Wednesday, 7th November 2001

FINGS AIN’T WHAT VEY USED TO BE

Which is a particularly Cockney-ESQUE way of describing Brookside at the moment. The episode aired on the 7th was a very good example of how Brookside has degenerated. Gone is the issue-driven soap which skillfully presented interesting soap storylines with a subtle agenda at promoting social issues.

In its place we have Brookside for the intellectually-challenged, the ladolescents, the tweenie girls, the wannabes, with only the thinnest veneer of pretence left at presenting social issues. Neighbours in a cold climate. Brookside, people, has dumbed down in an appalling way. It has become a parody of preaching, proselytising and posing. Where before, the social issue was presented as a subtlety within the context of the storyline, it’s now a veritable public service announcement. Indeed, one might almost expect to see Harry Enfield as Mr Chomedely-Warner appear in order to drive home the point intended. And nowhere was that more evident than in this episode.

Just for a change, instead of starting the day at Sitcom House, we visit the Dixon House of Horrors. Ron and Anthea stand uneasily in the kitchen, still discussing the events of the previous evening, when they spent about an hour in a room with an unmade bed and only noticed that Saint Clint the Duck’s picture was lying on Ron’s pillow at the very end of their tedious conversation. Dumb or what? (I wonder if that Greek accountant who played Clint gets a commission every time his picture is used? Well, being of the financial world, wouldn’t he have negotiated a clause like that?)

Ron has just suggested to Anthea that she say nothing to any of the rest of the family about what they discovered in their room. Anthea is genuinely appalled. Can Ron be serious? Yes, he is. Deadly serious. Anthea is to wipe the incident from her mind this very instant, Ron instructs. After all, Gobby Moffatt is gone now; and telling the family would only get the brainless Rachel into a flap for nothing.

Oh, and Mike won’t get into a tiswas? Questions Anthea, ever ready to denigrate a blood member of the Dixon family, whilst defending her protegee, Rachel. Is Ron implying that Rachel is a typically hysterical woman? (Er, no, Anth; it’s just a nice way of saying that Rachel, whether you believe it or not, is a no-brainer, mentally- challenged, dumb, stupid, dumber).

Anthea begins to do a valid impersonation of a hysterical woman, herself, now imagining all sorts. What if Gobby Moffatt had been in the room, himself? She wonders. What if he had had a knife?

But he didn’t, says Ron. Anyway, all this breaking-in malarkey was just a game to Moffatt. He gets a kick out of it, and he gets a bigger kick when he sees how much he upsets the Dixons.

Anthea won’t be silenced. What would have happened, she wants to know, if Gobby had attacked Ron? All hell would have broken loose, that’s what. Gobby Moffatt had broken into the Dixon home yet again, and now Ron tells her to do and say nothing!

Mike enters the house, having returned from his night shift. He’s knackered, but not too knackered to ask for a cup of tea. The security monitors broke on shift last night, and all he could see was black, white and bleurt. Nothing was recognisable, he says.

He stops in his relation of the previous evening’s events, when he notices that neither Ron nor Anthea are particularly listening to him. He wants to know what’s happened.

Before Ron can stop her, Anthea blurts out that Gobby had broken into the house and left a picture of Saint Clint the Duck on the pillow in their bedroom.

Mike is astounded. How did he get in?

He jimmied the bathroom window, explains Ron. He’ll have to move the locks now.

Anthea insists that the police should be told immediately, but Mike and Ron both refuse the comply with her request. Mike explains that the police would only lock Ron up again for his own protection. Would she want that? Mike says he’s of a good mind to go over to Moffatt’s house, himself and give the goon what for.

Ron now calls a halt to the proceedings, insisting that no harm was done at all; it was only a photo. Then, suddenly Ron becomes breathless, signalling an angina attack.

Next door at Chateau Farnham, the new Mrs Dixon-Farnham is planning a dinner party for that evening. She stands in the kitchen, perusing a posh menu mag and thinks aloud. She’s going to try the salmon recipe, she announces to Mr Farnham, who’s seated at the breakfast table. Salmon for nine? Enquires Maxim.

Jacqui insists that she can do it, but Max suggests that they have the restaurant cater the evening. After all, why buy a dog and then pay it to bark? Jacqui doesn’t want to cheat, however. (So, are Brookside going to conveniently forget that Max doesn’t OWN the restaurant, but merely works there?)

The day is beginning at Hotel Corkhill as well, and it doesn’t bode good. Lindsey is still in a foul humour, and Jimmy remarks about the state of her miserable gob.

‘It’s the only one I’ve got,’ Lindsey answers back. But she remembers to thank Jimmy for taking Kylie to school.

Jimmy thinks Lindsey is annoyed at not getting the job of Health Club Manager, and he tries to cheer her up by saying that there would be better jobs along for her.

Emily saunters into the kitchen to be greeted by Jimmy, calling her ‘Mrs O’L’. She stands at the counter, glaring at Lindsey and preening sulkily. She loooves being maddied (that’s ‘married’ to us articulate people), she screeches in her nail-grating voice. It’s so nice to have soomone to look after yer.

And she continues to mouth off now to Lindsey. As for her trebling the rent, why, the Corkhills ought to pay Timily for living in that house - the shutters painted all sorts, and all that tripe about Trevor Jordache pasted all around the house. And then Lindsey has the nerve, sorry nairve, to try to fleece them out of extra rent. After all, she says, this place is hardly the Ritz, is it? It’s just the place where a wife-batterer was stabbed to death and ended up being buried in the garden.

Lindsey is unimpressed. She just looks up at Emily and reiterates that the O’Learys’ rent is trebled. Effective now.

Mike is having a quiet word with Ron, as Anthea busies herself in the background. He has a confession to make to Ron. It seems that Gobby Moffatt left a calling card earlier. Ron wants to know what Mike means. Mike explains that last week when he and Rachel had returned from the party, they found a shoebox containing Harry’s lost trainer sat on the doorstep.

Ron warns Mike not to breathe a word of this to Anthea. He wants to keep her calm.

Timily have adjourned to their humble extension in order to ponder Lindsey’s reasonable demand. Tim is morose. Trebled rent! At that rate, it could only mean a park bench for them. Madam, however, is thinking her usual selfish thoughts. Trebled rent! Why, for that money, they should have the big bedroom upstairs. Tim remarks that he doesn’t think even Jimmy would agree to that.

At that moment, the Sage, himself, knocks on their door and enters bearing two steaming mugs of tea as a peace offering. He apologises for Lindsey, explaining that she’s had the rug pulled from under her because she didn’t get the manager’s job.

Emily declines the offer of tea, saying that she has to go to work. Before she leaves, Jimmy reminds the pair that Hotel Corkhill is still his house. (Er, no it’s not. It’s been awarded to Jackie). Lindsey, he says, was well out of order in trebling their rent. Leave the matter to the Sage to sort out.

Jacqui finds herself in the garage with the kids, buying sweets and a bouquet of flowers. Lindsey tries to act coldly professional and charges them £4.49. Jacqui tries to be sympathetic, guessing that she knows exactly where Lindsey would like to stick Jacqui’s carnations. As she talks to Lindsey, Sol Bennett enters the garage and queues behind them.

Again, Jacqui apologises to Lindsey. She’s eternally grateful to her for saving Harry, and she has had a lot on her mind with the wedding and the trial; but she explains to Lindsey that she’s known Sol for ages and he seemed the best person to handle the job.

Has Jacqui known him as long as she’s known Lindsey? Asks Lindsey; but she manages a winning smile when she notices Sol in the queue.

Rachel is returning home between jobs when she’s accosted by Jimmy on the Close. He begins by making small talk, asking her how she is and commenting on the day. Rachel explains shortly that she’s currently between her cleaning job and her job at the bar, where she’s due in about an hour’s time. Then Jimmy comes humbly to the point. He’s sorry for what happened the other night at the party, the incident concerning ‘Trevor’ on the patio.

He only did that, he explains, to get back at Jackie and unfortunately, Rachel got caught in the crossfire.

Rachel retorts that the incident was perhaps the sickest thing she’d seen in her life.

Jimmy tries the charm offensive in apologies, maintaining that his ‘brain didn’t engage’. (Rachel wouldn’t understand that in the least, not having a brain, herself). Please could she find it in her heart to forgive Jimmy?

Rachel slowly shakes her head. She doesn’t think that would be possible - not now, at least.

Tim is walking along The Parade when he spies a large lorry parked outside the Bar, laden with goods about to be unloaded. He saunters over to have a look, only to be shouted at by Christy, who tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he knows exactly how much of everything is on the back of the truck.

Tim turns to greet him, saying he only came to apologise to the man, after all. Oh, and by the way, he’s meaning to thank Christy as well. The ale he ‘appropriated’ did very well at Emily’s 18th do, thank you very much. In fact, the OTHER reason Tim wanted to see Christy, is to offer him his services as a barman.

Christy isn’t so sure about that, but before he can say anything, Tim begins to lay on the flattery. He trusted Christy, he tells him, and he’s always admired how Christy is so chilled about business and administers everything with a sense of fair play. Besides, Tim’s had experience behind the bar - and he’d be he best kind of barman Christy could want - he’d keep his mouth shut and his eyes peeled.

Christy, won over by flattery, is forced to admit that those latter qualities would, indeed, mean Tim’s CV would stand out from all the rest. He suggests that Tim carry on unloading the lorry, in order to give Christy time to mull this proposition over properly.

Mike and Anthea are fussing over Ron after his latest angina attack. Ron maintains that he’s O K, but Anthea is arguing that he should rest. In fact, he should rest and leave all this dealing with Gobby to the police.

The police? Scoffs Mike. What the hell good would the police do? And would they do anything to Moffatt? They couldn’t even pin Harry’s kidnapping on Gobby.

Anthea’s clutching at straws now, trying to present a cogent argument, when the woman doesn’t even have a logical thought in her head, past her own personal comfort. There must be forensic evidence in the house to prove that Gobby had broken in - fingerprints, perhaps.

Ron nips her argument in the bud.

‘Anthea,’ he reasons patiently, ‘there IS no forensic evidence. The bizzies would turn up, and all they’d find would be OUR fingerprints. We’ve contaminated the scene of the crime. Besides, Moffatt’s no amateur. He’d have used gloves when he broke in.’

Anthea is supremely worried about what Gobby said to her. He knows she’s lying, she insists.

Ron and Mike dismiss this as scare tactics on Gobby’s part. (Actually, it’s witness intimidation and could result, if found out during the course of the trial, in the case getting flung out of court). Gobby’s working on the fact that Anthea is the key witness in the trial. Gobby knows that Anthea’s testimony is crucial to Ron’s defence.

Anthea seems to forget that the trial IS all about Ron. In fact she now reveals how very little she cares about Ron as a person at all. Everything in this mess always comes back to Ron, doesn’t it? She accuses. (Well, of course, it would, stupid woman, the man is on trial for his life!) As long as Anthea keeps her gob shut about what really happened and says the right piece in court, everything is O K, isn’t it?

Ron asks her succinctly if perhaps she’d like to see him slopping out in prison for the rest of his life?

For a moment she’s shamed into silence, the canting, hypocritical bitch. (The woman cannot see how the Moffatts have shamelessly used her subtly to wear down her pithy defences throughout this ordeal. But no, she’s so shallow she can only see their overt tactics).

Ron’s fighting for his life, she maintains, but it’s SHE who’s being terrorised. (Oh, Jacqui’s not been terrorised? Who was beaten? Whose son was kidnapped?) She’s the victim of a one-man war, poor pitiful Anthea. Ron can’t seem to let that fact get in the way of his fighting to stay out of prison, she says. Hah! If Ron got life, he’d at least be safe from Gobby Moffatt, which is more than can be said for HER!

(Be real. Don’t you think Gobby’s got friends enough in prison to make Ron’s life a merry hell? And after he got life, the Moffatts wouldn’t give a toss about the Dixons. After all, WHO was it that waved a red flag at a bull by insisting on going to Clint’s funeral? My point, exactly).

It’s dinner party time, and the Farnhams’ first guest is the newest member of Brookside’s cast and latest to inherit the Mick Johnson Black Stud Award - Sol Bennett. He stands in the Farnham kitchen, enjoying a drink with Max’n Jax. Jacqui is explaining to him the unusual scene that occurred at the Health Club with Lindsey.

Jacqui tells him how Lindsey really wanted the job and had arrived to see her on the off-chance of being offered the position, but not knowing that Sol already had the job. Sol feels sorry for her, especially since Jacqui tells him that Lindsey’s been down on her luck a bit lately. He volunteers to help her out, intimating that he might know someone in the trade in need of a manager. He’ll put in a good word to help her out.

Next door, Mike is showing how much of a new man he is by participating in the most overused Brookside household chore - the ironing. He and the Brainless Beauty, Rachel, are preparing to go to the dinner party at the Farnhams’. Rachel asks Mike how much sleep he managed to get today, and Mike tells her he managed to get his head down about 2 o’clock, having stayed awake long enough to help Ron fit more security locks.

Rachel is amazed at the number of locks the house now has, and comments upon Mike now being the resident security consultant. She wonders if the couple should have told Anthea about finding Harry’s shoe, but Mike poo-poos the idea. He’d told Ron. If anyone decides to tell Anthea about that find, it’s Ron’s responsibility.

Silly Rachel wonders at the last minute if they should even attend the dinner party at all. Suppose Gobby Moffatt tried to break in again, with Beth in the house and all? Rachel won’t sleep a wink now for worrying about this happening again.

Mike tries to reassure Rachel by telling her this is all a part of a big mind game played out by Gobby.

Tim has returned home to the extension of Hotel Corkhill, where he sits telling Emily the news that he is to start work behind the bar. Emily is not impressed. Pulling pints behind the bar of a pub wasn’t exactly her idea of making big money. But it will lead to just that, assures Tim. Besides, with this job, he’ll be able to keep a keen eye on any and all of Christy Murray’s scams. Then he’ll bide his time and face the bugger down.

On reflection, Emily thinks this job isn’t a bad idea. Things can only get better now that the two of them were earning from straight jobs. Tim reiterates that this is only a temporary measure for him - he’s out to bide his time, pick his moment and then move in for the proverbial kill on Christy’s empire.

The two then celebrate with a massively boring snog. (This couple’s exploits get more and more tedious each episode. WE ARE BORED. WE DON’T GIVE A TINKER’S DAMN ABOUT EITHER OF THEM. GET THEM THE HELL OFF THE SCREEN!!!)

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: THE STATE OF THE UNITED KINGDOM’S EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM IS ABOUT TO BE DISCUSSED BY BOTH SIDES OF THE POLITICAL DIVIDE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

The Farnham dinner party has begun, and it’s in swinging form. Guests include Sol Bennett, recently of the Health Club, Mr and Mrs Michael Dixon, brother and sister-in-law of Mrs Dixon-Farnham, Dr Neil ‘Do-A-Little-Dance-Make-A-Little-Love’ Kelly, trendy knee-jerk doc and resident scrounger at the bungalow, and an unknown couple, who look as though they’ve been thrown out of Islington for being too trendy. His name is Leo, and he looks like he could be Alan Rickman’s down-at-heel younger brother. She has no name, but looks as though she could be an identical twin to Tracy No-Mates, the mute flower stall-holder-cum-part-time barmaid on Eastenders. They are not Scousers - they sound as though they hail from the dreaded Southeast, and these places at the party would probably have been better filled by Darren and Victoria, were they there.

But WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? It’s never made clear whether they are friends of Max or Jacqui. They certainly don’t appear to be the sort of people with whom Max would consort, remembering the likes of Warren and his Round Table mates. And they certainly don’t look to be the sort who would be matey with Jax. They look to be, and are, the worst sort of stereotypical left-wingers, right down to the intolerant attitudes. (The only thing more unbearable than an narrow-minded right-winger is a narrow-minded left-winger. I hate George Galloway equally as much as I hate Ian and Duncan Smith).

Jacqui is serving the wine, and Unknown Woman remarks how much marriage suits Jacqui. She’s never looked better. Why not? Jax jokes. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted. She’s 25, she’s married and she’s got a gazebo. (Where?) Do-A-Little compliments her on the food, and she’s forced to admit that the restaurant catered the meal, at Max’s suggestion. Unknown Woman then quotes Max’s original quip of why buy a dog and then pay him to bark. Polite laughter emanates all around.

Do-A-Little again picks up the tangent about marriage, congratulating Jacqui and Max. Sol speaks at that point, questioning the feasibility of marriage, saying at the end of the day, it’s just a piece of paper. Jacqui politely says she’s sorry Sol’s wife couldn’t join them tonight, and he awkwardly explains that they have a rather unusual marriage at the moment - it’s not an open marriage or anything, he’s quick to point out. It’s just that they are - well, separated.(Another Mick and Josie Johnson scenario?)

Anyway, Leo Trendy-Couple asks abruptly if Max and Jacqui have signed their children up for infants’ school yet. Can’t leave that too late, you know. In a desperate effort to appear witty and to contribute to a conversation between people whose intellectual levels are stratospheric compared to Rachel’s mentality, she of the brainless cranium makes a pithy remark:

‘Ooh, wouldn’t i’ be foon-eh if Rbeth’n Emma got caught smo-akin’ behind t’bike sheds at Brookie Primary?’

No one laughs, but Do-A-Little makes a scathing remark, asking deprecatingly who in this day and age rides a bike in Liverpool?

Sol remarks solemnly that he does, all the time. Well, snorts Do-A-Little contemptuously, you health freaks would. You’d never catch him pumping iron and working out like some health addict. (This man’s a doctor? Are you sure he’s not another Brookie fraud?)

Leo Trendy-Couple realises his nosey question about the Farnham children’s education has yet to be answered, demanding - yet again - where Max and Jacqui planned on sending the kids to infants’ school. Rachel contributes another gem of wisdom by remarking how nice it will be for Jacqui’s kids and Beth to go to school together.

Jacqui and Max exchange an uneasy glance, and Jacqui clears her throat. ‘Actually,’ she begins, ‘they’re going privately.’

Someone who should have been invited to the Dinner Party from Hell, but wasn’t is Lindsey Corkhill. She’s now doing the favourite task of all Brookside housewives, the ironing, when Jimmy enters and confronts her about Timily’s rent. Lindsey went behind his back, he accuses her, and trebled the couple’s rent.

So? Remarks Lindsey. This is the real world, and they were paying an unrealistically low rent. Why should they be cossetted when her mum was slogging all the hours God sends to make ends meet? All Lindsey did was to slap the going rate of rent on their arses. Jimmy’s too soft on that lot. They’ve moved in and taken the place over.

Jimmy suddenly has a stress attack and starts doing his breathing exercises and counting. Lindsey ignores him.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT PART 2: THE GREAT EDUCATION DEBATE CONTINUES

Jacqui’s remark about sending Harry and Emma to school privatel has provoked fierce arguments at the dinner table. Political factions are forming. Leo and Unknown Woman Trendy-Couple appear to be New Labour. Do-A-Little is hypocritical Old Labour with a dash of New Radical at its worst, and - surprise surprise - cast against type, Sol Bennett is playing the part of Lord John Taylor, QC, a Tory.

Mike and Rachel are just the ignorant populace, consumed with jealousy and feelings of inadequacy.

Mike demands to know why his sister plans to send her children to private schools. (Actually, she or Max should have nipped the argument in the bud by declaring that the children’s legal guardian, Lisa Morrissey, had deemed it right for them to attend private education, and her word was law as far as the children were concerned. But, like all other things Brookside, now that Lisa is no longer necessary to the action of any storyline, the fact that SHE is the legal guardian of Harry and Emma will be conveniently forgotten).

Jacqui responds by parrotting the lamely asked question of what’s wrong with wanting the best for your children. Leo Trendy-Couple primly replies that everyone should have ‘the best’ and that it was only until people who copped out by going private, opted to send their children to state schools that ‘the best’ could be had by everyone. It was up to these people, he says, to DO SOMETHNG about the state system. (But he never suggests what could be done).

Sol speaks up to reveal that his daughter, Eve, is being educated privately. However, he and his estranged wife have had to work bloody hard to be able to afford the fees, but, like Jacqui and Max, he wants his daughter to have the best.

Mike then makes an inane statement that equals the banality of Rachel’s remarks, but pointing out that Jacqui would be dropping Emma off in a boater, whilst his Beth was slumming it up the road at the local primary. (Is this a subtle hint that those arch-scroungers, Mike and Rachel, would like Jacqui to fork out on a private education for Beth as well?)

Do-A-Little adds his tuppence to the argument by pointing out that people who opt to send their children to private schools are no better really than those dyed-in-the-wool socialists who move to ‘better areas’ in order that their children might be able to attend those schools who figure highly on the league table list. Sol remarks that his sister is one of those people who have done that.

Or even worse, continues Do-A-Little, there are people like Blair, who decide to send their son to an exclusive London comprehensive, rather than have the kid trudge up the road to the inner-city comprehensive where Blair began his campaign. Sol argues that parents should be given freedom of choice when it comes to their children’s education. There is no valid reason why a child should be given a substandard education to prove a point.

Leo Trendy-Couple again shouts, ‘DO SOMETHING.’ (But again fails to suggest what). Sol ignores him to continue his blast at Do-A-Little, showing the doctor to be the facile prick that he is. Anyway, Sol continues, Do-A-Little isn’t a parent and is in no position to dictate to people who ARE, HOW their children should be educated. And until he IS a parent, Do-A-Little doesn’t know HOW he would respond. Again, why make examples of children just to feed parents’ po-faced political beliefs?

Leo Trendy-Couple, once again, shouts, DO SOMETHING. And Do-A-Little, ignoring Leo, jumps into the fray with Sol. Because education, he remarks, was Tony Blair’s by-word when he was campaigning for his first term. ‘Education, education, education,’ he parrots.

Max enters the conversation for the first time, taking a casual sip of his wine and commenting calmly, ‘Well, you lot voted for him.’ (Correction - you vote the party, not the man in the U.K. Really, Brookside, it takes an American to point that out to you).

Over at Hotel Corkhill, Lindsey is ironing with a vengeance. Although Jimmy is present, there is a stony silence between the two. Timily are hiding out from Lindsey’s wrath in the extension. Jimmy tries to break the ice by telling her that she doesn’t have to feel that she has to do his ironing as well as hers and Kylie’s. Lindsey asserts that it’s all right. She may as well, as she does everything else in the house. How long before she has to start doing THEIR laundry and ironing? And she jerks her head in the direction of the extension. By the way, she wants to know, how long are their guests going to stay holed up in there?

Oh, she supposes, rightly. that they are avoiding her.

Jimmy shrugs. Well, he maintains, if the cap fits ...

‘Yeah,’ replies Lindsey, grimly, ‘If the cap fits. How about it the pinny fits, if the washing up gloves fit? They take me for a mug. They pay next to noothink for the privilege of living here and WE’RE supposed to wait on them hand and foot!’

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT NUMBER THREE: INTERTWINING THE CURRENT STATE OF THE NATIONAL HEALTH SERVICE WITH THAT OF STATE EDUCATION

Back at Chateau Farnham, the topic of discussion has now moved onto the National Health Service, or lack of. Leo Trendy-Couple warns Do-A-Little ominously that he’s next on Blair’s hit list. It’s the BMA the government are after next.

Do-A-Little shrugs smugly. Nothing to do with him. It’s only the rich consultants they’d be after, not the small fry like him.

So Do-A-Little has no plans to go into private practice then? Asks Leo Trendy-Couple.

No way, asserts the doc. He has no time for private practice or anyone who goes private. Anyone who doesn’t depend on the National Health is just a queue-jumper, the worst kind of person. (Actually, his line of thinking is thus: The more queue-jumpers there are, the less salary HE gets paid, and he might not be able to financially sustain the top-of-the-range BMW he drives, paid for by OUR NHS contributions).

Sol, who seems a sensible man in that he appears to have taken a dislike to the doc, then baits him by asking if he’d ever consider going private, himself, for treatment. Do-A-Little assumes a virtuous mien and primly replies that he would not.

Never? Asks Sol.

Never, replies the Doc.

Well, continues Sol, what if your mother needed a potentially life-saving operation and, rather than wait six months on the NHS, she could have it tomorrow privately? Is Do-A-Little saying that he would deny his own mother treatment just to satisfy his own principles?

Do-A-Little hesitates a fraction of a second before replying that that would be a different scenario. After all, he’d be dealing with his mother.

No difference, says Sol. It’s signing a cheque and queue-jumping all the same. Proves his point. Never say ‘never’. Do-A-Little is left looking as though he has egg smeared all over his face.

Jacqui, meanwhile, seated beside Rachel the Dim, is still trying to labour her point about private education. Jacqui uses herself as an example to illustrate a point. Look at her time at Brookie Comp, she begins. No one ever encouraged her, and she left with no qualifications.

But look at what she’s achieved, silly Rachel points out, without any qualifications.

But she’s missing the point, argues Jacqui. She’s achieved what she’s achieved DESPITE Brookie Comp and not because of it. Brookie Comp FAILED her. (The classic argument by people who were too lazy to achieve their potential in school).

Mike draws an end to the discussion by excusing himself, as he has to go to work that evening. The couple rise to leave and Jacqui accompanies them to the front door. She’s worried that Mike and Rachel will try to blank her from now on, considering her views on private education and the like. Mike brushes this aside, saying that he and Rachel are merely jealous that Jacqui’s able to afford such good things for her children.

An argument of a different sort is continuing at the Corkhills’. Jimmy observes that the problem with Lindsey is that she has a martyr complex. In fact, it must be a hereditary thing, because he’s noticed of late that she seems to be acting more and more like Jackie every day. Lindsey, he informs her, was way out of order in taking the call over raising Timily’s rent. Lindsey wants to remember that this was still HIS house.

‘It’s becoming a doss house!’ Exclaims Lindsey. Those two pay nothing! The object of taking lodgers was to supplement income. Why doesn’t Jimmy explain to Lindsey how he plans to keep Jackie and William on a popman’s salary alone?

Jimmy is exasperated by Lindsey’s attitude. Saint Jackie is back, he remarks. He’s had all the same old arguments for the past thirty years from Jackie, now Lindsey starts!

Lindsey informs him succinctly that she won’t last as long as Jackie did with him.

Rachel and Mike have returned home. Whilst Mike and Ron talk in the background, Rachel sits on the couch with Anthea and tells her about the dinner party. For three hours, she tells Anthea, she was able to forget all her problems. Anthea asks cattily what sort of food Jacqui served.

Rachel remarks, just as cattily, that the restaurant catered the affair, but it was lovely food. Anthea eyes the menfolk surreptitiously and then decides to confide in Rachel (as you do - one liar to another). Maybe she shouldn’t say this, she begins, but Rachel has a right to know. (I thought Mike had actually told Rachel).

Anthea tells the girl that Gobby Moffatt broke in through the bathroom window the previous night and left a picture of Clint on the bed in Ron and Anthea’s room. Rachel is visibly shocked, wondering aloud why Gobby can’t leave the family alone. Anthea repeats virtuously that she thought Rachel had a right to know. (You cow, you thought you could stir trouble by winding Rachel up to your side).

True to form, the brainless nitwit, chews her lip excrutiatingly and decides to reveal her guilty secret. She’s ever so sor-reh. She shoulda mentioned it befo-ah, boot ... That’s not the only thing Gobby did. And she tells Anthea about finding Harry’s shoe on the doorstep the previous Friday night.

Anthea then turns on Ron and Mike with a vengeance. Why on earth didn’t someone mention to her about the shoe? The shoe was old news, says Ron, trying to calm her down. Anthea’s selfishness then takes over in the extreme. All this was directed at her, she says, because she was the only credible witness Ron had.

Didn’t Ron see? She continues. The return of this show might somehow at least link Moffatt to Harry’s kidnapping. Ron agrees that Gobby is a psycho and continues to try to calm Anthea down; but she insists that they take both the shoe and the photo of Clint to the police as forensic evidence. Otherwise, she says, Gobby might strike again. He’d tried to run her over once. What more would he do?

Ron argues that they have nothing to fear directly from Moffatt. Moffatt, he points out, is a coward. He lurks around in shadows and does things in the dark and then departs. He never confronts people directly. That’s not his way. Anthea just has to be strong and weather this one out. Another thing - Gobby never does anything on his own, when he can get others to do it. That’s why forensic evidence might not mean a thing.

Anthea suddenly wishes Ron still had his gun. She’d only too gladly take the gun to Gobby Moffatt and shoot him, herself. Only, she finishes spitefully, she’d give him the chance to save himself before she used it on him.

Jacqui and Max are cleaning up after the departure of the guests from hell. Jacqui is commenting on Leo, and Max observes that the man had too much to say for himself. Max looks forward to seeing Leo in ten years’ time to see if he still harbours the same social views. Just then, Max notices that the children have been marking in crayon on the wallpaper.

He playfully rips a piece and Jacqui joins in, as they vow ‘off with the old, on with the new’.

Ron is reeling from the aftermath of Anthea’s thoughtless and callous remark. Mike tries to tell him that Anthea didn’t mean what she said. But Ron is calm. He stares steadily at Anthea, making her squirm under his gaze. Silly Rachel witters in the background that all this commotion is her fault. She shouldn’t have said anything about the shoe.

Ron remarks softly and slightly sarcastically to Anthea that if she’s so certain of sinking to his level of reaction, maybe it’s time she got out.

Anthea, for want of anything better to say, accuses Ron of thinking only of his freedom. (This, to me, seems only natural. Anthea seems the selfish one here, not Ron).

Ron admits this, but reminds Anthea that he is also worried for her. And he reminds her that what happened the night of the shooting, happened as a result of Ron trying to protect his family, and that included her.

Anthea argues that Gobby Moffatt knows that she’s lying about Ron warning Clint. (Then why doesn’t someone twig that the only way Gobby would know this is if he had been in the house?) They should take the photo and the shoe to the police as proof that Gobby Moffatt was terrorising them in their own back garden. Anthea continues by saying that she can’t live like this anymore, especially when the man who promised to cherish her is making her tell a lie like that.