Wednesday, 10th October 2001

SOMETHING FOR THE WEEKEND?

SLUTS, SLAGS AND SLAPPERS and MERSEYSIDE TERRORISTS

The title just about sums up this episode tonight, a detailed study in three varieties of a certain type of Brookside female. Tonight we have the high-class slut, the cheap brand of slag and the apprentice slapper sharing centre stage. Have a gander ...

Jimmy Corkhill descends the stairs of Hotel Corkhill. Through the frosted glass in his front door, he catches a glimpse of a fleeting figure moving swiftly away. Quickly he opens the door to find no one there, steps out onto the doorstep and glances about, seeing no one. Perplexed, he returns indoors.

Tim sleeps peacefully alone in his big double bed in the darkened extension at Hotel Corkhill.

Jimmy now sits tapping away on his beloved computer. There, on the edge of the desk, sits his trusty bottle of anti-depressants. (Perhaps it’s the anti-depressants that have turned Jimmy into such a sage?) He stops briefly to take his dosage, the only person I know who is able to swallow tablets without a swig of water. As he takes his medicine, we are allowed a glimpse of his computer screen, which now reads: ‘Live with the Consequences’.

Suddenly, Jimmy is aware of a slight noise coming from the back garden. Suspicious of a prowler in the middle of the day, he moves deftly towards the Corkhill kitchen, pausing only to pick up an empty milk bottle as a weapon en route. As he reaches the back door, it suddenly opens and Emily enters.

Needless to say, Jimmy is startled by her appearance (which is reminiscent of a cheap slag) and wants to know why she’s here. She isn’t due back from visiting her mother for days. Emily says she’s come home to surprise Tim and asks where he is. Jimmy tells her that he’s still abed and Emily is even more surprised, especially since it’s 3:00pm in the afternoon. (Perhaps Tim is also the notorious Scouse terrorist, Bin Sleepin’). The lazy bones! She snaps. She’ll soon sort him. Emily enters the O’Leary room, oblivious to the warnings Jimmy has pasted to the door.

Emily finds Tim fast asleep. With a smug smile of slaggy cleverness, she gently places Tim’s mobile beside his pillow and treats all the adolescent-minded males and middle-aged male pervs who watch the show to a hint of a striptease, especially in order that they might have a quick wank. (Aren’t the writers thoughtful?)

Across the way, in the Dixon abode, Rachel the Dim sits staring, once again, at the wicked, evil, red-bordered letter from the loan company. She stares intently at the document, as if she can will it and the overdue loan to disappear. Then, admitting her failure, and with her eyes welling with tears, she rips the letter to shreds.

Brigid and Jessie stand in the door of the bar, having a raucous laugh. Dire Murray, dressed in her pink stylists’ pinny passes by and overhears the laughter. She stops out of curiousity, as she remarks that their laughter has all the earmarks of dirty, risque laughter.

Brigid expresses surprise that Dire appears to be going in the direction of the salon. (Perhaps she’s surprised that Dire, the manager of the establishment, is still working. When was the last time she showed up there? Perhaps there is yet another Mersey terrorist, Bin Shirkin?) Surely she should be at home with her feet up?

(NOW LISTEN CAREFULLY, KIDS, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST LINE OF THE NIGHT!)

Dire smugly replies that she thought she’d just pop into the salon to see how things were going. She doesn’t like to take liberties, especially when she might have to have extra time off in the future if ,,, You know, she adds coyly. (HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. DIRE’S NOT WORKING AND EMILY’S SCOOTS OFF ON HOLIDAY. WHEN DID THE SALON LAST HAVE CUSTOMERS!!!!!)

Jessie wishes Dire good luck with her treatment, and Brigid hastily explains that because Jess is a friend, she’s clued Jessie in on all Dire’s tribulations. Besides, Jessie’s such a good frien,. she’s only spent all morning giving Brigid the low-down on that Nisha, the one Plank’s sniffing around. Oh, she’s a real man-eater, that one, Brigid continues. Jessie’s told her all about how that Nisha one deceived poor Nikki Shadwick.

Imagine anyone doing something like that, insists Jessie.

Dire remarks fairly that Plank seemed happy enough with her. Anyway, she didn’t really know the girl.

Ooooooh, does ANYONE really know her, asks Brigid rhetorically.

Timily lie in bed, the Tim part unaware that the Emily part is beside him. The wankers amongst the viewers are treated to Mrs O’Leary sitting, ostensibly naked, with the blanket draped less than modestly low enough to ALMOST reveal a hint of nip. She picks up her own mobile and dials Tim’s number.

Drowsily, he answers. She responds by identifying herself. Tim asks where she is. She tells him that she’s not far away and that he should turn around. They have a happy and touching reunion. (YUCK!)

Mike Dixon stands in the Dixon kitchen, looking at a postcard sent from Mr and Mrs Farn-ham and family in Barbados. As he looks at it, Rachel hands him a plastic container holding his sarnies. Mike muses that the family honeymoon to Barbados must have cost a fortune.

Well, Rachel remarks, Max is loaded. (Sorry, no, he’s not. Max got nothing from Susannah at the time of their divorce, because EVERYTHING - the house, the business, the bank accounts - was in Susannah’s name. Even now, he is only an employee of a business managed in trust for the Farnham children by Max’s wife, Jacqui. Correction - JACQUI FARNHAM is loaded, Max is merely her employee.)

Mike doesn’t begrudge his sister a honeymoon, he adds magnanimously, in a way that only the shiftless can. Besides, he and Rachel had already been to Barbados on THEIR honeymoon (again, courtesy of Jacqui and Nathan). Anyway, Rachel points out to Mike, this security job is only really a fill-in job until Mike finds something he really would like to do. Mike tells Rachel that his latest assignment has revealed to him the sort of job he wouldn’t like to do - work in an office. (Face it, Mike doesn’t want to do any job, really). Anyway, he’s due on a 12-hour shift tonight, which should net him a bit more money.

Rachel warns him not to tire himself out too much, but Mike jokes that when he finishes his work shift, he’ll be more than ready for a good bedroom shift with Rachel. Suddenly the couple both start to say something at the same time. Rachel is trying to find a way to tell Mike about the loan letter, but she insists that Mike say what he had to say first.

Mike tells Rachel that he hates being a security guard, but he aims to stick with the job until the pair sort their money problems out. In fact, he wants to stick with this long enough for them to afford to have a home of their own. He wants to pay off this crazy loan and make sure that there are no black marks against their names when they have to apply for a mortgage loan.

Rachel looks as though a hole in the ground would be welcome to swallow her up right now.

(Er, could MIKE DIXON be the missing Scouse terrorist, Bin Workin’?)

The doorbell rings at Hotel Corkhill, and Jimmy answers it, only to find Jackie standing on the doorstep. Jackie, whose new hairstyle is REALLY nice, greets Jimmy uncertainly, saying that she only wanted to pop in for a minute.

‘Come to see if the looney’s been sectioned yet?’ Asks Jim, sarcastically.

Jackie says that she’s not there to trade insults, and Jimmy lets her in.

She manages to sneak a peek at the ‘Live with the Consequences’ tirade on the computer screen, before Jimmy ostentatiously switches the monitor off. Seeing Jim’s bottle of medication, she asks if he’s pursuing taking his meds. Of course he is, says Jimmy, again sarcastically. He has a mental illness, didn’t Jackie know?

Jackie apologises for her outburst from earlier that week. Jimmy remarks that at the time, it sounded pretty much like Jackie meant what she said. Jackie admits that she probably did at the time, but now she knows better.

Jimmy susses that Lindsey’s been having a quiet word with her mother, and that she’d told Jackie that he wasn’t taking his medicine. Jackie tells Jimmy that their marital problems were putting Lindsey under an immense amount of pressure too.

At that moment, Emily emerges from the extension, clad in Tim’s shirt. Seeing Jackie, she excuses herself sheepishly, saying she’s going to the loo, but stops long enough to ask cheekily if Jimmy and Jackie were getting back together.

Jimmy dismisses her by saying that he and Jackie have things to discuss, and she slinks away. Jimmy invites Jackie to share a pot of tea.

Nisha and Plank emerge from the flats onto the Parade in a downpour of rain. Plank tells Nisha to wait until he brings the car for her, but he’s thwarted by the combined nosiness of his grandmother and stepmother. They rush over and greet the couple phonily and effusively. Dire gushes about not having properly met Plank’s new girlfriend. Plank is embarrassed, and Nisha is overwhelmed. Plank tries to explain that the couple were just going out for a drink.

Why waste money going for a drink? Effuses Dire. They should come round to Sitcom House for a drink. That evening. This very minute. Plank tries to get out of it, and so does Nisha, but Brigid insists. Steve had the privilege of saying no, because HE was family; but his new girlfriend knew it would be bad manners to refuse. It would be nothing posh, just tea and something from the freezer, insists Dire, who won’t take no for an answer. Finally the pair are pressured into accepting, with Nisha excusing herself to change.

After the two disappear, Brigid enquires if there’e enough food for her as well, as she’d like to sound that Nisha one out. Dire invites her to come along.

Timily lie in an exaggerated version of afterglow. Tim attempts a bad stab at Brookside humour by asking Emily what the French word for PHWOAR was. Emily gives some stupid answer that wasn’t even worth noting. Tim asks if she’s brought him a present from Paris. She reaches down beside the bed and produces a cheap-looking black bra and knickers that were NOT bought in France and were NOT bought at M & S.

Tim tries another attempt at Brookside humour by holding the bra up to his chest and saying that it wouldn’t fit. Instead, he wants Emily to try it on and he, along with several adolescent and adolescently-minded male wankers watching the show, watches Emily dress herself in the outfit. (Of course the viewing wankers only see Mrs O’Leary’s naked shoulders, but hey - they can wank, can’t they?)

Emily tries to be provocative, telling Tim to close his eyes whilst she dresses. He calls her a spoilsport, and as she dresses, Emily reveals to the more intelligent of Brookside viewers just what a dumb, stupid, thick, pig-ignorant arsehole she is, by giving us a running commentary about how boring Paris was. The Eiffel Tower wasn’t nearly as nice as the one in Blackpool, and people are mad to want to see it. (Ignorant, narrow-minded Little-Englander girl at her best).

When Tim opens his eyes, she’s standing draped in the bathrobe again. First, she informs him, she’s going to get him a drink before they indulge. She asks Tim if he missed her and what went on when she was away. Tim is suddenly evasive, telling her that ‘nothing’ went on.

Emily is suspicious, pointing out that in Tim’s language, ‘nothing’ always meant ‘something’ and she demands to know what he was up to in her absence. Tim gets playful, grabbing her and pulling her onto the bed, asking her what the information is worth to her. Tim turns on the CD player. No surprises that the track playing is one of Britney Spears’s hits. Subtle as a brick and thick as shit. (Yawn) How about a dance, he suggests. And Emily willingly obliges by beginning a strip-tease (and about three television screens in the Northeast of England are smeared with seminal fluids)

Jackie and Jimmy sit in the lounge, mindful of the noises emanating from the extension. Jimmy remarks that the O’Learys hadn’t really surfaced since Emily arrived back from Paris that afternoon, going for some sort of sexual record, it would appear. Jackie wistfully brushes Jimmy’s comment aside. The behaviour of the younger couple reminds her of herself and Jimmy when they were first married. They were just like that, didn’t Jim remember? How they couldn’t bear to be apart? How they’d use any excuse to have a long sleep in the afternoon? (Er, I thought Jackie was three months gone with Jimmy when they got married. I would have thought she had morning sickness on her mind for a great deal of the time, followed by water retention, swollen ankles, tiny bladder et al). Anyway, Jackie came for a serious chat with Jimmy and they’d best get down to business.

Jimmy is a bit uneasy and wonders if this might not better be handled by their individual solictors. Jackie shakes her head. That’s much too cold. She hates the thought of other people wrangling over their private affairs when it seemed that all they needed to do was talk, themselves. She asks Jimmy why he had decided to contest the custody in the first place, and Jimmy counters that she was planning on bringing up his mental health problems in court. But Jackie promises Jimmy that she won’t do that now. In fact, she was wrong to have broached the subject in the first place.

The Murrays are hustling and bustling around the sitcom kitchen in preparation for their favourite dinner party game - Spanish Inquisition. Tonight’s victim happens to be Nisha, the new girlfriend of The Plank. All Murrays are present and accounted for, except the Antichrist, who curiously appears to be missing dinner for some reason.

In the midst of the hustle and bustle, Adele informs Marty that the insurance assessor had phoned, but he only left a telephone number and didn’t say whether he would or wouldn’t call later. Marty curses the profession for the sheisters they are, saying that Mr Assessor could call HIM back; he wasn’t about to call someone whose wages he paid. Brigid is attempting to help Dire set the table, but she’s more interested in making sure that Marty knows the pedigree of the girl she and Dire have bullied into coming to tea. Has Dire told Marty, she asks in mock innocence, about Nisha taking that Nikki Shadwick’s fella?

Marty plays the equal innocent, and with a deadpan face, he asks his mother-in-law where exactly Nisha took Nikki’s fella. Before Brigid can reply, Dire gives her a final warning to be on her best behaviour as the doorbell rings, heralding the arrival of Plank and Nisha.

As Plank ushers the Naughty Nurse into the sitcom kitchen, he awkwardly begins the introductions of the family from Hell. Brigid immediately makes Nisha feel at home and puts her at ease by insisting that Nisha refer to her as ‘Mrs McKenna’. After all the introductions, Nisha remarks that she thought Plank had a little brother. (Well, no, actually, Nisha, he has a little bigot, and guess what? To the Antichrist, YOU would be an infidel!) Dire hastily explains that Ant is ‘on duty’ tonight at the church. (You what? On what sort of duty? Prayer vigil? Anointing the priest with holy oil? The mind boggles! Fasting? Self-flagellation? What a pithy excuse, writers! Why not say the lad is sleeping over at friends’. Ooops! Sorry. Ant has no friends.)

Marty stands awkwardly behind the domineering Dire, holding a bottle of cheap plonk, whilst Nisha offers Dire a bottle of better plonk as a gift.. Nisha is wearing a black decolletee top, and Adele, instantly friendly, admires her taste. Brigid turns down her mouth sourly and gives the girl dour and critical look, remarking that she would have preferred something with a higher neck, herself.

Hastily, Marty asks Nisha if she would like a drink and Nisha asks for a white wine.

As Plank begins to take his seat, the doorbell rings yet again, and he leaves the room to answer it.

Opening the door, he sees a sour-faced middle-aged man on the threshold. He asks Plank if he’s Stephen Murray, and Plank answers in the affirmative. The man then identifies himself as Det. Sgt. Priestly from Manor Park Police. He has a complaint against Plank from a Mr Geoff Evans. Would Plank be kind enough to answer a few questions?

In an effort to break the ice, Nisha remarks on Dire’s IVF treatment and its progress. Dire and Marty exchange dismayed glances. ‘You know?’ Questions Dire, in a disappointed tone. (Surely, this abominable woman couldn’t have expected this to be kept a secret from everyone? All of the Close knows for a start, and probably everyone at the Salon. Is the thick? Yes, in a word).

Nisha glosses over the indiscretion by explaining that Plank was discussing the treatment, only insofar as Nisha was the local nurse. Dire relaxes a little at this, and giggling, admits that at the moment, she’s actually in the middle of treatment at the moment, so everything’s virtually in the lap of the gods., so to speak, obviously eager to astound Nisha with endless discussion about IVF treatment, thus boring the girl to tears.

At that moment, Plank enters the sitcom kitchen and swiftly apologises to Nisha. Something’s come up that has to be sorted right now. He’ll only be a moment. They should start dinner without him. As Nisha gazes after him in bewilderment, Nisha’s nightmare begins.

Back at Hotel Corkhill, to the strains of yet another Britney Spears song (obviously the writers want to emphasise the passing resemblance between the more-talented Ms Spears and the non-talented Ms Ellison), Emily finishes her provocative striptease, left in the minute imagination of that proportion of Brookside viewers who are active wankers, and jumps into bed with Tim for more whatever. The two dive under the duvet and make motions which remind one of two greased pigs fighting to escape from a guinea sack, complete with piggy noises as well, when suddenly there’s an abrupt knock on the extension door.

The couple ignore it, but the knock sounds again, more insistent this time. Not waiting for an answer, Jimmy opens the door, as Timily surface.

‘Do yer mind?’ Snarls Emily unprettily.

Jimmy doesn’t apologise or excuse himself. He simply announces firmly that Tim has a ‘visitor’. Then he’s more specific. It’s the local constabulary ... THE BIZZIES ARE HERE FOR TIM!

Rachel is arriving for her shift at the bar, having been walked over by Mike, who’s about to catch his Mersey Mover to work. Mike is having a moan. Two days on the poxy job and he hates it already. But then, Mike hates any legitimate work. In his opinion, he should be subsidised by his father and his sister for the rest of his life. No, Mike is not the elusive Scouse terrorist, Bin Workin. He’s the other one in custody, Bin Drinkin’.

Mike makes a sour joke about going out for a night with the lads, and Rachel sympathises with the fact that he hates his job. She really wished he liked it. Mike jokes about having some sarnies and fruit to get him through the night, and Rachel’s dim solution to the situation is for Mike to ring in sick and stay home. (Nice one, Rache! How do you expect to get out of financial schtook by taking sickies here and there?) But Mike marches off.

Inside, she’s met by Nikki, who wordlessly (but with a classically quizzical look) asks her if she’s got around to telling Mike about the loan demand yet. Nikki doesn’t have to be told, the girl says, critically. She knows Rachel has yet to tell Mike. Rachel promises her that she will tell him, in her own way and in her own time.

At the arrival of Det. Sgt. Priestly, Jackie takes her leave of Jimmy at the door of Hotel Corkhill. Gee, that was just like old times, she comments, a bobby on the doorstep and all. Jimmy should think twice about giving a home to those two young tearaways, she admonishes him. The couple reckon that they’ve made good progress in discussing their situation that afternoon, as Jimmy observes that they managed to spend the entire afternoon NOT shouting; and Jackie promises to return on her breaktime from the garage to finish the talk.

Inside Hotel Corkhill, Priestly is reading the riot act to Tim and Plank, who stand in the middle of the lounge. The policeman is suspicious. First of all, he reminds the lads that they took a car from the Geoff’s forecourt. But with the permission of the salesman, Plank points out.. Priestley knows that Plank used to be an employee of Geoff Evans’s and that there is history between the Evans and Murray families, which makes the ramming of the showroom window look distinctly like an act of revenge.

Plank denies this. Why should he seek revenge? He wasn’t sacked from his job. He left of his own volition. (Of course, he deems it not in his own interests to reveal that Geoff had been slagging him off in references). Tim also maintains that the breaking of the window was an accident.

The man eyes the pair of them dubiously, as Jimmy enters the room. Playing the benevolent bizzie, he makes a great show of telling the lads that there would be no charges forthcoming from Geoff. After all, they hadn’t really taken the car from the forecourt without permission; it was returned, so it could technically be viewed as an accident.

Glaring at Tim, he continues. DC Priestly wants Tim to know that the copper had done his homework and was well aware of Tim’s chequered history as concerns the bizzies, as wll as that of Jimmy’s, he adds, to Jim’s surprise. Turning to Plank, he then confesses that he’s a personal friend of Geoff’s and whilst Geoff hadn’t formally reported the matter to the police per se, he had effectively used Priestley’s unofficial auspices in order to put the fear of God into the two lads - a threat, in other words. So this was all off the record. But he firmly warns the pair that they are to try no more revenge attacks, for whatever reason - or he would have to return in an official capacity.

As he prepares to depart, he notes that, whilst Jimmy has a criminal record, he seems to have been ‘inactive’ for sometime. Perhaps Jimmy should pass on some tips for going straight to ‘Mr O’Leary’.

After he leaves, Emily emerges from the extension, where she’s been eavesdropping and tries to make a joke about DC Priestley calling Tim ‘Mr O’Leary’, but a glare from Tim silences any further attempts to make light of the situation. Plank wonders aloud how he’s going to cover his abrupt departure from Marty, whilst Jimmy rounds on the two lads, calling them a pair of scallies and asking what the hell they’d done to warrant a visit from the police. Well, I reckon it was an investigation into terrorist activities. If Tim’s been revealed as Bin Sleepin, Mike Dixon as Bin Drinkin, Dire Murray as Bin Shirkin, we know that Plank can’t be Bin Workin, because he hasn’t been. So he must be the other notorious Merseyside terrorist, Bin Fightin, because that is what he wanted to do to Geoff.

The Murrays, meanwhile, continue with their meal and their interrogation of Nisha, whilst wondering where Plank’s gone. Adele asks Nisha politely if Nisha enjoys nursing. Nisha admits that she does enjoy nursing, although at times it’s very hard, especially with the current crisit in the NHS. (Brookside political statement, in case you missed that).

Brigid raises her eyebrows in feigned surprise and asks sharply why the girl didn’t pursue a career in the private sector, if things were so bad in the NHS. Surely the pay was better?

Nisha replies that the pay was a great deal better, but the private sector was full of nothing but queue-jumpers.

Well, as you can imagine, that remark goes down a bomb with Murray pere et mere, who stop feeding their respective fat faces in horror (Dire) and shame (Marty). The ensuing silence is palpable and Nisha realises she’s made a majorfaux pas. Adele helpfully explains that Dire has had to go private for IVF treatment. Dire defensively explains that she was ‘too old’ to have the treatment on the NHS. (Why don't you explain, Dire, that when you asked Darren to be referred, you were 39 rising 40, yet a month later, you turned 37? Eh? Go on.)

Nisha nods and tries to appear sympathetic, but can’t quite convey her distaste at sharing a table with queue-jumpers, and common ones at that. There’s always someone who loses out, she murmurs. Dire is quick to try to make amends, saying that she still believes in the principles of the NHS. But going private still doesn’t solve the queue problem, explains Nisha. That’s a great myth. People who opt for private treatment see the same consultants as they would had they gone through the NHS. Dire expresses surprise, but Nisha asserts that it’s true.

‘The consultants moan endlessly about having to see patients in OUR hospitals,’ she explains, ‘but when they’re being paid privately, they don’t complain about that at all.’

Brigid reminds Nisha acerbically that it appears the girl doesn’t like her job either, if it’s such ‘hard going;. Adele asserts to her bitchy grandmother that Nisha hasn’t said anything of the sort, and Nisha emphasises that she enjoys her job, even though it’s hard work at times. Marty attempts to change the subject by asking if she’s been on holiday yet this year. Oh yes, replies Nisha, in fact, she’s just returned from a smashing holiday in Greece.

Marty reckons that must have cost a packet, and Nisha agrees. She spent a lot of money there as well.

Brigid raises her eyebrows in mock surprise yet again, not being able to resist making the girl feel uncomfortable. Oh? And did she go on holiday with her boyfriend?

Boyfriend? Queries Nisha, puzzled.

‘You know,’ prods Brigid, ‘Jerome, the coloured lad from across the way.’ (Not technically. He doesn’t live on the Close anymore).

Adele reprimands her grandmother, telling her that no one says coloured anymore. It’s ‘black’.

Brigid continues in an innocently bitchy tone. SHE was given to understand that Jerome was Nisha’s boyfriend.

Nisha looks distinctly uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation is going, but she grabs the bull (or the old cow, in this case) by the horns with spirit. She wishes to inform MRS MCKENNA, she says, JUST so Brigid WON’T have to listen to idle gossip that Jerome was NOT her boyfriend. All right, she went out with the lad, but just as mates. Oh, remarks Brigid, in false relief. That was certainly nice to know. Of course, Nisha and Jerome were just mates, nothing like what she and Plank were. That was different, of course?

No, maintains Nisha. Her relationship with Plank was no different than that which she enjoyed with Jerome. They were just mates.

This taxes the Murrays’ small minds, and they are confused.

So, Brigid continues, by that assumption, did Nisha mean to imply that she would continue to see other men whilst she enjoyed Plank’s company?

Nisha admits that she might see other men, but that she and Plank were relaxed about that situation.

Marty remarks that he wouldn’t be able to put up with a setup like that, but Adele interjects to point out that times have changed, and relationships between the sexes had changed. Marty was just old-fashioned.

That’s too much for Brigid to bear, sitting at a table with not only a high-class slut, but also an apprentice slapper and she’s openly critical of Nisha’s lifestyle. Now Nisha moves into another gear, forced into defending her philosophy. She pointedly asks Brigid why it is that when a fella keeps more than one girl on the trot at a time, people indulge this behaviour, saying he’s only ‘sowing wild oats’. Yet when a girl maintains the same sort of lifestyle, she’s deemed a ‘slag’ or a ‘slapper’. Adele is vocally supportive of this observation, much to the consternation of the two hypocritical old bags seated at the table. Marty Murray looks as though he wants the world to open and swallow him, but he’s suddenly rescued by the ringing of the phone and he jumps up quickly to answer it.

Jackie Corkhill leaves the garage on her break, intending to keep her promise to Jimmy and call around to finish their chat, which was interrupted by an untimely visit from the police. She is surprised, however, to see Jimmy sitting on the bench in the midst of the grass verge in front of The Parade. Jimmy indicates that he wants Jackie to take a pew beside him, as she asks him what he’s doing there waiting for her.

‘The mountain to Mohammed and all that,’ shrugs Jimmy. He explains that Timily were doing his head in back at Hotel Corkhill, with their quest for a sexual endurance test. (So Emily is a terrorist too ... Bin Bonkin). Jackie asks what the visit from the bizzies was all about. Something and nothing, replies Jimmy wearily. But anyway, that was by the by. He and Jackie had things to discuss.

Jackie comes straight to the point. All she wants to know is why Jimmy is intent on fighting her for custody of William? She never intended for the boy to be denied his father.

Jimmy appears to ponder the question for a moment. Then he begins to speak. He knows deep down that Jackie never meant any of the terrible things she said the other day. He knows that as well as he knows the fact that he will have no choice but to accept the court’s decision that William should live with Jackie. After all, what chance did Jimmy have - an ex-con and an ex-druggie with a history of mental illness. And what’s more, Jackie knows Jimmy never had an outside chance of gaining custody of the child.

So, in the end, says Jimmy, Jackie will get William and Jackie will get the house as well. Winner takes all. And he, Jimmy, would more than likely end up in some grotty hostel somewhere.

Suddenly, Jackie realises what’s been needling Jimmy so much. It’s the potential loss of Hotel Corkhill, bought with the ill-gotten gains of Jimmy’s most lucrative business venture, drug-dealing, that’s got Jim’s knickers in a twist. He reluctantly confesses that the only thing he’s wanting is to to provide a comfy bed for William when he comes to stay; but the way things were going now, it wouldn’t be long before Jim would be out on the street.

Jackie makes a suggestion. If Jimmy will not contest custody of William, then Jackie would let Jimmy stay in the house a bit longer, just until he could sort something out. Jimmy is grateful, but he still can’t believe Jackie’s gesture. Would she really do that? Of course, affirms Jackie. She couldn’t see Jimmy out on the street.

Marty Murray returns to the table, having finished his telephone conversation, confirming that the insurance assessor would be coming the next day and grumbling about such people keeping appointments.

Brigid, however, hasn’t recovered from Nisha’s comeback to her snide comments. Well, she’s not at all satisfied with this situation that exists between Nisha and Plank, she announces. It all seems a bit slipshod to her. Everything’s gone upside down now and people and organisations just can’t seem to get priorities right.

Nisha asks her politely what she means, and Brigid is only too happy to continue. Call her old-fashioned, Brigid intones, but it’s nothing but loose morals these days, and someone has to draw the line somewhere. Look at all these young girls, who think nothing about going out and falling pregnant and what happens? They’re rewarded with a council flat! And she harrumps disapprovingly.

Nisha looks at Brigid with disbelief and extreme distaste. And has Brigid actually seen these council flats these girls get as their just ‘rewards’? She asks. They happen to be the worst kind of properties, the sort no one else wants.

So, asks Brigid, whose fault is it that these girls end up this way?

Poor education, answers Nisha. No parental support or education in this sort of things, and the schools certainly weren’t equipped with dealing with sex education.

So, queries Brigid, assuming the moral high ground, according to Nisha’s philosophy of life, she would advocate sleeping around?

No, Nisha counters evenly. She’d advocate safe sex.

Well, Brigid huffs, she’s heard just about enough of this twaddle. No wonder the country was in such a state. The NHS has all the resources in the world at its disposal to ensure free abortions on demand, but someone like poor Dire had to fork out hard-earned money to pay for IVF treatment. What kind of health service was that, who could spend money willy-nilly to kill innocent children in their mothers’ wombs and then deny the right to have a child to someone like her Dire, who would give a baby all the love and care it needed.

Dire sits silently, trying to look like a tragic madonna.

Nisha defends her position. The NHS isn’t a bottomless pit, she says, and the lines have to be drawn somewhere.

Brigid continues her rant. In HER opinion, the NHS should withold all funds for abortions and apply them to IVF treatment, so worthy, deserving women like Dire could have IVF treatment via the NHS and not have to go private.

In the middle of her rant, Plank appears and is questioned by Adele as to his whereabouts. Plank motions her to be silent and sits down.

Nisha explains once again that it was a question of priorities in the NHS. Money allocated had to be used for what was deemed the most important procedures and treatments. Sorry, she says, but it isn’t always possible to satisfy everyone’s demands on the NHS. As she finishes, she asks Plank’s views about the subject, but Plank remains firmly non-committal.

This is entirely too much for Brigid, who is determined not to let this little chit upstage her in her own family’s home. And she lets fly with the invective of the real religious bigot. She begins by shaming Plank, saying that she’s shocked that he would put up with the behaviour of such a woman as Nisha. She would have Nisha know that the girl occupied a very superior position in society nowadays, and she abuses that position and that trust with the loose morals of a tomcat, which is basically why society’s going down the pan so rapidly, she adds. Nisha calls herself a nurse! Exclaims Brigid. Why, she should be struck off. Plank has no sense and she has no morals.

In an effort to extricate himself and Nisha from the tetchy situation, Plank quietly suggests that he and she leave now for the drink they had originally planned. Nisha tersely agrees and stomps out of the room ahead of him.

As the couple leave, Brigid expounds on Nisha’s morals yet again, but she’s silenced by Adele, who thinks Nisha’s ‘dead cool’. When Brigid tries to reprimand the girl, Adele upbraids Brigid by telling her grandmother that she had no right to judge people.

Marty, wearied by the whole ordeal, is left to wonder why the family couldn’t have discussed football or Northern Ireland (proof positive if there ever was one that Marty Murray is Proddy - were he Catholic, he would have referred to the Province as ‘the North of Ireland’.

Plank follows Nisha outside, and tries to make a joke of his family, but Nisha doesn’t think it’s so funny. He had disappeared and left her to be ripped apart by Plank’s sweet, little granny, and when he did show up, he gave her no support whatsoever. OK, she didn’t expect him to kick off big time, but a little word of support wouldn’t have gone amiss. No thank you, Nisha wouldn’t be about to endure that again.

So ... There you have it ... Sluts (Nisha), Slags (Emily) and Slappers (Adele), and the Merseyside terrorists?

Bin Sleepin - Tim

Bin Drinkin - Mike Dixon

Bin Shirkin - Dire Murray

Bin Tappin - Jimmy

Bin Fightin - Steve Murray

Bin Bonkin - Emily

And I am pleased to say that I’ve managed to find the elusive Merseyside terrorist, Bin Workin, who’ll appear in the next episode. He’s aka ... LANCE!