She grunts in protest, but helping hands gently lift her bulk to a sitting position, then swing her legs and place her feet on the floor.
"Now, come on, we're here to help you. Drink this."
She slurps noisily from the proffered bowl of flat beer as firm hands massage her shoulders and flanks. Beneath the pale, white skin, her layers of fat are gently kneaded into uniformity. Deeper still, her remaining musculature also benefits from the movement. She doesn't need muscle to get around - there are people for that - but a modicum of tone is still needed to allow her to perform her engagements.
To entice her out of bed, so her soiled straw can be removed and replaced, a tray of cigarettes and lager is laid out just beyond reach. She speaks, "Bring it here, you cow!"
The attendant helpers exchange meaningful glances and continue to massage her huge, quivering bulk. She has to do this on her own. Eventually, she lumbers to a standing position and shuffles to the tray to continue her breakfast. A small army of volunteers fusses round her, grooming, massaging and talking in soothing tones. She has to be handled carefully because, in spite of her docile mood now, she can erupt in fury if mishandled.
Slowly the stall changes around her. The straw bedding is changed and the floor swept clean. Lights are moved into place and a video camera set up. A number of photographers take up their places, crouched low, out of reach. A doctor is ushered in to examine her. He sees the heavy-lidded eyes, pupils wide as the calming drugs take effect and nods to the chief assistant, who gently places a hand on her shoulder.
The enormous beast looks up with a half smile, drool sliding from her quivering lips.
"Come on now, love. It's time for your interview."