Danny closed the kitchen door, shutting in his 6-year-old mongrel bitch Bonnie. He'd spotted the postman popping in next door to deliver mail to the 'prim and proper' home of the 'prim and proper' Pickersons. Next home on the route was Danny's and Bonnie was liable to take the postman's fingers along with the mail. As it was, Bonnie was bouncing and barking, knowing that this morning routine meant she'd lose out on some mail-chewing again.

Soon enough, three pieces of mail dropped onto Danny's doormat. Stooping slowly, his small - but ambitious - pot-belly causing him to gasp with this tiny piece of exertion, Danny picked up the mail and groaned.

'Looks like more bills, Bonnie.'

A letter from the bank asking him politely - but in no uncertain terms - to deposit enough funds to clear his overdraft; a letter from the Housing Office asking him - less politely and more firmly - to contact the office and make arrangements to reduce his rent payment shortfall; a Final Notice - with a RED BORDER - informing him that unless a significant amount of money was paid within 7 DAYS his vehicle would be REPOSSESSED.

He threw the mail onto his coffee table, sat down heavily on his threadbare sofa and again contemplated suicide.

The last time he'd been unemployed life hadn't been this difficult, had it? No, not even close! Now, he was an experienced factory worker without a factory to work in. Now, every local unemployed experienced factory worker was out there chasing what few factory jobs were available ... and Danny just couldn't keep up.

He scratched at his balding head, took in his tidy but not particularly clean living room then - picking up his TV remote - decided to numb his aching mind. Besides, his cable account was going to be closed on Friday - 3 days from now - unless he could offer a significant payment to ease his growing debt ... and he could not.

'Let's see what's on, eh girl?' he muttered, forgetting he'd shut Bonnie in the kitchen.

Up came the TV guide and Danny began flicking through channels.

'Seen it ... Boring ... Come fix up my house, fuckers! ... How do you turn beans and potatoes into a gourmet meal, you twat?! ... '

He paused. Something had caught his eye. The Sports Channel was at the top of a page instead of in its usual place at the bottom. An extra channel had been added.

'Probably UKTV Gold +1 +1', Danny muttered to himself. Still, you never know ... which is why, through careful perusal of the pages of the TV Guide, Danny eventually found the new channel.

'Soul TV? Not more fucking music!'

He pressed a button on the remote to access information about the channel. No information was forthcoming. So Danny did what all good TV lovers would do; he satisfied his curiosity and went to the channel.

‘Oh, bollocks. Another bloody shopping channel.’

A presenter sat at a plain-looking office desk, grinning to the camera and twiddling his thumbs. Then he glanced at a monitor on his left, near the edge of the desk and gave a smile.

‘Okay, we now have 73 sellers on the telephone. New seller from Guernsey, welcome to you! Okay Jill, you sold at £1.3 million, plus a Ferrari and the untimely death of your husband! Well played! So, we’re at £1.3 million, a Ferrari, the untimely death of an unloved one ... Wait! I think ...’

The presenter held a finger to his right ear, his eyes momentarily glazing over as he listened to verbal instruction through his ear-piece.

‘Unbelievable!’ he enthused, beaming a thousand-watt smile at the camera, ‘My producer, Nick, has upped the offer to ... Hold on to your seats now, players! ... £1.5 million, a Ferrari, the untimely death of an unloved one plus ... a £4 million home in the Bahamas! Can you believe it? Only three of these on offer now, so get calling; 0800 666 666. Yes, even the calls are free! Can you afford to miss out? Is your soul worth all that?’

Danny found that he had been gaping at the screen. A home shopping channel where you ... sold your soul?! ... For MEGA-BUCKS!

‘Has to be a joke of some sort, eh girl?’

Danny finally noticed he’d left Bonnie in the kitchen. He managed to haul himself from the sofa and shuffled through to open the kitchen door. Bonnie alternately bounced and snuffled around his legs as he walked into the kitchen.

‘What shall we have for brekkie, Bonnie?’

Danny started opening cupboards, looking at the sparse contents and closing the cupboard doors again. He then went to the fridge, opened the door, reminded himself that he needed to replace the bulb, glanced around - with next to nothing to glance at - then closed the door.

‘How about tea and toast for me, and the other half of your dog food for you? Sound good, girl?’

Bonnie barked.

‘That’s settled, then. I’ll make the tea and toast and put out your food; you can bark and wag your tail. Deal?’

Bonnie barked and wagged her tail.

‘Done’.

He patted her on the head then filled the kettle, switched it on and taking Bonnie’s food from a cupboard, emptied the half can of mushy meat into her bowl.

‘There you go, girl; fit for a Queen’s corgi.’

Bonnie had wolfed it down before Danny had finished rinsing out his cup. Adding a spot of milk to his cup Danny heard the TV presenter announce the end of that particular sale, congratulating the players on making ‘Absolutely fantastic deals!!’ and to stay tuned as his colleague would return with more ‘Unbelievable offers!!’ after this short break.

‘A satirical show, methinks. Amazing the stuff you get on TV, eh girl?’

Bonnie wagged her tail as she continued to lick the now empty bowl.

Danny turned to his cooker to turn on the grill ... but there was no telltale hiss of gas.

‘Aw, shit.’

He walked to his front door, picking the key to his gas box from the kitchen counter as he went. He opened the door, ignored the pelting rain, inserted the key and - on opening the box that housed his gas meter - pressed the red button.

‘You have 0.00 credit.’ read the display.

‘Fuck.’ Danny groaned to himself. No toast today; no cooking today for that matter. Two days before his Job Seeker’s Allowance arrived in his almost empty bank account as well. Just his fucking luck.

Closing up the box, he went back inside and trudged into the kitchen.

‘Looks like an air sandwich today, Bonnie.’

Bonnie wasn’t in the kitchen.

Just then, he heard a growl from the living room.

‘Bonnie? You okay girl?’

Danny went to the living room to find Bonnie standing 3 feet from the TV, her hackles raised and her teeth bared, growling at the TV.

‘What’s got into you, girl?’

There was another presenter on the strange new shopping channel; all teeth and perfect grooming, encouraging shoppers to take up this latest ‘never to be repeated sale of a life-time’.

Bonnie was growling intently, her tail between her legs and her ears flat back against her skull.

‘Enough, Bonnie! Get in the kitchen!’

Danny got between the dog and the TV. Bonnie continued to growl but with less conviction. Her tail wagged a little and she crouched down to the floor. Danny had rarely seen her this agitated - excepting her almost daily eagerness to maul the mail.

‘Bonnie, get in the kitchen!’

The dog stopped growling and began slinking into the kitchen. Danny closed the living room door behind her, almost catching her tail.

‘Life treating you bad?’ came the presenter’s voice from the TV. ’Your luck all bad? Look no further than Soul TV! We have deals you will not believe! Until you sell, you may NEVER believe! Call 0800 666 666 now and change your life forever! We have 96 sellers on the phones right now ... Why don’t YOU join them?’

Danny, suddenly bone-weary and his breakfast forgotten, slumped onto his sofa. The ’offer’ was now ’worldwide celebrity and a Hollywood lifestyle, jet setting around the globe meeting a fan base literally in the millions. Fame, wealth and the undying adoration of the most loyal fans imaginable ... not to mention - POWER!’

Danny wondered what this programme was really about; was it a satirical show or was it somehow ... genuine? Would there be another show in a few minutes time once the hour came? He decided to wait and watch for the moment; it was 5 minutes to 11am so maybe a different show would start then.

The hour came and went and the only change was in the offer.

‘Did we mention POWER in that last offer? Well, this offer is REAL POWER. How about ... Prime Minister?! You always thought you could make a better job of running the country, didn’t you? Homelessness shouldn’t happen here; poverty shouldn’t occur in the UK; the Health Service shouldn’t be dying; no one should be out of work. Well, you can get that position of REAL POWER, right here, right now! Call 0800 666 666 and sell us your soul. That’s it! That’s all you have to do. Call 0800 666 666, give us your details - not your bank details, we don’t need those - then once you are absolutely sure it’s what you want to do, just press 6 to confirm. Today, the country; tomorrow, the WORLD! But call now; for obvious reasons there can be only ONE lucky seller. Will YOU be the one?‘

If it was a show, it was a doozy! If it was a con then what did he have to lose? So he’d get a lot of junk mail; so what? Better than the never-ending stream of bills.

Danny picked up his phone and dialled the on-screen number.

‘Good morning,’ chimed a very pleasant female operator, ’You have reached Soul TV. My name is Karen for future reference. How may I help you?’

‘Erm, I want to take advantage of your umm ... generous offer?’ Danny was a little nervous now that he realised Soul TV had a switchboard and operators ... more or less ruling out satirical TV shows - unless the budget was huge.

‘Yes, sir. You are referring to the current offer to be Prime Minister?’

‘Ummm, yes.’

‘That’s fine, sir. Just a few details required.’

Danny gave the details; name, place and date of birth, social security number, current address, religion and mother’s maiden name.

‘Okay, sir. That’s all we need. I have to inform you that should anything go amiss during your term - or terms - of office that Soul TV cannot be held legally responsible. Nor do we give refunds if you are not entirely satisfied with the Office of Prime Minister.’

‘That’s ... ummm ... you said “terms”, plural?’

‘That’s correct, sir. As Prime Minister, you will be subject to all the usual rules that applied to previous Prime Ministers. If you prove popular then it’s likely you may enjoy two or more terms of office.’

‘Really?’ Danny couldn’t help grinning.

‘Really. If you wish to proceed with this transaction please press 6 on your telephone keypad.’

Danny paused.

‘So ...’ he continued after a moment, ’I promise to give my soul to Soul TV at the moment of my death and - until such time - I could be the bona fide Prime Minister?’

‘That’s correct, sir’

Just then Danny saw, through his living room window, the ’prim and proper’ Pickersons walk by, briefly looking at his jungle-like front lawn before turning their faces away in disgust. Then the sun came out.

‘Just you fucking wait’ he snarled under his breath before pressing 6 on his telephone keypad.

‘Sorry, sir?’ came the operators voice from his phone.

‘Errm, nothing. Talking to myself. I’ve confirmed the deal, pressed 6. What happens now?’

‘Now I congratulate you and tell you that you’ve been a fantastic customer. You just have to join a local branch of whatever political party takes your fancy and we’ll do the rest.’

‘Hold on! ANY political party?! Even the Monster Raving Looney Party? Even the GREEN PARTY?!’

‘Trust us, sir. And to answer your question ... yes, even the Green Party.’

‘Now THAT’S impressive.’

Danny hung up, feeling - for once - like the world was his oyster.

‘I think I’ll join the ... Nationalists!’ he said, as he opened his living room door.

Bonnie was lying in the hall. As soon as she saw Danny ... well, Danny almost shat his pants. Bonnie bounded to her feet, her hackles raised and her ears back, teeth bared and growling like Danny was a stranger.

‘Bonnie! What ... ?’

The question died on his lips as Bonnie began alternating the most vicious of rabid barks with the deepest growls he’d ever heard her make.

‘Bonnie ...? It’s me!’

She was at his throat before he knew what was happening.

‘BONNIE!! ... Gah!! ... HELP!!’

It was three weeks before anyone discovered Danny’s body. The ‘prim and proper’ Pickerson’s complained to the local council about a horrid smell ‘wafting from the home of that horrid little man next door’.

The police officer who discovered Danny’s body threw up all over it. You see, Bonnie was still alive and well.