Chapter 61
The official filming took place with relative ease. Bri and Matt were taken on a guided tour of the house, outhouses and land as the Pryces’ life was exposed in detail; their hardships and irregularities shown to the voyeuristic viewers. Mr and Mrs Pryce played well to the camera; their seriousness and shyness as they described what their lives consisted of, was broken up by regular jokes and chuckles between them. ‘Perfect, absolutely perfect’, thought Bri, who was more than a little bored of whingeing old ladies who expected someone else to mend their leaky taps, when they had a great lummox of a son lying on the sofa eating fish and chips (because they “couldn’t afford meat”).
The interview ended, as most things did in the Pryce household, with a cuppa and fresh Welsh cakes that Bri had filmed Mrs Pryce cooking on the old griddle on the stove, and Mr Pryce trying to steal a currant from. “We’ve lived like this for, oh, must be forty years?” said Mr Pryce, looking at Mrs Pryce for acknowledgement. “We’ve been very happy here, but have never really had the spare money to do the things we would like to do. Have we, Mother?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yes, yes, we’ve had lots of plans, and now,” and he looked straight into the camera like a true professional, “this money has given us the chance of doing these things. And,” and he put his hand over his wife’s to show their solidarity on this one, “we would like to take the opportunity to thank London Television…”
“North London Independent Television,” whispered Matt sharply.
“Yes, and them, for allowing us to make our dreams come true.”
“OK, cut,” said Bri, “that’s great – a bit cheesy, but great. Okay?” he said to Matt who nodded, his notebook bulging with information and phrases.
And so the Pryces of Tyn-y-Cwm Fach were left in peace to get on with the job in hand. John had the video camera and seven per cent of forty thousand pounds to coordinate the work. The Pryces had a signed and scrutinised contract in their callused hands, telling them how they could spend their forty thousand pounds.
As Matt and Bri sped off into the distance – or rather left as fast as the rutted track would allow, the three remaining folk stood for a few moments looking at one another. Then, as one, they burst into whoops of delight and two pairs of wellington boots – one rolled down, one ladies’ galoshes style – and a pair of leather-soled loafers danced around the yard, yelps of mirth reverberating around the crumbling buildings.