Brian Cox looks to the camera, utters a softly-spoken thought of great profundity about humanity’s place in the universe and then falls off the edge of a cliff.
‘Cut!’ shouts the director. ‘Can we have another Brian Cox, please?’
A junior research assistant promptly goes to the Brian Cox Room, where they keep the spare Brian Coxes. The assistant knocks before popping her head through the door.
‘We need another Brian,’ she says to the 307 assembled Brian Coxes.
‘What was it this time?’ asks one. ‘A volcano? A manhole? A black hole?’
‘Cliff,’ whispers the assistant.
‘Third one this series,’ says another Brian Cox, as he walks towards the assistant, hand outstretched. ‘Brian Cox,’ he says, by way of introduction, ‘although you probably knew that already.’
‘If you’d like to follow me,’ says the assistant, once the introduction is over.
Brian Cox and the assistant walk towards the cliff edge, where they are met by the impatient director. ‘Brian, we need to re-do the shot. You fell off the cliff as the last word was coming out and it sounded very post-watershed.’
Brian Cox utters a softly-spoken apology of great sincerity before asking what it was that he was saying. ‘Some shit about humanity’s place in the universe,’ replies the director.
‘Oh, right,’ says Brian Cox. ‘Do we need to do the shot next to a cliff?’ he asks.
‘You tell me,’ sighs the director, wearily. ‘You wrote the bloody thing.’
Brian Cox looks to the camera, utters a softly-spoken thought of great profundity about humanity’s place in the universe before jumping on to his Yamaha DX7 and snowboarding into a tree.