Calling the Shots

In which The Author pitches a new Reality TV show

A few months ago, two friends of mine named Simon and Kylie took over a big old pub in Phonicstown Cwmaman called the Boncyff. It's a place I've been to a few times over the years, but it's too far from home to have become a regular watering hole.

It was originally called the Fforchneol Arms. First recorded in 1872, according to Richard Arnold's definitive essay 'The Pubs, Clubs and Breweries of Aberdare' (in Old Aberdare Vol. 2), it's more commonly known as 'the Bonki'. The origin of its peculiar name is – as with so many aspects of Valleys life – a topic for debate, mythology and downright bollocks in pubs and elsewhere. I once read (somewhere) that the boncyff was a large tree stump on Gooseberry Hill, more or less opposite, used as a counting table for the miners' wages. By association the word transferred itself to the pub, and gradually mutated to its current form.

The name 'Fforchneol Arms' seems to have fallen into disuse over the past two decades or so. The side of the building currently reads Boncyff. (I can't tell you what it says on the front. We just dive straight in after getting off the bus, without stopping to look. I took the photo a few years ago, but I doubt if it's changed since.)

[A digression: My friend Florence grew up in Uganda, and occasionally falls into the language gap when she's among fluent Wenglish speakers. A few years ago, she had to go to the old Aman School for a dance class one evening. Being new to the area, she asked her work colleagues how to get there by public transport.

Having been advised to catch the bus and 'get off by the Bonki', Florence boarded the Glynhafod service and asked the driver for 'a return to the Bonkers.' When she told me about it a few days later, we roared with laughter, and I said, 'You're bloody bonkers!'

Anyway, Simon and Kylie introduced Friday night karaoke a couple of months ago. You won't be surprised to learn that Phillip, Clare and I have been up to check it out a few times. In fact, it was – partly – the reason why Clare started going there in the first place.

But it's not just karaoke. It's Karaoke and Shots. Every time you sing, you get a free drink. It's never a free pint, unfortunately, but one of those 'blink and you'll miss it' drinks in a little plastic cup that looks like something a nurse might hand you when you're standing behind a curtain. Still, a free drink is a free drink. They have the same offer at the Golden Cross in Cardiff on Wednesday evenings. As Jade Justine the host/ess always says, 'The more you sing, the more pissed you get for free.'

Clare got royally pissed the first time she did Karaoke and Shots. In fact, she spent most of the Saturday feeling very sorry for herself, drinking soft drinks, occasionally moaning and mopping her fevered brow, and eventually baling out before Lindsay had even set up her gear in the Glandover. Shot to death, one might say.

Later that night, I had an unfortunate incident myself. I'd stayed in the Welsh Harp until closing time, with a nice gang of friends I hadn't seen for a while. When I got home and put my key in the Yale lock, the bloody thing snapped in two. Luckily for me, the mortise lock opened without any problems, and I was able to shoulder charge the door open. (Yeah, I know – is there any more damage I can do to my shoulders?)

On the next Manic Monday, I showed the remaining portion to Phillip and Clare, and suggested that the Broken Key would be the perfect emblem for our karaoke get-togethers. Every time someone makes a hash of a song, we could display the Broken Key on the table in front of us.

Goddess knows I earned it myself on Wednesday night, when I struggled through a very high arrangement of 'Waterloo Sunset' in the Golden Cross. 'Lola' would have been better suited to my voice, but since Jade is a drag queen I didn't think it would go down too well.

However, the very words 'karaoke and shots' gave me an idea. Let me explain …

It seems that half the country spends Saturday nights glued to Reality TV 'talent' shows like The Voice and The X Factor. At least three of my friends have tried out for one of these shows, and failed to qualify. It wasn't because they weren't up to the mark – it was just that there were other people on the day who offered better entertainment value. Take this young lad from Aberdare, who appeared on The X Factor a few years ago, for example. He looks the part; he talks the talk; he certainly thinks he's the best thing since sliced bread. But look at Louis Walsh's face as soon as he starts singing. Cheryl Cole's reaction is priceless, too.

After seeing Clare's pitiful attempt to get through the Saturday after the Friday before, I realised that Karaoke and Shots is actually a brilliant idea for a talent show. I'll pitch it to you so you can see what you think.

Hopeful wannabes with a half-decent voice get to do their party pieces in front of a panel of judges. The successful ones go through to the next stage. So far, so predictable.

But here's the twist.

Instead of just sitting there saying, 'It's a "no" from me,' or refusing to turn their chairs around, each judge is provided with a 9mm revolver loaded with live rounds. If any contestant fails to reach a decent standard, he or she gets blown away live on prime-time television.

See – Karaoke and Shots just got real.

I first outlined this idea on Facebook a couple of months ago. A few of my friends thought it had legs. I also sketched it out in the Golden Cross last week. Jade was horrified, but the barman seemed to like it.

Jade said, 'You can't go killing people live on TV.'

'Not in this country, no,' I agreed. 'But I bet the Japanese networks would bite my hand off for the rights.'

After all, I'm old enough to remember the insane clips from Endurance that Clive James used to feature on his TV show. I'm just taking things to the next level.

I was in the Golden Cross on Wednesday night, drinking with a good crowd of performing arts students from St Paul, Minnesota, for some bizarre reason. Suddenly, a young girl sitting beside me literally launched herself off her stool and into the middle of the crowd. I started laughing and told her, 'It's only the lighting system – that bright red dot on your chest isn't really a laser guide for a sniper rifle.'

But the plot thickens. Phillip and I were sitting in the Lighthouse last night when I noticed that Spanish Steve had a bright red dot in the middle of his back. We looked around and Martin had a bright red dot on the nape of his neck. I told Phillip what had happened in Cardiff the night before. Maybe there really were snipers positioned around the building, ready to take down anyone who murdered 'Delilah' for the thousandth time. Was Karaoke and Shots about to come to life?

Anyway, having kept the proposal to my Facebook friends and my fellow members of the Broken Key Club until now, I'm putting it out there for anyone to buy. It's even got a working title, courtesy of the barman in the Golden Cross, who mentioned that it sounded like a plan for a snuff movie.

How does Can You Come Up to Snuff grab you?