"Hey, who's that girl? She looks really familiar."
"That one, with the straight black hair and flowery dress."
"We don't know her, you idiot – everyone looks like that now."
"But, it's just…"
"You're so fucking out of touch I can't believe it. I bet you haven't even heard the new Kate Nash album."
"Er, actually I have, some of it."
"Well fucking done. And?"
"Well, I suppose it sounds a bit familiar, all that chatting nursery rhymes innit sort of stuff, but otherwise it's all right, I guess."
"You dick – everything sounds like that now. Anyway, you're wrong. It's shit. God, you really are a twat, aren't you?"
"Hold on, that's a bit harsh…"
"It doesn't matter anyway, shit's the new good."
"Isn't that a Nathan Barley quote?"
"No. I never quote fictional characters."
"You've quoted Kate Nash before."
"No: I just used the word 'foundations' in a sentence once. That so doesn't count. Wait, are you saying Kate Nash is fictional?"
"Good point, I'm not quite sure where that came from."
"Because you're right, she is."
"'Kate Nash' is just a construct. It's obvious. Just look at this article, right: 'Nash slams Spice Girls'."
"Why'd's that make her…?"
"Shut up, I'm not finished. You know what she actually said about the Spice Girls? She said, 'They're all older now so to kind of still wanna be the Spice Girls is just, I dunno… just grow up.' That's a direct quote. It's the kind of stupid thing anyone could say – and they've kept the 'um' words in, so you can hear her rooting around for something vaguely interesting to say. They type up the quote, add some other paragraphs – I dunno, 'The 19-year-old, whose album is out today blah blah fucking whatever' – then they stick it next to a picture of the individual called Kate Nash, and hey presto, you've got a story."
"But surely that means it's the story that artificial, not Nash herself?"
"God, free your mind, man. I know a guy who works at her record label. They have to fucking get her out of a box every morning and put her together. There's actually a guy at the label whose job it is to assemble Kate Nash. He's signed a confidentiality agreement so he can't talk about it. But this shit gets out. Why dyou think her album's called Made of Bricks? Answer that one."
"What happens when the guy's ill? Who assembles Nash then?"
"God, what kind of dickhead question is that? The fucking work experience boy, I don't know. But it's the same for all of them, you have to do it with all that fucking lot."
"What? What do you mean, which lot?"
"Penate, Allen, T, Nash. What did you think Torn on the Platform was about? They're all in little fucking mannequin pieces when they arrive. Most of them are left over from the 1930s or whatever – that's why the birds have those fucking old-fashioned dresses and the blokes look like they've just stepped out of Les fucking Miserables."
"Arrive? Arrive from where?"
"They just get shat out the back tube of MySpace straight into the fucking Barfly. You think Westlife's manufactured? This lot make Westlife look like fucking Motörhead. Ever see Terminator 2?"
"It's okay. But it got one thing right - that's exactly how the planet's gonna look in 2029, except instead of those wiry metallic robots, the place'll be overrun by fucking Kate Nash clones, shooting the shit out of everything with their big laser arms. Think that girl we just saw looks familiar? You ain't seen nothing yet, fuckwit."