The Fairy Jobmother, Channel 4

No-nonsense Hayley Taylor is to the terminally unemployed what Jo Frost, aka Supernanny, is to the attention-seeking, tantrum-prone pre-schooler – but without the naughty step. In this reality three-parter she attempts to do what whole governments have so far failed to: to get members of the long-term, unskilled unemployed (what some might unkindly term the "Jeremy Kyle generation" – aka the underclass) back into the labour market. This she attempts to do, not by sprinkling magic Fairy Jobmother dust over the British economy, but by addressing the “negativity” of those she’s come to rescue from the jaws of the “The System” – aka the benefits system. And yesterday, in Part Two of the series – which, despite all we’ve come to expect from the format, is surprisingly low on trash and high on genuine insight – it was pretty clear that even benefits-busting Taylor had her work cut out.

At first, the Phillips family, who hailed from Barking, East London, seemed your typically feckless “can’t work, won’t work” types. They slouched about on the sofa, doing little else but smoking fags and lobbing insults at one another. Quite frankly, their collective attitude stank; and going by its state, their three-bedroom council house, complete with shoe-chewing dog, probably didn’t smell too great either. None of them looked remotely “job-ready”. In fact, single mum Lynda looked as if she’d sooner punch your lights out by way of a greeting than put the kettle on. So it didn’t come as much of a surprise to hear that, apart from a 14 -month stint as a careworker (oh, pity the vulnerable residents) – from which she’d been sacked for gross misconduct (“it was her word against mine, and you know what South Africans are like”) –  she’d been out of work for the past 19 years.

Meanwhile, 20-year-old Stephen (had never done a day’s paid work; spent most days closeted in smelly bedroom with Playstation) was so taciturn that you genuinely wondered if he had a form of either mutism or autism. Maybe both. Or if, in fact, he was a serial killer (ooh, ain’ it always the quiet ones?) Or if, hmm, he was just extremely, er, camera shy? Whichever. From wanting to give him a good shake – if only to  rouse a reaction from that limp, overfed, milksop body – it was him that you began to feel sorry for. It was him you wanted to rescue, not just from the terminal joblessness for which he appeared destined, but from his terminally god-awful background.



Neither reserve nor reticence was a problem for Tara. The mouthy 18-year-old had obviously inherited her mother’s sweary gene. But while Lynda retained a kind of hunched-up, begrudging aspect - given to displays of casual verbal aggression one moment, blinking, mole-eyed bemusement the next - Tara was quick to dissolve into the tears of a frustrated, wailing, inarticulate toddler: she felt that she’d been lumbered with the job of being mother to them all, while never having had the opportunity of seeing how the job was really done. So she wailed and nashed her teeth and sucked on her fags – until smoking was banned from the house – and effed a bit, until that, too, subsided, thanks to the Taylor programme of self-empowerment (part of which involved Tara calling out numbers in a bingo hall – none too gobby by then, of course).

Anyway, Tara had made a fair point. And it was kind of getting obvious that Lynda was not one for whom redemption would come easily over the course of a three-week makeover show. After spending just one night sleeping over, Taylor had promptly concluded, with the kind of clarity of insight that sometimes only comes when something is so glaringly obvious that you can’t avoid tripping over it, that this was indeed a chaotic, malfunctioning household. Something radical had to be done!



So how did Taylor – who, incidentally, never seems to take her make-up off at night, which is one bad habit, ladies, you need to train yourselves out of – try to whip this recalcitrant household into shape? Well, she may not have recourse to a naughty step, but she has some simple but effective visual aids at her disposal: poster charts headed “Hayley’s Guide to Life”; kiddy road maps that were Taylor’s “Highway Road to Success”, and tiny toy figures that were used to help Stephen articulate his lack of a fatherly role model. Plus punchy, motivational mantras like “Positivity Is The Key To Everything”, spoken in capitals. Even I started to punch my fist in the air in a Pavlovian fashion every time I heard it.

Like Supernanny, Taylor mixes what looks like genuine compassion with a firm hand. What’s more, in what must surely be better than any colour-charty motivational A1 pad, she's equipped with the personal qualities that make even Lynda warm to her.  Yet Taylor herself knows that any road to success is not only a curvy one, but often a long and difficult one. There are potholes and unmarked T-junctions and blind-spots along the way. And although she might liken herself to a human satnav, a satnav is a pretty useless guide without the driver taking firm charge. After three weeks, neither Lynda nor Stephen were anywhere near “job-ready”. Lynda had some knotty issues to deal with first, so counselling was arranged. And Stephen was packed off to a boxing club: he needed to learn to assert himself. Plus, the fatherly input he’d get from the guy who ran the place was surely just what he needed.

There was no hanging about for Tara. The Fairy Jobmother had magicked up an interview. With a new hairdo and suit – Go Girl!…But would Gok Wan approve that slightly ill-fitting outfit? – she was coached and primed for interview. Taylor was just as nervous as Tara. But, after a halting start, Tara sailed through – or rather, to unmix metaphors, she eventually eased herself into a cautiously comfortable third gear. She’s now a customer services assistant at Curry’s. Hopefully, she'll soon be able to afford a better-fitting suit.

• Watch The Fairy Jobmother on Channel 4 OD