Friday, 28th September 2001

MAD COWS RAMPANT ON BROOKSIDE CLOSE

The Government announced today a new and rare epidemic combining the worst effects of Mad Cow Disease with those of Foot and Mouth. At the moment the epidemic is confined to a small area of Liverpool and only seems to be affecting female residents of the Brookside Close/Manor Park Parade area.

Sources close to the Government say that the only cure for this particularly noxious disease is culling via P45s and many residents of the area should shortly be issued with said document, their conditions having been diagnosed as beyond all hope of redemption.

Those residents currently in the final stages of such illnesses, whose symptoms include making inane and silly remarks, hypocritical behaviour, ingratitude, mood swings, unbearable jealousy, fear of ageing, excessive whingeing, obsession with self and selfish behaviour, drinking, poor personal hygeine and general silliness, are: Anthea Dixon, Jessie Hilton, Diane Murray, Katie Rogers and Rachel Dixon. Line forms to the left ...

Poor pitiful, stinky, drunken, rotten Katie lies recumbent on the floor of her bedroom where she has fallen the night before. She is still dressed in her NHS receptionists’ uniform, which means that this article of clothing, along with all the other articles of clothing, hasn’t left her body for three days now. Poo-stinky! The wicked, evil vodka bottle, on which she tripped, lies predominantly in the foreground of our screens. The camera pans across the room to the digital alarm clock, which reads a time very late in the morning. Katie is out cold ...

Downstairs in the Walk-In Clinic, Nisha is trying to do the combined job of receptionist and nurse practitioner, for a packed surgery. This is the second time this week that more than one patient has graced the confines of the clinic. (I wonder how much the extras are being paid ... Eithe that or there’s another flu epidemic rampant).

Poor Dire Murray (not) stands expectantly (pun intended) at the receptionists’ desk. Seeing Nisha try to field a phone call, write a prescription and deal with another patient’s query, Dire makes a rather stupid comment about the business of the area.

Nisha looks up briefly, bored at the stupid comment (but not realising that this is a symptom of the Mad Cow in Mouth disease from which Dire is suffering). Nisha explains briefly that the clinic is short-staffed today. Katie hasn’t shown up for work, she says. In fact, she hasn’t surfaced. Nisha knocked on her door this morning, and she didn’t get an answer.

Dire wonders nosily where Katie should be. Nisha shrugs impatiently, her kindly demeanor towards Katie noticeably wearing thin. She doesn’t know, she snaps. She realises that Katie’s had a hard time coping with her dead boyfriend lately, but this is going a bit far. She spends most of her time, either closeted in her bedroom or mooning around Clint’s grave, which is probably where she is now. Nisha couldn’t be expected to cover for her for much longer. Anyway, what did Dire want?

Apart from finding out all the latest goss to pass onto Brigid, Dire’s come for another pregnancy test, she smirks. It’s that time again. The smirk, however, is wiped off her face when the Naughty Nurse merely tosses a test in her direction and carries on with her job in hand.

Upstairs, sodden Katie lies unconscious on the floor.

Raymundo and Jessie walk toward the Dixon house, where Ron and Anthea are waiting outside. Jessie is asking Ray for the umpteenth time where the couples are bound today. Ray keeps insisting that it’s a surprise. Anthea greets Jessie, remarking that she saw Nikki and Do-A-Little leaving together earlier. Jess makes a sour face, explaining that the younger couple were off for a day at the Lakes, a friend of Do-A-Little’s having a speedboat there.

Anthea, like Jessie, isn’t appreciative of the fact that her husband plans on taking the couples on a magical mystery tour. She insists that Ron tell her where they are going. Ron cryptically replies that they are going on a day out. Anthea says she appreciates the gesture, but doesn’t appreciate the mystery. She’s not a child, she insists petulantly (which, of course, indicates that her maturity level is very puerile).

Ron relents and tells the women that they are all going bowling for the day. The two witches are chuffed at the thought.

Marty Murray stands in the doorway, gazing over a sullen Plank’s shoulder, as his son sits moodily in a chair in the sitcom lounge. Marty asks redundantly if Plank is planning on going out tonight (casing whether or not Plank will be around when the ‘planned’ robbery occurs). Plank mutters sarcastically that he certainly won’t be staying in watching television.

Marty continues his line of questioning ... Is Plank, by any chance, seeing Nisha tonight? Does Marty mean ‘the Scarlet Woman’? Asks Plank, sarcastically.

Marty, of course, is trying to guage Plank’s plans for this evening, hoping he will be well away from Sitcom House so the planned break-in can go ahead. But Mart is tense, and so he tries to disguise the tension with a bit of inane banter with his eldest son. He tries to shrug Plank’s innuendo off. He was just wondering what Plank had planned for his big night out?

Plank’s annoyed at the feigned interest, which seems like more of an interrogation a parent would foist upon a shifty adolescent. Dire returns from the surgery at that moment, clutching the blessed pregnancy test vial in her hot, greedy, fat hands. Plank, not rising from his seat, moans about the incessant interrogation he’s been receiving lately. Is Marty by any chance trying to audition for Jeremy Paxman’s job? He wants to know. He IS entitled to a social life, he insists. And he can afford it at the moment. He’s got three cash-in-hand car jobs lined up for the next day.

Marty gives a sidelong glance in Dire’s direction and remarks that Plank’s seeing Nisha tonight. Dire opens her big mouth to say something, but Plank interrupts her, remarking that he hoped she had gone round the surgery to get Marty a chill pill, as his intense questioning of Plank’s life was beginning to grate on the lad’s nerves.

Dire, smiling brightly at the opportunity to broach her favourite subject, announces (in the voice of one of those housewifely women on commercials made in the 1950’s) that she’s been to the surgery in order to retrieve a pregnancy test for her IVF treatment, and that she really shouldn’t be forced to experience any undue stress levels ... Yadda yadda yadda yadda me me me me my right to have a baby IVF IVF me me me me me ... Until poor Plank can no longer take the incessant and imbecilic claptrap. ‘Why am I NOT surprised?’ He bewails, and , finally rising from his seat, FLOUNCES out of the room.

Dire is not one to be deterred, especially when she’s got an audience. Without missing a beat, she carries on explaining the importance of this test in relation to her next phase of IVF testing. Her next test has to do with her hormones. It’s for stress detection, to see if she’s in optimum condition for the sacred embryos to be implanted. Of course, she reiterates, she’s suffered interminably from the stress of the last burglary (and if she had her way, she muses to herself, she’d make that abominable Adele burn in hell for her sin).

Marty tries to deflect her chatter by reminding her that she will have the opportunity to wind down a bit tonight, when they go out.

Go out? Questions the chiseled-face hypocrite. They couldn’t be going out AGAIN! They need every red copper penny to put into the IVF coffer!

But, Marty protests, he’d already promised Christy that they’d go around the bar tonight. Christy promised to lay on some drinks for them.

But the thought of going out has already left Dire’s one brain cell. She’s going to take that pregger test and NOW. Marty asks if she isn’t due to go back to work.

Work? What’s work? Who’ll need work when we have a baby? We’ll live off luuuuuurve and goo-goo-da-da. She thinks. She SAYS: Work? Poo! The test will only take 2 minutes.

Well, Marty can’t afford to take two minutes. If he doesn’t return to the school and now, he’ll be signing on.

Anthea, Ron, Raymundo and Jessie have arrived at their secret destination, but it isn’t a bowling alley. It’s a bowls club, replete with aged contestants plying their practice. Jessie and Anthea, who think that they are eternally young and youthful, are offended. Anthea voices her dismay to Ron. She thought that they were going to do ten-pin bowling.

Jessie remarks that she went ten-pin bowling with Emily and Nikki once and had a riotous time. The guys ignore the rants and remarks and go off to sort a game with the club. When they’ve gone, Anthea tells Jessie how angry she is at Ron’s patronising attitude. (Not something you’re guilty of, eh, Anth? They way you’ve held Ron to ransom about the ‘truth’?).

Jessie brushes that off. She’s well used to that sort of attitude from Ray, she says. (Oh, yeah? Who’s patronising Ray in the household, Jess?) They’d better make the best of a bad job, for they were here for the day.

Christy and Tim sit at a table in Hotel Corkhill, going over last-minute plans for the break-in tonight. Jimmy phaffs in the background, listening with interest. As Christy goes over the procedure, Tim cockily reckons that the job will be a piece of cake, with 50 sheets waiting for him at the evening’s end.

At that moment, the text messager sounds on his mobile, and Christy grabs it, playfully. It’s a filthy message from Emily, and Christy ribs Tim about its contents. Again, Christy reiterates that Tim is only to break into the house throught the conservatory and make a bit of disarray. The Murrays will return - oh dear, another break-in, and make a claim. It should be a doddle, Tim observes again.

Unless someone sees you, says Jimmy, ominously, as he glides by the pair. Tim had better hope no one DOES see him ... Or else he’ll end up back inside. (Jimmy has a way of putting a damper on things, doesn’t he , this newest SAGE of the Close).

Anthea and Jessie sit in the pavillion at the bowls club, each with a glass of wine. Ron and Ray walk toward them from the clubhouse, each carrying a pair of rented plimsoles for their wives. It would be an understatement to say that neither of the ungrateful witches want to play. When Ron plops the unattractive shoes on the bannister of the pavillion, Anthea manages to tactfully say that this sort of game just wasn’t her cup of tea. The men should play, she suggests. She and Jess would just have some wine and cheer the menfolk on.

Well, Ron replies, he’d leave her rented shoes there, just in case she changed her mind.

Plank, meantime, has made a beeline for the Walk-In Clinic, for no other reason than to take a peep at the Naughty Nurse. Inside, he finds mass pandemonium (ever notice how the patient clientele rose significantly when Darren left? Says it all). The object of his intended affections stands, besieged from all sides, behind the receptionists’ partition. Nisha is actually having to work today. No swanning around backstage ministering to cut fingers and piles. She’s having to treat patients and monitor the desk at the same time. The silly, self-important slag should now realise what the plebby receptionists have to do for minimum wage.

Glancing to her right, she manages to catch sight of Plank, propped against the counter. Clearly harrassed, she forgets that she’s snogged him the day before (like the true whore she is) and asks if he needs to see a doctor. Well, no, hesitates The Plank. He came in to see her. He’s at a bit of a loose end, he admits. Also, he wanted to know if they were still on for going out tonight.

Nisha waves him off distractedly. But Plank persists. Is she due a break soon? Nisha shakes her head. She WAS due a lunch break, she explains, but silly Katie hasn’t bothered to show up for work today and this landed Nisha right in it. Where is Katie? Plank asks.

Nisha doesn’t know. She knocked on Katie’s door this morning, but there was no answer. Suddenly, the thought occurs to her that Plank COULD be useful. Again, she reiterates that she’s supposed to have her lunch hour shortly; but things are so chaotic here that she won’t be able to nip out for lunch. Would Plank be a dear and plong up to the flat to grab something from the fridge for her? (Great. Another health professional who attends to patients whilst chomping on food. How inspiring!) Plank, however, willing to do anything that might get him a leg over the local slut, obliges.

Ron and Raymundo are concentrating on their game of bowls together. Ron is lecturing Ray on the technique of the game, whilst at the same time, cheating by subtly kicking the rubber further back with his foot. Ray doesn’t notice. Ron makes a good shot and the wine-sipping wives cheer. Anthea makes a snide aside to Jessie, commenting that she loves it when Ron gets his balls together.

Again, Jessie remarks about having been ten-pin bowling with Nikki and Emily and how much fun it was. Anthea scoffs that Ron would never dream of going ten-pin bowling in his life. (Odd, I would say that ten-pin bowling was just the sort of game a man like Ron Dixon would espouse, were he American). Still, she continues, it must be good for Jessie to have her two granddaughters so close to her. They must do a lot to keep her young ... Not to mention her hunky lodger as well, Anthea adds.

Jessie points out that Anthea has Mike and Rachel close to hand. Suddenly Jessie asks Anthea abruptly if she considers herself to be happily married.

Anthea is briefly taken aback by this question. She answers that she loves Ron, and then drifts off, leaving the thought unfinished.

Jessie senses a ‘but’. Anthea finishes. She loves Ron ... But he might be going to prison. (So that’s a reason NOT to love him, is it? Warped logic. Axe Axe Axe). He might be going to prison, and she doesn’t know how she would handle that situation. (Then she doesn’t really love Ron).

Back at The Parade, Plank enters Nisha’s flat. He goes directly to the fridge and takes out a few titbits for Nisha’s lunch. Before leaving, he decides to have a nose around and knocks on Katie’s bedroom door (how he knew it was Katie’s is anyone’s guess). Getting no answer, he cracks the door open a peep and sees poor pitiful, stinking, grimey, greasy, unwashed, unconscious Katie lying on the floor. He rushes to her side and tries to rouse her. (Plank has never been very stimulating at the best of times). She doesn’t budge and he feels for a neck pulse.

Back at the bowls’ club, Jessie and Anthea still gab. Jessie asks Anthea if she and Ron ever talk about the shooting. Anthea admits that they never talk about anything else. But even though they continuously discuss the matter, she says, they never really get to the heart of it. Ron, she continues, just acts along with life and reacts to things as they happen. HE thinks he’s a happily married man, thinking he’s doing everything in her interests.

(Rant: I find this insulting and this woman insultingly shallow. What exactly does she expect from a relationship? She married Ron for better or for worse and she wasn’t forced to do so. She can’t have not known what he was like, because she’s known him since they were teenagers. If she cannot see that Ron is clearly besotted by her and cannot understand the motives behind his reaction to finding an intruder inside the family home YET AGAIN, then she deserves to be hung, drawn and quartered. I wonder what she would make of her precious Jimmy’s pedigree, what he is up to with Tim and the fact that he is behind Ron’s latest lie. Of all the bitches ever to grace the Brookside programme, this woman is the worst).

Anthea says that she feels patronised by Ron, but Jessie dismisses this. Ron is just old-fashioned, Jess says. Like Ray.

As the women talk, Ron becomes involved in a verbal altercation with an elderly woman bowler. Ron taunts her, asking what she’s doing there anyway, and saying that she should be home baking cakes or something. Ray is quick to remind him that he knows the woman’s husband, and he’s a retired policeman.

Nisha has been duly summoned upstairs and she and Plank have a conflab whilst Katie cleans herself up. Nisha warns Plank that Katie will probably wonder what he was doing in the flat. She has to think of something to tell her. Plank asks Nisha if she’s told Katie about ‘them’ yet. Nisha looks at him wryly. There isn’t really a ‘them’ about which to tell, but Nisha says that she doesn’t want to rub Katie’s nose in the fact that ANOTHER of her roommates has pulled. (Nisha’s sussed Katie in a way that Jacqui never could).

In the foreground of the screen at the bowls’ club, Ron bends over with Ray to study the angle of a play. Jessie and Anthea, on another bottle of wine, sit in the background. Anthea scathingly points out the size of Ron’s bum to Jessie. Jess, again, is dismissive. It’s no worse than Ray’s , remarks the ungrateful bitch. Then she muses. Ray used to be gorgeous, she admits. She’s seen pictures of him as a young man. (So what the hell does she expect? People get old). Suddenly, she leans conspiratorily towards Anthea. She has to ask her a personal question. Anthea listens, bemused, whilst Jess asks if Ron’s hair is a wig.

Anthea bursts into laughter. No, she admits, it’s the real thing. Jessie’s next question is even more personal. Do Anthea and Ron still have sex? She asks.

Anthea counters by asking if Jessie and Ray still have sex. Jessie shrugs. No, she confesses. The truth is, Ray just doesn’t turn her on anymore. In fact, she can’t bear for him to touch her.

Anthea says that Ron is still eager to have sex, but the way she feels at the moment, even Russell Crowe couldn’t turn her on. (WHAT A LIAR!!!!! ONLY A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO, SHE AND RON WERE AT IT LIKE RABBITS, AND ANTHEA CAME DOWNSTAIRS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AFTERNOON TO GREET RACHEL WITH A GRIN AS BROAD AS THE MERSEY ON HER FACE. WHAT A LIVID BITCH!!!!!)

Now Russell Crowe! Exclaims Jessie, suddenly excited and aroused (NOT a pretty sight). Now that was a man that could get her going! Anthea, suddenly finds that she is aroused by an overweight, bullet-headed, unkempt, uncouth Australian yob and agrees that Russell Crowe has a prize bum. (He has the prize bum of a fat steer, in my opinion).

Poor pitiful, stinking, sorry, sodden, drunken Katie has finally done a reasonable job of making herself slightly presentable and stands in the middle of the flat with Plank and Nisha. As a result of her fall, Katie now sports a raw patch on her forehead. Nisha, having cleaned the wound, asks if Katie is O.K. Katie affirms that she is and thanks Plank for helping her. Plank accepts her thanks and disappears.

After he leaves, Nisha asks Katie what exactly happened to her, and Katie explains, abashedly, that she had had a few drinks the previous evening. She must have tripped, she says, and then just nodded off where she landed. In other words, she was just too gone rotten to move.

Now Katie might be almost as dim as Rachel, but she’s a genius when it comes to sussing out when a flatmate and a new bezzy mate has copped a fella. Immediately she’s compos mentis, she wants to know how long Nisha’s been seeing Plank Murray. For once, Nisha’s at a loss how to reply.

Why didn’t Nisha tell Katie she had a fella? Poor pitiful Katie wails. Nisha stammers a reply about not wanting to hurt Katie’s feelings by looking as though she were parading a conquest ... Blah blah blah.

In other words, Katie paraphrases her, Nisha was afraid Katie wouldn’t be able to cope with the knowledge that Nisha has a boyfriend. (Well, maybe Nisha’s taken more in of the Jacqui situation than she lets on. That about sums it up.)

Back at the bowls’ club, Ron gazes over at the sodden pair of wives, commenting to Ray that the women are on their second bottle of wine. He continues to gaze fondly at the awful Anthea, inviting Ray to have a look and declaring Anthea ‘a stunner’. Ray agrees and emphasises the observation that Jessie’s ‘a looker’ too. (Why does this remind me of a take-off on the old Monty Python ‘nudge-nudge-wink-wink-say-no-more’ routine?) Yes, Ron muses confidently, Anthea is one well-satisfied woman. Drawing close to Ray, Ron confides that he and Anthea are ‘at it like knives’. Ray, not to be outdone, points out to Ron that Jessie has a satisfied smile on her face at the best of times. (Yawn).

By now, Jessie and Anthea, having exhausted the subject of ‘How to Slag Off Your Husband’, have turned to the behavioural characteristics of the younger generation. Anthea, the nosey old hussey, wants to know a bit more info about Nikki and any possible chances she might have of linking up with Do-A-Little. A DOCTOR in the HOUSE! Every mother’s dream for her daughter ... or granddaughter. Any chance of Nikki and the doc getting together now that Nikki was single again?

Jessie suddenly assumes the air of a prim Boston (Massachusetts) Brahmin matron. She’ll have Anthea know that Nikki is in no hurry whatsoever to pursue another relationship after the disastrous association with Jerome. Besides, she remarks prissily, Do-A-Little is far too old for her. Anthea’s face is a picture. (Actually, I’m surprised, in view of recent events, that Anthea didn’t use this opportunity to hold Jacqui and Max up as an example of older man-younger wife syndrome).

Interlude: Poor pitiful, sad, sodden, rotten Katie is now alone in the flat, Nisha having returned to work. She listlessly runs water in the basin, presumably to wipe her filthy, miserable face.

Ron and Raymundo are finishing up their bowls game. As they walk from the pitch, Ron suddenly becomes pensive. He has to speak to Ray about something important. Ray stops to listen. Ron begins by saying that in two months’ time, he could actually find himself in prison. Ray attempts to object to this thought, encouraging Ron to believe otherwise; but Ron continues. If that happens, he asks, would Ray try to look after Anthea for him ... Only in such a way that Anthea won’t know that he’s looking after her? Nothing obvious.

Ray assures Ron that he’ll do that. Ron tells Ray that, if he’s inside, Anthea might not always tell him if things were wrong at home, but would Ray sort of WRITE Ron and let him know? Touched with responsiblity , Ray promises to do all that Ron asks.

As they approach their wives, the men find that the women have fallen into a drunken sleep. They help them to their feet, and as the two couples leave the bowls club, Ron, sincerely and with an open heart, thanks Anthea for coming with him today. Anthea, looking more guilty than Jerome ever fathomed, mutely accepts his thanks. Ron tells her that this outing took his mind right off the up-coming court case.

It’s evening time and Tim stands at the bar, cupping a solid pint in his hands. As he’s about to take a swig, Jimmy passes by, doing his shift, and removes the drink from Tim’s hands. Tim wordlessly stares at Jimmy in astonishment, but anticipating the lad’s obvious question, Jimmy remarks that Tim needs a clear head for the night’s work. He wouldn’t drive a car after a few drinks, would he? And he shouldn’t think of breaking into a house after drinking either.

At the same time that Jimmy is advising his new-found protoge, Dire and Marty enter the bar, oddly followed by an incongruous-looking Plank, looming in the background. Dire plainly doesn’t want to be there, and Marty is tense, but trying to act relaxed. He assures her that this foray is more or less a duty rather than a pleasure - patronising a family business, so to speak, he says.

Dire looks around disdainfully at the place, commenting how run-down and seedy it’s become since Christy and Leanne took over from Bev. That Leanne, she observes, is more than a match for Christy - she’s certainly as shiftless and as full of daft ideas as he is.

Speaking of the Devil, Christy appears, in full oleaginous mode, to usher the couple to their seats. But he holds Marty back for a brief word. Marty wants to know if everything is going according to plan, and Christy assures his brother that everything is ‘A-O.K’ and emphasises the fact by giving Marty the thumbs-up sign. Dire glances over her shoulder suspiciously at the whispering men, as Christy repeats the gesture.

When he and Marty finally approach her, she immediately asks Marty what’s up. She suspects something fishy is being planned because of the thumbs-up sign that Christy has given them. Christy feeds her some twaddle about the gesture being part of his new customer care drive, to show punters that he’s on top of everything, but Dire is not buying that explanation.

Plank, meanwhile, has spotted pretty in pink Nisha, propping up the bar. Nisha, noticing the sitcom parents seated close by, comments on the whole family being present, but Plank deflects her comment by asking after Katie. Nisha thanks him again, and Plank buys her a drink.

Jimmy nudges Tim and remarks that all Murrays are present and correct. Now’s the time for Tim to do what has to be done. Tim leaves, unremarkably.

Dire and Marty sit wordlessly in their seats. Dire is clearly unwilling to be there and Marty is equally uneasy. He tries to relax, but only succeeds in sitting silently and staring fixedly into the distance. From where Dire’s sitting, it looks as though Marty is staring at Plank and Nisha. She upbraids him for staring at the lad. Christy drops by with a tray of drinks ‘on the house’ and joins them, trying to engage the couple in meaningless small talk.

Upstairs, Katie sits alone with a drink, a photo album and her memories. As sad, sultry music wells in the background, we are treated to the latest in Brookside dream sequences (but without the ‘whoosh’ sound effects). Katie thumbs through the pages of her photo album and we briefly glimpse a picture of Sammy and Owen from happier times (a hint that Sammy’s return is imminent, no doubt). She turns the page and we see the venerated patron saint of ducks in what is SUPPOSED to be a sexy beefcake pose. There’s a dopey grin on his Edd-the-Duck (remember CBBC from about ten years ago?) face and he’s bare-chested and arms akimbo.

Then the dream sequence begins as Katie reminisces - we’re treated to brief scenes of Katie and Clint kissing in Spain, kissing on the boat, kissing in bed, kissing in the salt mines etc. As she continues to gaze at the photies, poor pitiful, sodden, drunken, self-pitying Katie starts to cry.

Interlude II: A darkened Close. Tim, wearing a dark hooded fleece, glances around surreptitiously and breaks the glass on the Murray conservatory. He enters and looks around. Seeing a group of tacky gewgaws on top of a sitcom cabinet, Tim lifts one and drops it deliberately on the floor.

Back at the bar, Marty continues to stare absently into the distance, a worried frown on his face. Fed up, Dire suggests that they go home. Marty objects, but Dire points out that they are sitting there like a prize bunch of lemons. Marty likes sitting there. He likes to chill out and talk, he says. But he’s not talking, Dire remarks. Marty continues to sit quietly, whilst Dire gets up to get another round of drinks. So much for being skint.

Christy notices and sits down beside Marty, promising him yet again that everything is going according to plan. Then Marty actually voices his worries. What if someone happens to SEE Tim? What if he gets caught and the police are called? What if the bizzies cotton onto what he and Christy are planning? Isn’t that some sort of insurance fraud or something? He wants to know. (Got it in one).

Christy tries to shush him, but Marty feels that everyone knows about their scam.

Nisha has finished her drink with Plank and suggests that they both leave the bar and head for town. Plank demurs, citing his financial situation. However, he has three cars on the agenda for tomorrow, and tomorrow night he’ll be flush. Nisha offers to sub him for tonight, but again, he refuses; this time it’s his masculine pride that’s hit.

In that case, asks Nisha the slut, would Plank mind awfully if she were to go clubbing on her own? Now Plank is usually the reticent type, but this time, he’s genuinely stymied. For lack of anything better to say, he reluctantly agrees to her going on her own. Seeing his discomfort, Nisha attempts to explain that it’s Friday night, she’s had an awful day and she needs to let her hair down.

As his face falls, Nisha reminds him that he knew the sort of girl she was and that she wasn’g going to change. (As the ubiquitous ‘Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells’, one of the lower echelon of intellects left in the Newsgroup says, ‘Once a slag, always a slag’. She should know, I suppose). If Plank wanted a girl like the dear, departed Trona, she reminds him, someone who would jump at his beck and call, then perhaps he should look elsewhere.

Once again, we see a fed-up Dire and Marty sitting at their table, saying nothing to no one. Marty sits, fish-faced and open-mouthed, staring vacantly. Dire snaps at him to stop gawping.

It’s evening at the Shadwick Hiltons’, and Raymundo sits in his favourite chair, reading the paper. Jessie’s in a foul temper, however, remarking waspishly and suspiciously that Do-A-Little and Nikki have yet to return.

Ray isn’t worried. As he flips through the newspaper, he comments blithely that perhaps the young folks are having a good time.

At this statement, Jess gives him a look that would fell a mortal man. She moans that her head’s banging incessantly. Ray harrumphs primly. Well, he’s not at all surprised, he says. She drank an entire bottle of wine this afternoon.

Jess explodes in anger. Just what did Ray mean by that? She wants to know. If she wanted to drink TWO bottles of wine, it was none of his business! At least it showed that SHE still had some get-up-and-go. But Ray! Ray makes her feel OLD! And she tries to flounce out of the room, but fails to do so convincingly.

Interlude III: Plank waits with Nisha outside the bar for a taxi. He hasn’t long to wait, as one shows up almost immediately. Without a backward glance, Nisha climbs into the cab and darts off to clubland. By the time she reaches the ages of Anthea and Jessie, she should be one Class A Prime piece of Bitch.

Upstairs, her poor pitiful, sodden, sad, whingeing, whining and winey flat mate continues her solitary drinking binge. Blearily Katie takes out her engagement ring and slides it down her finger once more. She rises unsteadily and stumbles to her room, returning with her make-up bag. She spills its contents onto the coffee table and rummages through them, until she finds what she’s after - a bottle of some sort of tablets - presumably paracetamol or such.

With a drunken hand, she manages to remove the child-proof cap, and most of the tablets tumble onto the floor. Sitting down woozily, she swigs back a mouthfull of vodka and follows it up with a couple of tablets.

Tim is continuing his makeshift burglary when he suddenly hears the front door of Sitcom House open. Shortly after this, he hears The Plank calling out for his brother and sister to ascertain if they’ve returned home. Frozen in the dark sitcom lounge, Tim crouches. Suddenly, his mobile phone rings noisily. Quickly, Plank turns on the light and with another swift movement, decks Tim, without realising who he is.