Friday, 5th October 2001

I can’t get no ... Satisfaction

Tho’ I try ... And I try ... And I try ... And I try

I can’t get no (DA DA DAAA DA DA-A DA-A DA DA DA DA DAAA)

Satisfaction ... No Satisfaction

You get the picture. Shame it had to be a soft-bellied, no-mark group from the dreaded Southeast of England (and Sarf London at that) to pen the song that best sums up the atmosphere on Brookside Close these days. Did you EVER know of such a singularly dissatisfied bunch of tossers? Take a stroll around the close.

Farnhams’: Should be a happy household here. Newlyweds, albeit rather May-Decemberish, two kids, good jobs. Due back from their hols soon. Two months down the road, Max, reformed ladies’ man that he is, will bed another trollop from his past. Dissatisfied with latest set of marriage vows. Would rather have a 19th Century upper middle-class marriage ... Good girl to marry, bad girl with whom to have fun.

Dixons’: Den of dissatisfaction. Ron’s dissatisfied with the downward spiral British society is taking, Mike is dissatisfied with the fact that he has to work for a living, Rachel is dissatisfied with the fact that she hasn’t got intelligence enough to cope in this world without her doltish husband, and Anthea is dissatisfied with anything and anyone, depending on her frequent mood swings, but mostly she’s dissatisfied with Ron (and probably her sorry self as well).

Hiltons’: Jessie is dissatisfied with the fact that she’s about Joan Collins’s age, but can’t pull the young blokes like Joanie can. Ray’s dissatisfied because he’s not getting nookie from Jess; Nikki’s dissatisfied with relationships in general, and Do-A-Little is dissatisfied because Nikki is a dick-tease.

Johnsons’: House is dissatisfied at being empty.

Corkhills’: Jimmy is dissatisfied because Jackie got custody of Wills, Lindsey is dissatisfied because her life is going nowhere, and she’s fast turning into a drudge working for Jimmy. Tim is dissatisfied because he has no qualifications and a prison record, which precludes him earning loadsa money. Emily is dissatisfied because Tim can’t earn lots of money and has to go on the rob.

Murrays’: Dire is dissatisfied because she can’t have a baby. Marty is dissatisfied because he doesn’t have enough money to give his wife endless IVF treatment AND provide for his other kids. Plank is dissatisfied because his stepmother is bleeding his dad dry and he, himself, can’t get a job. Adele is dissatisfied because she’s sussed what a selfish old bag Dire is, and Ant is dissatisfied because he’s about to be pussy-whipped by Paige and Imelda again, and no one will notice.

And that DOESN’T include the non-residents of the Close!

And another thing ... Is every day Saturday on the Close? Because when was the last time you saw EITHER of the Murrays pere et mere at their respective places of employment? No wonder they’re skint. No sympathy for them, the scroungers!

Sitcom House, sitcom lounge: Marty Murray sits on the sitcom sofa, intently studying two pieces of correspondence, which look, to the experienced viewer’s eye, like bills. He continues to gaze reflectively at the pieces of paper held in his hand, as if - by some obscure rite known only to Uri Geller or Paul Daniels - he could make a wish and they would disappear.

Dire phaffs in, wearing her the pink pinny uniform of the salon where she never seems to be these days, and does a fair impersonation of giving the sitcom lounge a tidy-up. Marty glances up at his wife through lowered eyelids and mutters two words: Red bills. (Or as we all know them ... Final Demands).

Which ones? Dire asks.

The phone bill and the water rates. (Hang on ... That last one’s a bit early. How do Liverpool do their waterrates? We down south pay in two instalments - one the first of April and one the first of October. It’ s hardly time for a final demand for the second instalment, unless the first instalment hasn’t been paid. Oh, do soh’ih, Brookie!)

Oh, that’s easy enough, replies Dire, breezily. You pay the phone bill and send the water company a cheque, which you conveniently forget to sign.

That’ll do it, agrees Marty. At least that would give them a few days’ grace on the water bill.

Dire asks if Marty’s seen Plank yet today. Marty replies in the negative, and Dire pursues her meddling ... Only Plank doesn’t appear to have come home at all last night, she mentions. He could have at least phoned and let them know his whereabouts. (Plank, you’ll recall, had been invited over to the flat of The Naughty Nurse for a bottle of plonk, a video and all kinds of kama sutra - not the first time you’ll hear this phrase in this episode, either. Now THIS sort of motherly concern is the hallmark of Dire’s parenting skills. It matters not that your eldest is a 21 year-old man; you must have total control over your children at all times. Result? A 21 year-old with the social graces of a backward adolescent, a sixteen year-old who’s been through an abortion but who still seems to be playing with dolls in her mind, and an 11 year-old whose religious bigotry make Ian Paisley and Osama bin Laden look the very pictures of tolerance. Nice work, Dire).

For Marty, however, the whereabouts of Plank are the least of his concerns. He’s more interested in agreeing the amount of the claim sorted for his insurance scam. He wants to make sure he gets exactly the right amount of money to cover their outstanding debts. Couldn’t Dire say that she’d had some jewellery stolen?

Yeah, sure, quips Dire, sarcastically, along with her yacht and her Faberge egg.

Meanwhile, across the way on The Parade, The Naughty Nurse is giving her make-up a final check before dashing downstairs to work. In an obvious attempt to entice the female viewing contingent, we see Plank plod out of the background bedroom, clad only in a bathtowel. (Psst! This is supposed to be sexy, and WE, ladies, are supposed to salivate. Oh? What’s that? Er, sorry, This scene is ONLY for the twelve year-old girls who watch the show).

Plank shows us his Mr Luuurverman technique by creeping up behind Nisha and nuzzling her neck. He’s anxious for more of what he got the night before, but Nisha dissuades him. She has to go to work. Well, asks the Plank, hopefully, how late does she have to work? Late, she informs him, but not before he manages to grab her, clutch her to his manly, hairless bosom and plant a massive snog on her. (That Nisha’s a kinky one, her with the the wood fetish). Nisha pulls playfully away and skips toward the door, turning naughtily to remind the Plank to make the bed before he leaves ... And to make sure he uses good hospital corners!

The camera closes in on a female hand wielding a knife and viciously chopping carrots. It’s Lindsey, head chef at Hotel Corkhill (no Michelin stars). The door opens and Tim enters dejectedly. He’s been hunting for legitimate jobs, or rather, going through the motions of doing so. From the look on his face, Lindsey surmises that he’s had no luck.

Well, Tim admits, there was a recruitment poster at the Job Centre for the bizzies, but Tim didn’t fancy having to work in such close quarters with so many villains. Was that in or out of the force, jokes Lindsey. (Actually, I think Tim would make an excellent policeman. He’s doltish, violent, methodical, thick, narrow-minded and dim. He should easily make Chief Superintendent quickly).

Jimmy enters the room, having heard the front door open. He wants to know if Jackie has arrived yet, as she was due to come by (at his request) today. In fact, she was supposed to be there at 2:00PM, and she appeared to be running late. Lindsey assures him that if Jackie promised to be there, she would be there shortly, but Jimmy is beginning to get stressed.

The Plank has arrived back at Sitcom House. ‘Where were you last night?’ His shrewish stepmother demands, by way of a greeting.

Plank raises his eyebrows at such a question and confirms that he spent the night at Nisha’s, but then, as an afterthought, he adds that he slept on the couch. (Such is the hypocrisy of Dire Murray). He passes through into the sitcom kitchen, whilst Dire, in an exaggerated stage whisper, asks Marty if he thinks Plank is serious about Nisha. (DIRE: This is the 21st Century. Just because lads and ladettes sleep with each other DOESN’T mean that they are serious or want to be. It means they are horny and want a bonk).

Marty shrugs, admitting that he doesn’t know if Plank is serious about her. Well, Dire remarks primly, she thinks it’s high time Marty had a chat with Plank about that. (Oh, give over! You self-righteous prig!)

As Plank re-emerges into the sitcom lounge, Plank asks if anyone had rung him about his job interview from yesterday. No, Marty admits, but Plank mustn’t give up hope. Plank, feeling confident after a night with Nisha, says he’s thinking positive.

Just like Marty is doing with this claim, his father agrees, thinking positive. Plank’s face clouds over. Yeah, well, he concedes, there’s really only one reason that Marty is being forced into defrauding the insurance company, and he, Plank, has to take a vow of silence about that reason. He knows he has to keep his opinion about the worthlessly expensive IVF treatment to himself. Marty looks ashamed.

Over at the Shadwick Hiltons’, Nikki sits at the table, womens’ mag opened before her, and Do-A-Little’s open hand, palm up, in hers. Guided by a silly magazine article, Nikki is attempting to read Do-A-Little’s palm. Nikki rivals Michelle Fowler for being the university student with the most time on her hands and the least amount of work to do. She’s being watched jealously by her grandmother in the background. In fact, Jessie’s totally absorbed in the reading.

According to the magazine, Do-A-Little’s palm reveals that he’s strongly inclined to favour loads of passionate sex, resulting in post-coital pleasure. Jessie’s eyes light up expectantly, as she fantasizes about lazy afternoons of torrid sex in bed with Do-A-Little.

Her reverie is abruptly disturbed, however, by the noisy entrance (pun intended) of Raymundo, who’s been on a shopping spree. Ray’s excited, but not by promises of post-coital pleasure. No. Ray’s anxious to show everyone his bargain purchase. Opening his shopping bag, he’s quick to flash a brand-new all-singing all-dancing rotary tool. Just the thing every man needs!

Jessie’s face is a picture, but not of sexual anticipation.

Over at the bar, Lance is serving an attractive male customer. Sensing the punter might be of a sexual persuasion similar to Lance, he lightly flirts with the man, whilst serving him a drink. Christy hovers ominously in the background, ready for a quick word of criticism as the punter departs.

He succinctly reminds Lance that he’s paid to serve customers, not to eye them up. He reminds Lance that in this country, that sort of behaviour could be construed as sexual harassment. Now wouldn’t that look nice, the bar having customers complain of being sexually harassed by staff?

Lance suffers the criticism in silence. We notice that there’s a huge pile of stock placed behind the bar, and Christy peremptorily orders Lance to get the stuff shifted. Lance pointedly refuses.

Christy demands to know why Lance won’t remove the stock into the office and storeroom, and Lance replies that he doesn’t feel comfortable handling stolen goods. In fact, he elaborates, he’s not comfortable with this sort of set-up at all. Bev never did things this way, he reminds him. She was always up front, bought things from legitimate suppliers; she never depended on dodgy mates with dodgy goods.

Well, Christy reminds Lance, Bev isn’t here now, so what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her. Anyway, what’s she going to do about it? And how’s Lance going to get in touch with her? Maybe he’ll tell the bizzies? Well, if he’s got any inclination to do that, Christy wants him to remember that his sister has already done a stretch inside. How did Lance think Leanne would feel when she found out her brother had grassed her up?

Raymundo is still proudly revealing the intricacies of his tool to a less-than-impressed Jessie, Do-A-Little and Nikki, as Jessie attempts to look busy with the ironing.

Nikki’s finished with the palm-reading lark. She’s got to go over to the university library. She needs to get some books out for her research project. Do-A-Little offers to give her a lift and she accepts. He asks what her research project concerns, and Nikki jokes that it’s concerning how hand analysis can determine a person’s sexuality. The two leave, laughing, whilst Jess silently fumes at the attention Do-A-Little pays her granddaughter.

As the couple depart, Ray begins to scan through the article on palm-reading, as he remarks absently that Do-A-Little is a ‘good lad’. While he witters a bit about this, we see Jessie suddenly remove her clothes that she’s ironed from their hangers and drop them abruptly into - yes - a LAUNDRY BASKET! Ray notices nothing.

Suddenly, Jessie turns the iron off, announcing that she has to go out for ten minutes or so. She suddenly has the urge to buy a pair of tights. But wait a moment, insists Ray, who had begun to get engrossed in the article about palm-reading. There was something in this article relating to Ray’s palm; according to the mag, Ray’s a dab hand at the old kama sutra position. He’s itching to have a go strutting his stuff with Jess, now they’ve got the house to themselves.

But Jessie firmly restrains his desire, telling him with a snide smile that it’s far better all around if Ray just stayed here and had fun with his power tool. (Funny? Not.)

Jackie Corkhill arrives via the back door at Hotel Corkhill, following Lindsey into the kitchen with many abject apologies and a string of excuses for her tardiness, one of which having to do with Auntie Val being late back from work, herself, and there being no one to look after Wills. As she enters the kitchen, Jackie glances around and wonders where Jimmy is.

Lindsey decides to come clean with her mother regarding her dad’s motives. She feels Jackie might as well know the truth. Jimmy is planning to contest the court’s decision to award Jackie custody of William. Jackie is astounded beyond belief. Why on earth was Jimmy pursuing this? Lindsey shrugs with resignation. She’s been having to deal with Jimmy 24/7 for months now and it shows in her face. She tells Jackie that, at the moment, Jimmy feels as though he can say what he wants when he wants. And he’s got a bee in his bonnet about getting custody of William ever since he got the decree nisi through.

Lindsey warns Jackie that Jimmy’s changed now. He’s different. She finds it difficult to describe exactly HOW he’s different, but she manages to convey to Jackie that Jimmy isn’t exactly thinking straight.

(How has Jimmy changed? Well, he’s become the Sage Old Man of the Close, but only for those people dim or silly enough to heed his counsel, his chief disciples being Tim and Anthea, both of whom are not long on brain power).

Brigid and Dire are taking a stroll by the picturesque garage. Brigid is curious. She wants to know if Dire and Marty have finished filling in the insurance form for their bogus claim yet. Dire is surprised. Surely Brigid isn’t being serious? Does she actually condone their scam?

Well, Brigid confesses, there are crimes and there are crimes.

‘What happened to your Ten Commandments?’ Dire asks, sarcastically.

Oh, the Ten Commandments are right where they always were, says Brigid, placidly. But in her opinion, Dire and Marty are victims. So you fiddle your forms, so what? Brigid’s known lots of people who had unsavoury dealings with insurance companies - putting in valid claims only to have insurance companies come up with something in the small print after months of delay that meant the claimants got nothing. Everyone knows insurance companies aren’t exactly straight arrows either. Play them at their own game.

‘You mean lie?’ Asks Dire.

‘I mean be inventive,’ replies Brigid.

Christy sits in the office at the bar and watches Lance approach the door via CCTV. Lance looks up at the camera and gives a cheeky wave, before Christy admits him, asking him surlily what he wants. Lance reminds Christy that it was Christy who sent for Lance. Christy recovers his poise enough to inform Lance that he’s rostered to work Saturday.

Lance objects. He has plans for Saturday, about which Christy was aware. Also, he had planned to attend an all-night party that night. Sorry, babe. Well, says Christy smugly, Lance will finish work around 2:00AM, so he’d still have time to put in an appearance at the party. Oh, and by the way, Lance was NOT to refer to Christy as ‘babe’.

Lance is insistant, however. He informs Christy that it’s well within his rights as an employee to refuse to work that day.

Christy is blunt. No one has rights here anymore. There’s no union to back him up. Either Lance works Saturday or he’s out.

Fine, replies Lance. He’s out. Christy shrugs his shoulders and tells him he’ll fix up his P45. Lance takes his apron off in disgust and turns to leave the room, but suddenly he stops and faces Christy.

He wants Christy to know that this isn’t easy for him. He felt a part of this enterprise, having helped Bev make a go from almost the beginning. (Stop this. The bar was a goer when Bev took it over. In my estimation, it’s never been as profitable as when Jacqui owned it).

Well, Christy reminds him, Bev isn’t here now. But, Lance argues, he owes that much to Bev - to stay and protect her interests.

Christy smiles ironically. But Lance has resigned, he points out.

But, Lance smiles equally ironically, he’s changed his mind. Picking up his apron, he turns again, looking over his shoulder at Christy impishly. ‘Oh, and I WILL be able to work Saturday after all,’ says Lance, ‘BABE.’

As Lance leaves, Christy sees Tim approach on the CCTV and the lad pops his head around the door. Again Christy demands to know what this person wants with his time.

Easy, says Tim. He’s come for his money.

Money? What money? Demands Christy. And what was Tim doing back here? Didn’t he realise this was a secure area?

Tim scowls. He wants his £50 for doing the break-in, as Christy promised.

Ah, but Tim cocked the break-in up, Christy says. Tim denies doing this, but Christy is adamant. Tim cocked up. In fact, he cocked up SO badly that there was now no hope, whatsoever, of the Murrays instigating a claim - in fact, they were actually going to be out of pocket. So no pay day for Tim.

Tim leaves in disgust, and Christy laughs maliciously as he watches the lad trudge dejectedly away on CCTV.

Jackie awaits Jimmy’s appearance in the kitchen of Hotel Corkhill. She watches as Lindsey prepares liver for the Corkhill tea. Jackie is amazed. Didn’t Lindsey know that her dad hated liver?

Oh, he eats it now, says Lindsey. She remembers all those years Jackie nagging at Jimmy to eat liver. But Lindsey had managed to change his eating habits, telling him what’s good for him and what’s not. She’s even got him eating muesli and taking vitamins and iron tablets.

Suddenly, Jackie begins to cry softly. Lindsey is immediately concerned. Jackie is perplexed. She simply doesn’t know what’s going on anymore in her life, she explains. Having a house and running it, domestic duties and family, that’s all she’s ever wanted or known, she babbles. Now it’s nothing but divorce, court battles and custody rows. Why on earth aren’t they all together? Jackie says she doesn’t want any of this hassle. In fact, were Jimmy to ask her to come back today, she’d say yes without any hesitation. She simply just could not bear the thought of living alone.

Lindsey takes a deep breath and tries to comfort her mother, attempting to explain the situation as it existed with Jimmy at the present moment. Surely Jackie must know that Jimmy’s still under medical treatment. He depended on his tablets. There were good days, when Jimmy was perfectly normal; but Lindsey wants Jackie to know that there were times when Jimmy went through a black patch and those times were virtually unbearable. Jackie might move back in when Jimmy was having a good turn and everything in the garden would be rosy, and they would be the picture-perfect family. Then the next day, he might be submerged in a royal blue funk that would last for days and be sheer hell for everyone connected with him.

What Lindsey’s trying to say is that Jackie’s fear of being alone wasn’t tantamount reason enough for her to attempt reconciliation again. Anyway, they had been the reconciliation route before, and it lasted all of two days.

At that moment, Jimmy comes in the front door. Immediately, he’s on the sarcastic defensive with Jackie, baiting her remorselessly. ‘Oh,’ he remarks, with that insufferably smug expression crossing his face, ‘made it in the end, did yer?’

Jackie starts to babble something about Val, when Jimmy suddenly interrupts her, glancing harshly and accusingly at Lindsey. Jimmy supposes that these two had been having a good old chinwag about him in his absence. Got their story all made up, have they?

Lindsey steps forward, assuming the role of referee in her parents’ battle. She snaps an order to Jimmy to take his coat off and for the pair of them to sit down and have a civil discussion.

The Plank encounters Tim, whilst walking along The Parade. Tim has just left the bar in disgust, having been put off collecting his payment due by Christy. Plank enquires after the state of Tim’s chin. Tim jokes that it only hurts when he eats, laughs, talks or breathes.

Plank suggests that the two of them retire to the bar to partake of a drink, but Tim demurs. He’s skint, thanks to Plank’s Uncle Christy. Christy owes him fifty quid. How was he to know that his work would look too dodgy for a claim?

Plank gives Tim a puzzled look. What was he on about? Tim did all right. Of course, Plank and Marty tarted the initial work up a bit, but Marty was putting the claim in today. No problems. It will be processed and they would be quids in in about two weeks. Tim is angry that Christy is trying to avoid paying him what he’s due.

At that moment, Plank’s mobile rings. Plank’s expecting a call regarding his job interview from the previous day. He takes the call, but the message is not what he is expecting. He finishes the call in shock. Something isn’t right here, he says to Tim. Yesterday, he was the perfect candidate for the job; today, according to the personnel manager, he wasn’t right for the job. All of a sudden, the firm had changed their minds about Plank.

Tim suggests the two go for that drink.

Poor Lindsey is still trying to mediate her parents’ dispute. But Jimmy is proving illogically obdurate. He doesn’t need to talk to Jackie now. Why should he? Jackie and Lindsey seemed to have said everything that needs saying about the situation between them.

Jackie is exasperated. How on earth could she and Lindsey have sorted everything out, especially since she had no idea of what Jimmy wanted to discuss? Lindsey patiently, but firmly, reminds Jimmy that Jackie was only here because he requested she be here.

Jimmy tells Jackie bluntly that he can’t agree with the court regarding the decision to give custody of William to Jackie. Jackie counters by saying that Jimmy almost knew that the court reckoned the boy would be better off with his mother. What was this all about with Jimmy?

Jimmy gets angry and political, saying that this was all about the power of the State over the man in the street, which was what Jimmy was. It was about the court having the power to decide the fate of Jimmy’s child. Jackie wins in all of this, he says. Jackie was no better than Solomon in this.

Jackie is confused. Does Jimmy honestly think the court can do something like slice Wills in half to accommodate both his parents? She’s already told Jimmy repeatedly that he can have access to William whenever he wants.

But Jimmy doesn’t want mere access to William; he wants William totally, there ... With him and Lindsey.

Tim and Plank sit in the bar, nursing their respective pints. Tim has told Plank all about his encounter with Christy, who is nowhere to be seen at the moment. Where is he? Plank asks. Tim says Christy is in the office working.

Working? Laughs Plank. More like taking a kip. Poor Plank is still puzzling over his abortive job interview. He couldn’t understand the company’s change of mind. Yesterday he was a highly rated candidate. All they needed were references, and those, they said, were mere formalities.

Maybe someone’s out to diss you, suggests Tim.

Plank twigs it then. Geoff Evans. It has to be. He’s put the boot in on Plank. Plank makes a solemn and serious vow: ‘I’ll have him,’ he pledges.

Raymundo has now moved outside and is giving his car a service. Do-A-Little’s BMW cruises into the Close and he and Nikki alight, Nikki carrying an armload of books. They greet Ray breezily. Although Nikki’s got a pile of books to plow through, she’s not about to do any work today. No siree. Do-A-Little’s suggested taking her to Bellview Speedway.

Ray’s eyes light up with interest. Why, he used to go there all the time as a youngster. Do-A-Little spontaneously invites Ray along, but Ray declines. He holds up a part from the car he’s servicing. He’s a bit busy at the moment. Anyway, he couldn’t really go and leave Jessie on her own for an evening, but thanks all the same. Do-A-Little suggests bringing Jessie along, but Ray doesn’t really think speedway is Jessie’s cup of tea.

Brigid is leaving Sitcom House. As she makes ready to depart, she wishes Dire good luck with her embryo implantation and tells her daughter to chill out. As she’s leaving, Marty enters and the two exchange slightly caustic remarks. After she’s left, Marty asserts to a dubious Dire that he is genuinely trying to be nice.

Anyway, Marty’s been doing some calculations regarding the claim figures. He’s figured that they can claim for the amount of this quarter’s bills and also for the next quarter, and still have cash to spare. Dire readily agrees, and Marty asks for a first class stamp as he puts the finishing touches on the claim application. Dire remarks that Brigid is entirely supportive of their action. In fact, she reckons that the Murrays are ‘victims’.

Jimmy is ranting now at Hotel Corkhill, waving the Court Welfare Officer’s letter around maniacally. Wills will remain there at Hotel Corkhill with him, he asserts. He and Lindsey will look after William. Lindsey interjects - she wants no part of this.

Jimmy is even angrier now, shouting in Jackie’s face. Does Jackie want to know what he thinks of this Court Welfare Officer? He’ll show her, and he tears up the letter into small pieces.

Jackie’s not prepared to tolerate this berating and bullying. She pulls a surprise punch of her own. If Jimmy wanted to play the game that way, Jackie could play dirty too. She didn’t want to, but she could and would. If he carried on wanting to challenge the custody ruling, then Jackie would have no qualms about bringing up his mental health history in court. She would tell the judge how sick he was, that he changes his mind as much as he changes his sheets, that he was on constant medication. In fact, she would insist on a mental health nurse being present to supervise whenever Jimmy visited William.

Jimmy was not to mess with her, Jackie warns. She could and would play dirty. As she prepares to leave, highly upset, she apologises for Lindsey for forcing the girl to hear these things, but Lindsey is a mother too. If anyone tried to take Kylie from her, she’d surely do the same thing. And she dashes from the house in high dudgeon.

Jimmy stands gazing after her, a determined look on his face. Lindsey merely stares at him sadly, shaking her head. ‘What have you done now?’ She asks rhetorically.

Ray is continuing to service the car when Jessie returns, dressed in a new, younger and stylish outfit. Ray compliments her on her appearance and Jessie preens before him. She thought the style might be a bit young for her, she says, but Chantal at the shop didn’t think so at all; so she decided to wear it home. She asks if Nikki and Do-A-Little have returned?

Oh, they’ve gone out again, says Ray. Gone to Bellview Speedway. In fact, Do-A-Little invited the pair of them along, but Ray declined. Jessie is appalled. The woman, who yesterday claimed she had no interest in sport of any sort, suddenly complains that she would have loved to go to speedway. In fact, she is adamant that she and Ray should leave right now for the venue.

Sheepishly, Ray informs her that they can’t go, and sadly holds up another car part to indicate he is unfinished with the car.

Plank and Tim are still in the bar, discussing the fate of Geoff Evans. Tim suggests that Plank call him and ask what exactly he’s playing at.

At that moment, Christy appears behind the bar, informing a sullen Lance that there were no changes for the weekend. Tim approaches the bar and demands his £50.00. Christy lied about the the failed insurance claim.

Christy isn’t fazed. Why doesn’t Tim let him buy the lad a pint and call it quits? Suddenly Plank leans threateningly across the bar. He informs Christy that, in slightly different circumstances, Plank could have killed Tim; then where would he be? Sharing some cell with Ron Dikko. Christy should give Tim the money and now.

Christy reminds Plank that Plank’s family, therefore, he should stay on side; but Plank says as far as he’s concerned, Christy’s no one’s family. If he doesn’t give Tim the £50.00 he owes the lad, Plank will blow the whole set-up to Dire about Tim being paid to burgle the house.

Christy reluctantly removes £50.00 from the till and hands it to Tim.

‘And you’re me godfather,’ remarks Plank to Christy, in disgust.

As the lads leave the bar, Tim thanks Plank for his efforts, but Plank admits he doesn’t know what came over him. Seems he took all the anger he felt for Geoff Evans out on the hapless Christy.

Back at Hotel Corkhill, the camera focuses on a bottle of prescription tablets set prominently in the foreground. In the hazy background, we see Jimmy seated at his computer, tapping away. We peek at his screen, where we see the words ‘Beware the consequences’ and under that he types ‘Forget the consequences’. He taps away some more, before picking up the bottle of pills and ditching them into the nearby wastepaper basket.

Next door at Sitcom House, Marty Murray sits on the sitcom sofa, with a tray of food on his lap. He resembles a hungry pig, as he sits shoveling grub into his overfull mouth and gobbling the repas down, indiscriminately. How trailer trash can you get?

Plank skulks in sullenly, informing his dad that he didn’t get the job after all. Well, mumbles Marty through a gobful of food, Plank couldn’t force that firm to give him a job. Chalk it up. He was going through a bad patch. Things could only get better and all that yadda yadda. Marty is optimistic. Plank would soon get a job, and Marty would have his insurance money; and then, they wouldn’t feel the squeeze so much.

Plank slumps dejectedly against the door of the sitcom kitchen. Marty shouldn’t be in this predicament, he asserts. What is Plank talking about? Asks his dad.

Plank replies that he’s been told by Marty not to discuss a certain matter, but Marty encourages the lad to be frank. As a matter of fact, Plank continues, maybe it was about time Marty decided to stand on his own two feet and tell HER upstairs that the money flying out of Sitcom House these days is family money and not exclusive to the personal account for the benefit of Mrs Dire Murray.

At that point, Dire enters the room, having heard the magic word ‘money’ (as every time she hears it, she reckons it’s more coming her way to feed her obsession). She demands to know what money Plank is talking about, but Marty tries to brush the discussion under the carpet, by saying that it was ‘nothing’ that Plank was talking about.

But Plank is well and truly fed up with all the pussyfooting and mollycoddling the family have had to endure in order to humour Dire and her incessant obsession, and he decides to strike whilst the iron’s hot and speak his mind.

When Dire demands again to know ‘what money’ Plank was talking about, he launches a counter tirade. The money that’s been going out of this house for ages, he says, all going in the pocket of that private fertility clinic she’s been funding exclusively. Any and every time the family got an inch in the financial black, THAT profit was put aside to fund her everlasting attempts at IVF. Why, he fully expected Marty to be forced into signing the bloody house over to the clinic next, in order to fund the ‘next phase’ of treatment she’ll be sure to want to try.

Marty makes fumbling attempts in the background to shush his eldest son, demanding that he stop, whilst Dire’s fat gob is silenced for once in her selfish life by the fact that her eldest stepchild, who previously wouldn’t have dreamt of saying ‘boo’ to a goose, tells her a few unwelcome home truths.

Look at the level to which she’d brought the family. They’d never been well off, but they’d never been up to their eyeballs in debt, the way they were at the moment. For Christ’s sake, they’re reduced to fiddling dodgy insurance claims in order to be able to pay utility bills!

Again, Marty orders his silence and demands that he cease instantly and apologise to Dire, but Plank’s had enough. He’s sick of the whole IVF business - the constant ‘informative’ lectures that Dire gives the family as a means of biological progress reports, the incessant wittering about embryos, implants and pregnancy tests. Why, this wasn’t a home anymore; it was more like a bloody ante-natal clinic.

Dire, having found her long-lost voice, interrupts to counter that Plank has no say in how his father wishes to spend the family’s money, especially as he was bringing no money into this house -

And whose fault is that? Demands Plank. Marty, ever in the background, shouts that it was Plank who chose to quit his job.

And why was that? Taunts Plank. He didn’t only lose a job, he lost a career as well as a girlfriend. Maybe Katrina was right. After all, she maintained that Geoff wouldn’t make a move on another man’s wife - and who knows Geoff Evans better than his daughter? Maybe Dire DID make the first move and when Geoff rejected her, got scared and made up the lie about him making a pass? Whatever happened, he was forced to ditch his girl AND his job and now his ex-employer was making it damned difficult to get another one. No, if Dire wants to know why he wasn’t contributing to the family IVF fund, she should look no further than herself.

Marty, livid with anger, lunges at the lad, forcing him up against the wall and demanding that he apologise to Dire. Plank refuses outright. Marty demands again.

‘You’re me dad and I love you,’ says Plank through clenched teeth. ‘But she needs to be told these things before she bankrupts us all with her obsession.’

Marty refuses to concede either, demanding that Plank apologise until Dire, now in tears at having yet ANOTHER stepchild see through her facile facade, screams to Marty to let Plank go. Marty it forced to relent, as Plank walks away from the pair of them, without so much as a backward glance. The worm has turned, and if this keeps up, I shall have to begin calling Plank by his Christian name, and that’s no fun.