Obviously having missed a body next to him in the marital bed, Marty Murray, also bathrobe-clad, rushes into the kitchen to find his worried wife. How long has she been sitting there? He demands, the very picture of a concerned husband. Dire absently replies accusingly that she’s been sitting there since Marty had previously nodded off upstairs. She couldn’t sleep, and she tacitly resents the fact that HE could.
Marty uses the standard English cop-out and asks if she’d like a cup of
tea. Dire declines, He then asks how she feels.
Dire replies that she feels ‘not pregnant’.
The house is stirring, however. Upstairs, the Antichrist is examining his body for stigmata, but all he finds are the numerous bruises, left by the pounding given him the day before by Paige and Imelda.
Over at the Dixon House of Horrors, Rachel is having a rummage through her handbag. She finds the paying-in book for her overdue loan, as well as the building society passbook for an account set up in Baby Beth’s name. Rachel opens it, and the viewer sees that the tot has three hundred pounds deposited. Rachel glances up from viewing the tantalising sum to look at her daughter, clearly the most attractive individual on the show at the moment, who is sitting, gurgling in her high chair across the room.
Mike enters, arriving home from his night shift. He’s surprised to find Rachel and Beth awake at this hour, but Rachel confirms that Beth was awake and unable to sleep. Before her husband can even sit down and rest for a moment, Rachel abruptly asks him if he has any money.
She must be joking, scoffs Mike. He is salaried monthly, and must therefore work an entire month before receiving his first pay packet. Why did she need money? Rachel lies, an art she has yet to perfect, but is perfectning daily under Anthea’s tutelage, and says that she needs money to buy some clothes for Beth. Mike asks why she doesn’t order the child something from the catalogue, but Rachel maintains that she couldn’t possibly do that, as they already owe that company loads. Mike then asks Rachel if all their outstanding bills for the month are up to date, and again, Rachel lies and confirms that they are.
Marty is still trying to encourage his despondently obsessive wife. He reminds her that she doesn’t know for certain that she isn’t pregnant. The consultant had told her yesterday that, just because the blood test was negative, that was by no means final proof. She was due to have a scan today, and it was the scan that counted.
Dire confesses that prior to going to the clinic yesterday, she had felt as though she was pregnant, but once she arrived there, she felt nothing. It was merely wishful thinking (another candidate for the Katie Rogers Academy of Self-Pity, if there ever was one). In fact, her ‘feeling’ of pregnancy was nothing more than a hormone surge after having the implant. Why should she even bother with having the scan today? (Because you’ve paid for it, you surly bitch). There was NO baby.
Next door at Hotel Corkhill, Timily are counting their money. They have £40.00 total left from the sale of the Murrays’ belongings to Christy. They decide to split the remainder between them. Emily again shows what a mindless philistine she is by remarking that whoever said that money doesn’t bring happiness was wrong. The more money she had, the happier she would be, she asserts. Therefore, Tim had to get his hands on more cash somehow.
Tim basks in his wife’s compliments. These two share a total capacity of one brain cell between them. He has one or two ideas in the offing, he brags. Emily asks him what kind of ideas he has, but he bluffs and tells her that he simply wouldn’t tell her (meaning he doesn’t have a clue). He’d simply let the money do the talking when it started rolling in. Emily snogs him mightily and deems him a genius ... Ah, well, in the world of the blind, the one-eyed man is king, so they say.
Breakfast time at Sitcom House, and the family are assembled around the fabled sitcom table, Dire, Marty, Plank and Adele. It’s a silent, sombre breakfast. No one is allowed to show any kind of happiness, because Dire is mourning yet another couple of cells that do not exist. Marty notices the absence of the Antichrist and shouts over his shoulder for the boy. Dire objects to Marty’s inconsiderate shouting.
Ant appears, however, still clad in his pyjamas and dressing gown, and moaning that he feels too sick to go to school. He wants to stay home today. Adele objects loudly, complaining that he’s not sick at all, merely skiving. Plank joins the baiting, whilst Antichrist Ant protests that he’s now having chills.
Before Dire can think to open her fat gob (not that she would on this occasion anyway, her mind being obsessively preoccupied with other matters), Marty orders Ant to get dressed and go to school. There was no one available to sit with him today, as Marty had to work (a rare occurrence) and Dire was due at the clinic for a scan.
Ant pauses long enough to ask if Dire’s going to have a baby, but then remembering he is supposed to be ill, he protests that he can mind himself in staying at home. Marty bellows an order for the lad to go to school and the obnoxious, little prick is sent upstairs. Marty then turns to mollycoddle Dire a bit, geeing her up to go to her scan. Dire is listless, saying she has an hour before she has to start getting ready. Marty urges her to think positive about the scan.
Back at the Dixon House of Horrors, Rachel gazes hungrily at the amount of money in Beth’s building society book. Three hundred pounds. Guiltily she glances at her gorgeous daughter (what a shame she’ll grow into an ugly child. Who remembers what beautiful toddlers Gemma and Kylie were. And now ... AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!) Poor, dim, brainless Rachel has no choice. Frantically, she mouths an apology to Beth, promising her that she’ll pay her back, as she pockets the passbook.
Ant creeps along the corridors of Brookie Comp with great trepidation. Rounding a corner, he spies Paige looking at a bulletin board. He freezes with fear when the girl turns and notices him. But to his surprise, she merely speaks to him, smiles and walks away. Ant is baffled, yet relieved.
Back at Sitcom House, even though the SCHOOLDAY has started, Marty Murray STILL hasn’t made a move to go to work. And of course, Dire’s not working today either. No wonder they are so skint. It’s a relative wonder that they keep their jobs and all.
Plank sits in the foreground, fiddling with a suspect portable telly provided by Christy. He can’t seem to tune a picture, but then Plank couldn’t tuna fish. Face it, would you trust this man to tune your car? He mutters something about Christy’s dodgy goods, when Marty appears in the lounge. He’s offering to accompany Dire to her scan, like a good, supportive husband. He’s changed his mind about going to work. Dire won’t have it. She insists that he go to work, but he promises that he will pop home at dinnertime to see how she got on. Dire grimaces.
She leaves to catch her bus. After she departs, Marty upbraids Plank for not wishing his stepmother good luck in this venture. Plank is insolent in his reply. Why should he bother? Anyway, Marty had warned him against winding Dire up. Besides, he continues, the blood test was negative. Just what was the point of the scan thing anyway?
Marty takes this remark personally and ticks Plank off about being unemployed. Why doesnt’ he go out and find a real job?
Plank insists that he’s tried finding a real job. Didn’t he have a meeting with his bank manager just the other day in order to set up finance for starting his own mobile mechanics business? Before the bank knocked him back, that is.
Marty is vicious. He means a REAL job, not some pie in the sky self-employed dream. Plank responds by saying that Marty’s retort wasn’t about the job factor at all, it was about not wishing to upset Saint Dire in order that the rest of them might be punished for their sins. And in a fair imitation of his sister, he flounces from the house.
Next door, Tim is preparing to go out for the day as well. Jimmy asks him if he has any plans for today, such as signing on or looking for a job.
Signing on? Repeats Tim. Jimmy is joking, surely? He left Better Burgers off his own whack; therefore, he can’t sign on for another six months. He’s entitled to nothing, no pay for six months.
Jimmy wearily agrees that the law is daft (but not as daft as Jim). It was almost as if people were punished for leaving work. Well, answers Tim, they could stuff signing on.
And just how did Tim intend to survive if he didn’t eventually sign on? Asks Jimmy.
Oh, he’ll find the money, answers Tim, breezily confident.
Jimmy has him sussed, however. By robbing? He asks rhetorically. What has happened to the lad? Jimmy continues. Why, only a few months ago, Tim was scared shitless of going back inside. Now, ever since he got that Sotto stitched up on the gun charge, Tim seems to think he’s invincible. He’s hell-bent on going back on the rob. In fact, accuses Jimmy, Tim wouldn’t accept a legit job if it were offered him on a plate.
Well, what would Jimmy have him do? Cries Tim.
‘Keep on trying,’ urges Jimmy. He realises Tim’s job at Better Burgers was a crap job that didn’t bring in much, and maybe he was justified in walking out. But he should concentrate all his efforts on finding another job.
With his record, Tim insists, no one would look at him. Anyway, he’d only get paid a few pence for whatever job he got. He’d much rather do dodgy jobs for decent dosh. Jimmy and everyone else was dead wrong, Tim asserts cockily, crime DOES pay.
Well, announces Jimmy, if that was going to be the lad’s attitude, he was signing off as Tim’s personal probation officer. But before he does so, he has one piece of final advice for the errant Tim-Nice-but-Dim. If he seriously intends to go back on the rob, he has to learn to be careful. (Valuable advice, Jimmy, especially coming from you).
Leanne is talking despondently to Christy in the bar. Things just aren’t the same around here without Lance, she moans. She hasn’t seen him at all today. He seemed to have gotten up and left the flat before Leanne even surfaced (isn’t that what whales do ... Surface?)
Get over him, urges Christy. If Leanne truly wanted to be a successful businesswoman, she had to learn to be heartless.
Rachel arrives for her shift and notices Lance’s absence. She abruptly asks his whereabouts. Christy tells her briefly that Lance has quit.
Rachel is astonished. Lance? Quit? Why, Lance loved working at the bar! Christy informs her succinctly that Lance was bad for business.
Brigid appears from a lull in the cleaning, although Jessie is nowhere to be found - probably out back in the storeroom drooling over adolescent males, like Louisa Hennessy, of the Newsgroup and Essex, England, U.K., Europe, the world, the solar system etc does when her small wit allows.
Of course, Brigid, having an ear for gossip, has just heard that Lance is no longer a part of the bar staff. And she’s heard why. How low can you get? She remarks to Rachel, scathingly looking in Christy’s direction. If Bev were here, SHE’D soon sort things out.
Lance left, remarks Christy briefly. End of story. When Christy’s out of earshot, Rachel confides to Brigid that Christy had said that Lance was bad for business.
At Brookie Comp, Paige seeks Ant’s company. She wants to apologise for beating him up and bullying him. That was all Imelda’s idea and sometimes Imelda goes too far. Paige says she’s told Imelda that she wants nothing more to do with baiting Ant.
Ant gives the girl a doubtful look. He clearly doesn’t believe her. Paige urges Ant not to be scared of her, and promises to look after him.
Tim accidentally on purpose bumps into Mike Dixon in the area of The Parade. He asks Mike how he likes working nights. Nights are OK, says Mike, but the job is boring and the money is crap. Tim suggests the two go for a drink, but Mike tries to beg off, saying he’s skint until the end of the month. Tim flashes his last £20 note, and offers to buy the drinks. Mike protests that he can’t pay his share, but Tim says Mike can return the favour later.
Nisha and Plank seek a table in the bar. Plank is having a moan about living at Sitcom House, which is tantamount to murder at the moment. It’s eggshell-walking time again, he tells Nisha. Dire’s not pregnant after all that time and money. Everyone has to tread carefully these days.
Nikki’s arrived for her shift behind the bar, and Rachel apprises her of the situation with Lance. Nikki is astonished and even moreso, when Rachel conjectures that Lance’s departure is something to do with Christy. At that moment, Tim and Mike enter the bar for their drink, Tim handing Mike the money and asking him to get the first round in.
When he approaches the bar, Rachel righteously rounds on him for wasting his time and money drinking in the pub. They need every penny they can get, and here he is wasting it. Mike reminds her that he’s just done a grinding week of 12-hour shifts. Surely, she can’t begrudge him a pint? Anyway,
Tim’s paying for the drinks, he informs her.
Marty Murray has hurried home to Sitcom House at lunchtime, only to find Dire calmly and determinedly doing the family sitcom ironing. (Ironing seems to be the favourite chore of Brookside women these days ... We see Dire doing it now. Just recently, Lindsey’s been at the board. Then Jessie has been caught dabbling in ironing a couple of times. Anthea’s been seen with a board, and whenever Jacqui does housework at the Farnhams’, it usually entails an iron and an ironing board. When they cancel the show, remind me to employ one of them to iron for my brood).
Dire greets her husband perfuntorily, not bothering to stop her chore. Marty is dismayed. He thought for sure she would have called him at school.
What for? Asks Dire. The scan was negative. So there.
Marty is genuinely sorry for his wife; he knows how much she wanted a child of her own. Dire is unmoved and continues ironing. Marty is baffled by her behaviour. Why is she acting like this?
Like what? Is the ubiquitous reply.
Marty - and Neil Caple does a brilliant job as an articulate man of the working class (far better than Dean Sullivan) - struggles to explain himself. Before, when the first attempt at IVF didn’t work, Dire was upset. Now she isn’t. He can deal much easier with open upset, but not this sort of wierdly quiet determination that’s beset the bitch.
Dire placidly informs him that her consultant has advised her to remain calm and contemplative and maintain this equilibrium in preparation for trying IVF again.
Marty is even more perplexed. IVF AGAIN? But surely, they had decided that this attempt would be their last?
Dire grimly announces that she’s come to far to give up now. She would never give up, not until she had her baby.
Poor Marty’s face is a picture of doom and disbelief. It beggars description!
The Naughty Nurse and the Plank still occupy a table in the bar, and Plank is still expostulating on the state of affairs chez Murray. Honestly, he’s saying to Nisha, she has no idea what things are like in that household. There’s not one spare penny to be had, and all because of Dire’s incessant bleating and obsession with IVF. IVF is destroying the Murrays as a family. (Can’t say I didn’t see it coming). Why, the short-witted selfish cow wouldn’t stop until she bankrupted the family, and what would she have to show for it?
In actual fact, Plank admits harshly, he’s glad the damned money’s run out now. Maybe SHE would calm down, face facts and things would get back to normal. And about time too!
Tim and Mike, meanwhile, are enjoying a pint and a leisurely game of pool (or is it snooker? I can never tell). Both are bewailing the fact that they are desperate for money. Both are bewailing the fact that thier current economic states - i.e., unemployable and low-paid employment - mean that they are bored stiff with their circumstances. Besides everything, Mike reminds Tim that he has a child to support (well, actually, Mike, you have two, but who’s counting Josh?)
Mike then begins to tell Tim about a business park he’s been guarding for the past couple of nights. Tim just had to see the millions of pounds of stuff that lorries brought into that complex each night - white goods, computers, electronic leisure equipment, luxury food, furniture etc. It galls him that he’s responsible for the safety of millions of quid’s worth of dosh, and he gets paid peanuts. He tells Tim that his security guard mates call the business park ‘the Money Park’. As he listens, Tim’s eyes light up and what he deems to be a clever idea enters his dim head.
Marty Murray has just recovered from the initial shock of Dire’s less than magnanimous announcement that she intends to try a third time for IVF treatment. He starts his counter-argument by gently reminding his wife that the pair of them had agreed that this attempt would be their last effort. They simply could not afford to pay for additional treatment.
Dire refuses to accept this tenet. She announces that SHE will get the money somehow. Again, Marty spells out for her their precarious financial circumstances - they lied to get a bank loan of £1,500, which they were still paying off; they owed Brigid £3,000, which they had yet to start repaying; they have monthly bills, a mortgage, an overdraft. Their salaries are gone as soon as they are received.
Dire brushes all these practicalities aside. Nothing, absolutely and positively nothing, is more important to her at this point in time than getting pregnant. She thought Marty, of all people, had understood why this was so important to her. She NEEDS to have a baby of her own, she cries. Again, she reiterates that SHE would get the money for the treatment, somehow.
Marty is growing increasingly desperate in his argument. Couldn’t she see, didn’t she realise that this family was already practically on the breadline? Why, they were living hand-to-mouth! They still had two kids in school, whom they had to feed and clothe.
Dire interjects, dismissing the plight of Adele and the Antichrist with one fell wave of her hand. Adele and Ant? Oh, they would be all right. What was Marty on about?
But look at what the family’s reduced to, argues Marty, desperately. Knee-deep in debt already, no car, no telly ... Everything went to feed this IVF obsession.
But Dire won’t be moved in her quest. She asserts that she’ll get the money somehow. She’ll see that she does.
Marty looks like a man who’s just received a swift blow to the belly from the fist of Mike Tyson. He gazes tiredly at his selfish shrew of a wife, and then announces that he’s returning to work, as long as he still has a job. He vows that he’ll talk to Dire again this evening - maybe by that time, she will have seen sense.
Interlude: The Naughty Nurse rises from the table in the bar and announces that she has to return to work. Plank tries to persuade her with his immense sex appeal to remain with him for another drink. Nisha, wisely, demurs, saying that it wouldn’t look right to be dealing with patients all afternoon with a couple of drinks under her belt and reeking of booze. She kisses him good=bye and leaves.
Tim is trying the same tactic on Mike, offering him the chance of another drink, in order to prise more information from him about ‘the Money Park’; but Mike also demurs, saying that he has to work another night shift tonight and needed all the alertness he could muster in so boring a job. He leaves, pausing briefly to say good-bye to Rachel.
Tim and Plank are then left to enjoy each other’s company, idle minds breeding mischief and all that. Tim greets Plank, who appears to be in less than a good mood. He informs Tim that he’s just visited the job centre, and, of course, there were just no jobs to be had, meaning there were no jobs which offered money for nothing and the chicks for free. (Why is it that no one seems to be able to find jobs in Liverpool, least of all a trained mechanic? Is it true what pundits say, that in areas of high unemployment, it’s usually the people who are unemployable?)
Tim, however, is virtually all but fixed up, he brags. He’s been getting the low-down from Mike Dixon about the dosh on offer at this ‘Money Park’ Mike guards. Tim reckons he’s onto a winner there.
Plank laughs dismissively. Tim is living in a fantasy world, he chides. He’s been watching too much television.
So what does Plank plan to do? Tim wants to know - especially since the bank knocked his business venture back.
Same as everyone else, remarks Plank in a resigned sort of way, get a job and save.
Tim reckons morosely that that sort of life plan would take years. Yeah, jokes Plank, just about the time Tim would be getting out of prison.
Christy stops briefly in his time-consuming task of doing nothing, to ask Rachel if she’d given any more thought to the notion of getting a loan off his mate. Nikki, however, interrupts before Rachel has any chance to reply, demanding to know why Lance left. Christy advises Nikki to ask Leanne why he left and he returns to his task of idleness.
The two girls stare after him, Nikki warning Rachel to have nothing to do with borrowing money off Christy’s dodgy mate. Suddenly Rachel’s face crumples in anticipation of an attack of crying.
‘Oh, Nik-eh,’ she moans, ‘I’ve doon a terry-bull thing!’ When Beth turned one year old, Mandy and Ron had each donated £150 apiece, and opened a savings account in the little girl’s name. She had £300. This morning, Rachel, in desperation, used the £300 in Beth’s account to make a loan payment. She had actually robbed her own little girl.
Nikki listens in understanding, but her advice is firm. Rachel simply HAS to tell Mike about their predicament. He has a right to know, but Rachel protests that Mike works so hard, he doesn’t need more worry (sorry, wu-reh).
Busybody Brigid has just arrived at Sitcom House to check on her obsessive daughter. Dire has to tell her mother that she was wrong. There is no pregnancy. Brigid demands to know why Dire didn’t tell her this yesterday when she found out.
Dire has a sudden pang of conscience, remembering the fact that she took £3000 off Brigid, her mother’s savings. Brigid concedes that she isn’t worried about that, but Dire insists that it was a waste of money.
Brigid asks how Marty is coping with the fact that the IVF failed. Dire hesitates a moment, before tactfully replying that Marty is ‘disappointed’.
Tim has returned to Hotel Corkhill in a confident mood. Jimmy asks what he’s been doing all day. Tim replies that he’s been sharing some bevies and a game of pool with Mike Dikko. Well, remarks Jimmy, sarcastically, he’s glad to see the lad hasn’t been overstretching himself.
Not at all, smiles Tim. In fact, he’s got the foundations of a plan for a rob-job that just might set him on the road to bigger and better things. He tells Jimmy about ‘the Money Park’ where Mike Dixon is assigned. Sounds like a big job, says Jimmy. In fact, Tim just might need some help there. Anyone in mind? Tim confesses that he plans to get Mike Dikko involved, as he’s assigned to security there.
Nikki and Rachel, anxious for news of Lance’s departure, confront a hassled Leanne as she returns to the bar. Nikki confronts Leanne, saying that Nikki’s of the opinion that Christy forced Lance to quit the bar and that Leanne let him do it. It was obvious that Christy didn’t like Lance.
Leanne’s short fuse blows famously. Lance left of his own accord and for his own reasons, shouts Leanne; and if the two girls felt it necessary to stand around and conjecture the reasons behind his departure, Leanne would sack them and they could go too. And she storms off in the direction of the office.
Nikki and Rachel watch her depart. Nikki liked Lance, she confesses, but Leanne ... They really touched a raw nerve there, didn’t they ... The horrible cow.
Interlude II: Leanne sits in the office alone, sobbing uncontrollably.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Jimmy has been listening to Tim’s fantasy plans. Suddenly, he admonishes Tim to stop all this rob-job rubbish. Tim didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about, all this robbing of a business park. He’d thought of nothing. For example, for a job like that, robbing off delivery lorries, Tim would need some wheels. Where’d he plan on getting a car?
Tim replies that he’d get a knock-off job.
Bah! Replies Jimmy. CLEVER villains don’t use old bangers. Top of the range motors for them, all bought and paid for in cash, so nothing can be traced. A big job like the one Tim’s itching to do, takes months of planning, maybe a couple of years if it’s to go right. Another example. He’d need a place to stash the gear stolen. Untraceable premises. Any suggestions?
And another thing, continues Jimmy. This sort of job can’t be done solo. Tim will need accomplices, people he could trust.
Tim says that he’ll have Mike Dixon working on the inside, as an employee of the firm paid to guard the premises.
Jimmy is sceptical. What makes Tim think that Mike Dikko would want to do such a thing?
He’s struggling, Tim explains. Mike told Tim that he gets paid peanuts to guard millions of pounds worth of goods.
Jimmy rips Tim’s plans to shreds. And WHO did Tim think would be the first person the bizzies would suspect when the place was robbed? The men on the inside. The security guards. Besides, Mike Dikko would never do something like that. He’s got a wife and kid to think of. He’s got too much to risk. He does something like that, he’s a marked man for the rest of his life. He loses everything. He might be struggling to make ends meet, but he’s not that stupid.
That sort of job is strictly for the pros, says Jimmy. Out of Tim’s league at the moment, one or two years down the line. Jim’s seen a lot of impatient young turks like Tim in his life, wanting to run before they could walk. They were the type who ended up inside or with nothing to show. If Tim was serious about a life on the rob, he had to start small and build his expertise.
He had to study the lay of the land, at the very base of the criminal empire. Latch onto a successful small-time dodge-man as part of his setup and then move on.
Well, asks Tim, did Jimmy have anyone in mind?
Sure, says Jim. Christy Murray.
Tim can’t believe it. That meff?
Call him what you like, says Jim. Christy Murray. He of the dodgy, knock-down meat, smuggled booze and ciggies and goods that fell off the back of lorries. Small-time crook, yeah, but Christy’s done all right for himself, and - most importantly - he’s never seen the inside of a prison.
As Antichrist Ant prepares to leave school, he’s joined by his nemesis, Paige. Ant almost jumps out of his skin as the girl greets him prettily and looks around, terrified of meeting Imelda too. Paige susses his discomfort and assures him that Imelda isn’t here. What does she have to do to convince Ant that she sincerely wants to be his friend?
She relates a tale of confronting Imelda and telling her not to pick on Ant anymore. In fact, Paige has taken it upon herself to look out for Ant. She’s even told Imelda that she’s bound to do that. Ant finally believes her tale.
Marty’s back from work early. What else is new? When is he not? Dire remarks on his early return. How could he work, he comments, when Dire is carrying on in such a mindless way, talking about more IVF treatment, when they surely couldn’t afford the lot they’d already undergone.
In fact, he’d been thinking about their lunchtime conversation all afternoon. He couldn’t shake it from his mind. They used to be a team, as a couple, did everything together, made family decisions jointly. Now it seems as if Dire was on some Express Train of a mission. All of a sudden, this afternoon, it was all about DIRE raising the money, never DIRE AND MARTY. DIRE’s need to have a baby, DIRE’S need to get pregnant.
Marty tersely reminds his wife that they had agreed after the failure of the first IVF attempt that they would attempt the procedure a second time and if that failed, so be it. SHE had agreed to those terms. Now he was having no more arguments and no more IVF attempts. They were up to their eyes in debt already. They would just have to muck in and get on with their lot in life. End of story.
But Dire refuses to see sense. She informs Marty that she intends to pursue more IVF treatment. It’s her right. She’ll worry about the payments. She’ll worry about finding the money. But come hell or high water, she was going to get pregnant via IVF - and she wasn’t about to let Marty stop her.
Summary © 2001 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2001