood there in kagoule and sunglasses – it’s Derren’s older brother Ian.

“ALRIGHT OUR KID?” he enquires, barging in. “I’VE COME FOR ME NEPHEW.”

Mel throws a teatowel protectively over Chris’s face. “You’re bloody not,” she swears. “He’s grounded.”


Mel races over. “I’ll give you a bit of spunk,” she yells, which unfortunately

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