Television these days isn't as good as it used to be. When I was on top of my game, TV was full of gritty realism. The women wore hairnets, or headscarves, brooked no nonsense, and spoke as they found. The blokes all smoked fags and had 'proper' jobs, apart from Stan, the window cleaner, who were a lazy get. There were none of these dolly birds with fit legs in short skirts with cleavage and stuff, back then. Mind you, I did once see Joanna Lumley in her bra and pants in her dressing room.
Albert Tatlock, off Coronation Street.
When I was on the telly, I wasn't really the sharpest knife in the drawer, but since Miss Luke took me under her wing, and Miss Diane taught me how to read, I went on to gain a Masters Degree in Criminal Psychology, and now work as an FBI profiler. People often ask me, even today, if I ever shagged Miss Luke, or Miss Diane, or Amy Turtle, but I don't really remember. I didn't like the one in the wheelchair - I remember that - he once touched my arse, and I never did find out if it was accidental. Or not.
Benny, out of Crossroads
I used to work on Emmerdale Farm, before they cut the 'Farm' bit off and just called it Emmerdale. It were right grand back then - not all complicated like it is now - back when it were just me, and Joe and Jack and Dolly and Mam and Grandad. We never had to worry abaht learnin' lines then, cuz it were all set int Kitchen ont farm. Alls we had to remember were top field, bottom field, and what were for tea. It's all boring and daft now. I never watch it.
Matt Sugden, out of Emmerdale Farm.
It's funny you should mention the telly. I were on it wi' Miss Babs when I were all young and vibrant. Course that were years ago, when acting was still sort of Shakespearian, proper thespianism. Course, I've slowed down a bit since then. They don't ring for Vogue covers any more - I had to take a back seat and leave all that kind of thing to Naomi and Kate. Oh, I could've given 'em a run for their money back then, but I held on to me integrity as a thespian. Nowadays I've just got a bad back, dodgy legs, and terrible flatulence. But I remember the time Burt Reynolds got a bit frisky. Happy days...
Mrs Overall, off Acorn Antiques.
I had a completely mental time when I was on the telly. I shared a flat with me mate Tony, and we just drank beer all the time. And when we weren't drinking beer, we were down the pub. Drinking more beer. The lying bastard told me that he always fancied Debs from upstairs, but I found out he'd shagged my girlfriend Dorothy, on the sly. I tried to be civilised about it, but it didn't work. We lost touch. Dorothy went on to marry a male nurse called Charlie Fairhead. Debs from upstairs, her lips exploded and she hangs out with Pete Burns out of Dead Or Alive these days - or so I've heard. But I have the memories. Along with early onset senile dementia and cirrhosis of the liver.
Gary, out of Men Behaving Badly.
Being on the telly was okay, but back then it was all controlled by the mafia, and that Albert Tatlock - who wrote in earlier - fucking ruthless he was. He used to force me and Ena Sharples to suck him off in the back yard of the Rovers every Monday and Wednesday. And poor old Elsie Tanner used to have to take one up the arse in the snug at rehearsals. He was a fucking sex monster, that Albert Tatlock. I'm glad the old cunt pegged it.
Minnie Caldwell, off Coronation Street.
I'm glad somebody brought up the subject of sexual exploitation on the Street. It was rampant when I first started on there. And there was no such thing as saying no. In my case, I had to endure double penetration (when people didn't even know what double penetration even meant!) every Monday and Wednesday from Len Fairclough and Ray Langton - and blow Stan Ogden at the same time. While Bet Lynch rubbed her nipples on Stan's bare back. Of course, I stopped all that when the show really took off globally. Apart from a bit of anal with Percy Sugden from time to time. They call 'em soaps but they're a dirty business.
Betty Turpin, off Coronation Street.
Me too. I'm glad this is all out in the open now. When I first joined the cast I was told that unless I doled out free blow jobs to all the male cast members, I'd be out on my arse and signing on. I lost count of the number of blow jobs I dished out for nothing. Curly Watts, Kevin Webster, Fred Elliott, Reg Holdsworth, Stan Ogden, Roy Cropper, Norris Cole, Len Fairclough, Ken Barlow, Mike Baldwin - you name 'em, I've sucked 'em off. In fact, I've sucked so many of 'em off over the years that their collective bollock friction has eroded me chin away.
Gail McIntyre, nee Platt, nee Hillman, nee Tilsley, off Coronation Street.
These Northern bastards make me larf. They had it easy. When I first started on Enders, it was all right for a bit. I used to have to sort Angie out with a vibrator twice a week, but I could live with that. (But don't tell that long haired guitar playing mug) Then Pat Butcher joined the cast. It was the beginning of the end for me. She demanded three money shots a day, four times a week. And that wasn't easy, I can tell you. I lost a lot of weight and a lot of self confidence. I mean, shaggin' Pat Butcher doggy style bent over the bar in the Queen Vic - it destroyed me.
Dirty Den, out of EastEnders.
If you know a character from a British TV show who can start a discussion in a reasonable manner, then descend into the vilest depths of pornographic filth, tell them to email us. We can't wait to put their letters through the shredder.