Manny pushed the broom around the shop floor, the coil of the phone following him over his route, with the receiver held between his shoulder and his ear.

"Well, yeah." He mumbled into the phone, listening intently to the voice on the other end. "Yeah, it should be interesting... mm... the TV people are coming in today, trying to sort it all out." Manny made another couple of sweeps with the broom, before stopping entirely, and leaning on the handle. "Oh, I don't know about that..." he fidgeted awkwardly, tutting at what he heard. "He's gotten better. Like last night. He actually made it upstairs before collapsing..." Manny trailed off, as there was a knock on the door. "Ah... um... have to go. Yeah. Alright, bye." He grinned as he replaced the receiver and put the phone back in its original place on Bernard's desk. He leant the broom against the table and half jogged, half stumbled over to the door, opening it to reveal a petite blonde woman with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail, wearing a tracksuit and clutching a clipboard. A large crowd of people stood behind her, all in scruffy work clothes, and some with hi-visibility jackets.

"Black Books?" She smiled, looking a little out of breath.

"Uh, yes..." Manny looked at them, confused. The woman showed him an ID card clipped to her clipboard.

"Fiona Lesters. For "Working Hours"?"

"Oh, right!" Manny gave a relieved sigh, standing aside. "Uh, come in."

"Alright guys, get to it!" Fiona yelled at the crew behind her, who bustled into the shop and began busying themselves. "Alright... are you Mr..." she checked her keyboard, before looking at Manny again. "Mr Bernard Black?"

"No, no, I'm Manny. Bernard's... umm..." He glanced up at the ceiling, wondering how much noise the crew would make before Bernard emerged from his drunken slumber. "He's not available at the moment. But, uh, I'm sure I could pass any messages along." He smiled eagerly, and Fiona shook her head. "Manny... ah, Manny Bianco. You're listed here as shop help, is that right?"

"Shop... shop help?" Manny puffed himself up with pride, and tried to remain casual sounding. "Bernard... did he write that? About me?"

"Well, it was a multiple choice option." Fiona replied, offhand, still leafing through documents on her clipboard, while the work crew began setting up ladders, drilling and wiring. "Although he did also tick "other" and listed "man-servant", "houndish troll" and "bane of my Exeter"."

"I... Exeter?"

"I think that's what it says." Fiona scrutinised the writing. "It's very hard to read."

"Ah..." Manny sighed a little, before Fiona turned to another crew member who entered with a few shiny cardboard boxes. At this moment, Manny flinched as the curtains rattled aside, and Bernard cast a curious yet disdainful glare at the crew, who continued regardless of his arrival.

"Manny!" Bernard glared at Manny who smiled happily, something the Irishman found incredibly obnoxious at this heavily hung-over hour of the morning. "What is this? Who are these people?"

"Ah, Bernard, this is..." Manny was cut off as Fiona pushed past him, hand extended. "Fiona Lesters. I'm here to supervise the set-up of the cameras for "Working Hours". Bernard Black, I take it?"

"What? Yes. Hello-aaaooohh..." Bernard was caught off guard, and shook her hand, eyes suddenly widening in pain as she crushed several of his fingers.

"Now, before we get down to matters of protocol, there's one question to clear up." Fiona sniffed, before flicking back through her clipboard. "Under "extra help", you listed one Fran Katzenjammer, but didn't list a specific role."

"She brings the wine, she provides entertainment..." Bernard mumbled flippantly, watching the crew carefully. "Who cares? She's the shop's token hag."

"Bernard." Manny reprimanded, turning to Fiona. "She's our friend, she helps out here but she's not technically employed."

"I see..." Fiona took a pen from inside her jacket, and noted something on the clipboard. "We'll list her as "volunteer help". Do you know how we can reach her?"

"Don't worry, I'll get her for you." Bernard sniffed, looking into an empty cigarette packet. He balled it up, and threw it at a lumpy blanket on the sofa with considerable force. The lumpy blanket moved and emitted a sleepy grumble. "Get up!" Bernard crossed, and tore the blanket away, revealing a fully clothed, slowly stirring Fran still clutching an empty wine bottle. She blearily opened her eyes and stumbled to her feet, looking around.

"Whassgoinon? Bernard? Why am I in the shop and who are all these people?"

"You passed out drunk on the sofa again." Bernard spat with contempt, digging in his other pocket and taking out a new pack of cigarettes. He took one, and Fran wordlessly took another one, while Fiona began talking, unaware or uncaring of the contemptuous, confused glares from Fran and Bernard.

"Wonderful, since we're all here. There are going to be five hidden cameras in here, and three in the office through there." She motioned with her pen. "We're trying to be as unobtrusive as possible with filming, but we ask that you restrict your leaving the shop until it's totally necessary. Of course, with Bernard and Manny living here it shouldn't be an issue. We're going to provide you each with a handy-cam so you can record a video diary, and someone will be here every other day to pick up the tapes. Watch carefully, I'm going to show you how they work."

She took one of the glossy cardboard boxes, and began to open the box, removing a sleek looking silver video camera.

"You press this button here to open the monitor screen, and swivel it around like this so you can see what you're filming. This button records and this button stops it. Any questions?"

She looked up from the camera, to see three completely blank faces staring back at her.

"So..." Bernard puffed on his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he thought. "So that thing... makes video?"

Fiona, not caught off guard for a second, returned the camera to its box, and gave it to Manny, before handing one each to Fran and Bernard.

"Instructions are written in the booklet inside. Right guys, how are the cameras?" A rumble of approval came from the crew, as three men in jackets left the kitchen. The crew began filing out of the doors. "Brilliant. We have three other shops to set up, so we should be done by... one? Brilliant." She gave a curt smile, heading for the door herself. "There should be someone here in about an hour or so to get interviews with each of you. Here is the cheque for agreeing to take part." She took a cheque from her clipboard, and handed it to Bernard, before giving another curt smile.

"Brilliant meeting you."

And with that, she and the work crew were gone, leaving Bernard Manny and Fran in a cloud of smoke and confusion.

"Bernard..." Fran blinked, finally awake. "Am I still very drunk or was that confusing for you too?"

"Oh, most definitely." Bernard agreed, clearing his throat and crossing back to his desk, shoving the cheque in the till and fumbling through the drawers for a bottle of wine. "Of course, I tend to assume I've become so cynical, the idea of people existing outside of this shop is strange and ridiculous."

Bernard, Manny and Fran sat awkwardly around Bernard's desk, forcing smiles as a bespectacled, spotty teenager set up a complicated looking camera in front of them.

"And we're rolling." He croaked, from behind the threatening machinery. "Do you want to introduce yourselves?" The bewildered silence continued. "Alright, let's start with you, Mr Black. If you just want to say your name, your age, maybe a few facts about yourself?"

"I... really?"

"It'd be a good start."

"Alright. Fine. My name is Bernard Black, I'm thirty years old, I like wine, I smoke and I've been in charge of this hellhole for far too long. Is that enough?"
"Yeah..." The camera guy grimaced, before adjusting the camera slightly. "I think we've got a pretty good idea of your character. Alright, uh... Manny next?"

"Oh.. um.. I'm Manny Bianco, I'm thirty two, and..."

"You're thirty two years old?" Bernard exclaimed, gazing at Manny with shocked horror, before shifting back in his seat. "Christ, it makes you even more of a simpering fool."

Manny bit his lip, looking around awkwardly.

"Carry on, Manny." The camera guy gave an uninterested sigh. "We'll edit that bit out."

"Oh... right... umm... Well, I used to be an accountant, but I've been working here for about a year and a half."

"`About`." Bernard muttered scornfully. "Nice to know you care."

"Bernard." Fran reprimanded, before patting Manny's hand soothingly, and turning to the camera guy. "I'm sorry about him; he's a bit irritable when he's hung over." Bernard glared darkly at her, but she ignored him.

"I was ignoring him. Right, do you want to go next, Fran?"

"Oh, ok, well..." Fran smoothed down the front of her blouse and sat up straight, smiling. "My name is Fran Katzenjammer, I'm... twenty nine." Bernard snorted, but his laugh was cut short as Fran hit him in the arm without removing her eyes from the camera. "Twenty nine." She repeated, slightly forcefully, "I used to own a shop called "Nifty Gifty" next door, but it closed down. I spend a lot of time helping out here because... well, I don't really know why. It's quite fun though, sometimes."

"Great, is that it?" Bernard snapped, shooting a bleary glare at the spotty faced teen.

"Yeah, that'll be fine." He was already packing away the camera. "Luckily, I won't have to edit it. Feel free to say more about yourself in your video diaries."

"Oh, well, thank you." Manny smiled, helping him to the door.

"Yeah, whatever." The teen sniffed back, lifting the camera with considerable ease. "See you." Manny shut the door behind the teen, before turning to see Bernard glaring at him angrily.

"Wonderful. You have a new friend. Now, you lying, aged man-child, where's my cure?"

Manny opened his mouth to protest, but trudged dutifully towards the kitchen.

"Manny, could you get me a cup of tea while you're in there?" Fran smiled sweetly, sitting down in the chair opposite Bernard's.

"Tea?" Bernard repeated, as if the word was nonsense. "You never drink tea. We do have wine, you know."

"I know, but I'm cutting back." Fran stuck her chin out proudly. "I'm not going to be seen on national TV as a hopeless drunk. Not me." She gave a wry smile. "One bottle, after five, and only every other day. Maybe two on Saturdays." She raised an eyebrow at Bernard who stared at her with something near horror.

"You're sick. You're ill. Oh god, don't vomit on my desk."

"I'm not ill, Bernard." Fran sighed, smiling at him with intolerable smugness. "It'll be good for me, and it'll make sure I save my dignity. Who knows, I may even keep it up."

"You never will." Bernard mocked, digging a cigarette out of his pocket. "Half a bottle a day? You won't survive the week, let alone the three months they're going to film us for."

"I will too." Fran sniffed, indignant. "Anyway, I don't know why you signed up to this. Getting the million pound prize relies on the audience voting for you."

"And your point is?"

"Bernard, you know you're one of my dearest friends, but you're a despicable human being. No one's going to vote for you, unless it's the award for being the most unfavourable bastard."

"I disagree." Bernard returned coolly, before slowly opening the drawer of his desk. "I've been doing some reading on the subject. Thank you, by the way, for leaving your gossip shit-rags on the stairs, where I promptly slipped on them and nearly cracked my head open." He removed several loudly coloured, glossy magazines and dropped them on the desk, before leaning back in his chair and continuing with a casual, know-it-all air. "The majority of these "reality" TV shows focus on introducing the most contrast between the contestants, and one of the key goals is sympathy. The sympathy vote, or the underdog vote, tends to be the decider, although one does have to factor in media portrayal and public opinion as the show continues. Bearing in mind we are a small, independent book shop competing with Goliath, a literal giant, we already have grounding in sympathy. Factor in Manny's pathetic yet I'm sure somehow adorable serf nature, my nature as the disenchanted Romantic, and your being the caring friend who spends all her time here because she herself was pushed out of business... My dear Fran, we can't lose."

Fran looked at Bernard for a long while, before shaking her head.

"That is the biggest load of bollocks I have ever heard."