Friday’s episode was all about tits. This particular programme concerned the actions and antics of six prime tits, four of whom were real people and two of whom were surgically enhanced implants (and they appear to be newer and even bigger) on Ms Ellison.
Once again, we were treated to a meaningless, irrelevant scene in which Emily shows off her pneumatic body and reveals how much like an obscene version of a cross between ET and a sex-toy doll, Tim appears in his boxers and they spend nearly every scene with their tongues down each other’s throat.
If any Brookside person reads theses summaries, please know one thing now: THIS COUPLE BORES THE SHIT OUT OF MOST OF THE INTELLIGENT PEOPLE WHO WATCH THE PROGRAMME. I KNOW YOU MIGHT ARGUE DIFFERENTLY, BASED ON THE EVIDENCE OF THE NO-BRAINERS WHO POST ON YOUR OFFICIAL FORUM, BUT MOST PEOPLE WITH COMMON SENSE WHO STILL WATCH THE SHOW, POST EITHER ON THE SOAPBOX FORUM OR THE BROOKSIDER SITE AND THERE, TIMILY GET SHORT SHRIFT. IF YOU ARE WONDERING WHY YOUR PROGRAMME LOST 500,000 VIEWERS ALONE LAST YEAR, LOOK NO FURTHER THAN THAT SCREECHING, MASS OF PLASTIC WHO FANCIES HERSELF A BRITISH BRITNEY, BUT COMES ACROSS AS DOLLY PARTON WITH NEITHER THE TALENT NOR THE PERSONALITY OF DOLLY, BUT HAS THE HYPE AND POTENTIAL TO BE THE SECOND JORDAN. PUT YOUR SIZE NINE BOOT FIRMLY ON THE SEAT OF HER ARSE AND KICK. NOW WATCH HER BOUNCE RIGHT DOWN THE FRONT STEPS OF MERSEY TELEVISION AND INTO THE PAGES OF THE SPORT, WHICH APPEARS TO BE AS FAR AS ANNE-MARIE DAVIES’S (TRONA) TALENT HAS GOT HER.
FOR MOST OF US, EMILY MAKES US WRETCH AND EMILY AND TIM SIMPLY MAKE US YAWN. SHOW THE PAIR THE AXE AND SOAR UP THE RATINGS SCALE.
It’s early morning at Hotel Corkhill. Dressed in his vest and boxers, Jimmy sits tapping away at his computer, the radio playing softly in the background. Suddenly, from the extension, there comes an exaggerated sound of rythmic bumping. Jimmy pauses in his work and looks around. Realising that the sound emanates from the extension and guessing that it’s Timily indulging in the favourite pastime of poor white trash, overt bonking, he reaches over and turns the volume of the radio even higher.
This is to no avail. The bumping gets louder.
Poor, pitiful Katie is doing the subliminal Brookside chore of ironing. I swear these Brookside women could iron in their sleep. She must be careful, however, not to let the excess grease from her hair drip on the nice clean clothes that she’ll put on her filthy, stinky, dirty body. Lady Muck appears and asks why Katie’s not at work. Katie explains that she’s got the day off and thought that she would sort the flat out. It’s turning into a tip - well, her room is, anyway.
Sammy sighs and tells Katie that she got no sleep at all last night, because she was thinking about the run-in with Jacqui Dixon and the conversation with Katie afterward. Katie says she got no sleep either. She was also thinking of that and of the fact that the flat down the hall had been burgled. But Jacqui really got to her, she admits. One minute, there she was, acting all toffy-nosed and the next screaming like a fishwife. (Who’s fault, again, I ask? Jacqui didn’t initiate the scene.)
Sammy urges Katie to forget about Jacqui, or else this obsession would ruin Katie’s life. Can’t Katie see that this is what Jacqui wants to do? How Jacqui must be enjoying this! Katie sat in the flat, worried to a frazzle, whilst Jacqui and her family were off Christmas shopping and the like.
Katie admits that she hates Jacqui so much, that all she can live for now is the hope that she would like to see how Jacqui would cope with such a loss as she’s faced. She wants to see something destroy Jacqui’s happiness. (So now we get the first admission that this sick farce has gone beyond the death of the sainted Clint, if, indeed, it had anything to do with him at all. It’s jealousy, pure and simple).
Don’t worry, Sammy promises. That will happen. And in the words of Usama Bin Laden, Sammy tells Katie to be patient and choose her moment.
Jimmy turns the volume of his radio even louder and stands up to stretch from sitting too long at the computer. As he does so and turns around, Emily dashes into the kitchen, wearing a black version of Bridget Jones’s big knickers and a matching bra which shows that the girl has probably, courtesy of the new producer, been visiting Harley Street again, for the insertion of even bigger implants. It looks cheap and disgusting, almost pornographic, and one wonders how soon it will be before Brookside is forced to resort to Ellison frontal topless in a quest for viewers. At this sight, thousands of hands all over the nation are inserted into trousers to begin a wank.
Jimmy is horrified, because the slut stops short of moving when she sees him standing there. Jimmy reaches for the first thing available, a cushion, to put in front of his boxers, as Tim follows her into the kitchen, dressed in - guess what? - only his boxers as well.
It’s morning too in the Dixon House of Horrors. Flabby, silly Rachel phaffs about the kitchen, wondering exactly what it is she should be doing there, when Mike trudges downstairs in his jim-jams. Rachel calls him Casanova, in reference to the fact that he fell asleep in the middle of thier romantic meal the night before.
Mike apologises, but says that last night was the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages. As he starts to cuddle his podgy and dim spouse, the letter box rattles and post falls through the door. Mike goes to retrieve it, telling Rachel (get this) that it’s only bills, but it’s all right, as NONE ARE ADDRESSED TO THEM!
(I have a question. If Mike and Rachel are not responsible for any of the utility bills that are still coming addressed to Number 8 - presumably, Jacqui is - WHY THE HELL ARE THEY STILL IN SO MUCH DEBT?)
However, there is one for them. Mike opens it. It’s from the County Court, advising them that Northwest Securities had declined their offer of payment of £25.00 per week. Therefore, the Court would be rescheduling another hearing for them in January 2002 to reassess their situation and for the judge to make a recommendation of payment.
This is all a red herring, announces Mike, he knew all of this would happen.
Oooh, says Rachel, still, caan’t be bad. When joodge knows she lost job, that’as to mek diff’roonce bout peh-ment. (Listen, shitbrain, you QUIT your job. You did not lose it).
At that moment, the doorbell sounds and Mike answers it, to find a penitent-looking Jacqui stood on the doorstep.
Awkwardly, she’s asked in. Rachel, for lack of anything better to say, asks after the kids. They’re OK, says Jacqui, but she’s not. She had one helluva run-in yesterday with Katie and Sammy Rogers. Of all things, Sammy is acting as Katie’s backup thug now. But anyway, Jacqui’s brought over some of Harry’s and Emma’s old clothes they’ve outgrown. Rachel was welcome to have a hunt through to see if anything were suitable for Beth.
She gazes around the decorated room, remarking how lovely the house is.
But it’s too small for Harry and Emma, quips Mike, cattily. And by the way, was there any of Max’s old cast-offs in that bag that might fit Mike?
Now fully dressed, Timily emerge with shame-filled faces, to face Jimmy. Emily is late AGAIN for work. Jimmy remarks that she’ll be lucky to have a job if this keeps up, but she replies that she’s working late tonight. It’s OAP night for the blue rinse brigade. Tim asks if Jimmy’s in to work today, but Jim says he’s in later also. Before the pair go, however, Jimmy begs a word with Tim.
He apologises to the couple about getting caught out in his underwear so early in the morning. It can’t have been a nice sight. But the point was, he wanted to make sure this sort of thing didn’t happen again.
Timily try to explain that normally Emily DOES wear a dressing gown, but -
Jimmy stresses that the three of them had to hit upon an arrangement to ensure that it DIDN’T happen again.
Tim immediately jumps to the conclusion that Jimmy’s about to turf them out. He begs Jim to reconsider and Emily promises never to set foot out of the extension without her dressing gown. Jimmy dismisses that. No problems there. Actually, it made his pulse rate, seeing Emily like that. Hadn’t had that reaction since before Jackie left.
He looks at the pair and at the Mekon with the fake brown tanned face, looking more and more like ET in drag.Timily were newlyweds, he says. If they had the place to themselves, it would be better, he confirms. The problem was, he confesses, that he, Jimmy, lived here too.
Seated on the Dixon sofa, Jacqui apologises to Rachel about the job fiasco. Rachel says it doosn’t mat-teh.
But Jacqui says that it does. Rachel didn’t deserve the treatment she got from Jacqui. She wants Rachel to know that the job is still there for her if she wants it.
Mike interjects to say that Rachel didn’t want the job. He goes onto say that he doesn’t want Jacqui to mention money or their lack of it either in the future. Nor anything about Jacqui’s businesses. Whenever any of the above is mentioned, he says, they always end up falling out.
Rachel blinks and looks at Jacqui. When her words have caught up with her brain, she speaks. Well, she admits, she could do wi’ moon-eh, boot moon-eh’s not as im-paahtant as family l-eye-fe. (Family life can’t run without money, dummy). The three resolve their differences.
Mike admits that he fancies trying to see Ron, and Jacqui is delighted. Ron would be positively made up, she says. Mike says he’ll tell Ron the next time Ron phones, but Jacqui suggests that he write to Ron. Rachel agrees.
Besides, whenever Ron does phone, there’s never anytime to say anything because the queue’s so long and people are pressuring him to hurry. And anyway, if he wrote to Ron, that way Ron could ensure that Mike’s name was on the visiting order.
Mike agrees and tells Jacqui to leave the kids’ cast-offs for Beth.
Bev’s bar is hopping. That place is hopping ... And rowdy too, as two blokes square off at the bar over a drink. Big Tim steps into the scenario, breaking off a conversation with Christy, to quell the potential barney. He offers the combatants drinks on the house, then proceeds to fill their glasses from the bucket of rejected and leftover swill beneath the bar. Christy, at first protesting that Tim will drive him out of business, sees what the scally proposes to do and gives him the thumbs-up. Nikki is moving around in the background.
Jimmy arrives for his shift and is ordered by Christy to ‘sort out’ the Christmas trees. At first, Jim thinks Christy wants the pile of pine decorated, but no ... Christy wants Jim to bundle them up, stick them in buckets of water and place them outside on The Parade. Then he hands Jim a sign which advertises the trees for £10 apiece.
In the middle of this mayhem, Emily comes in and approaches Nikki at the bar. She’s come to pick up a sandwich for Dire next door. The salon’s OAP night has begun. Tim approaches Emily and the pair discuss the possible meaning behind Jimmy’s words of that morning. Tim reassures Emily that Jimmy won’t turf them out, but Emily woefully maintains, ‘Not yet.’
Christy shouts over at Emily, asking if she’s on her break, to which Emily replies that she is.
‘Well, Tim’s not,’ quips Christy, shortly.
Emily proceeds to order a cheese roll for Dire from Nikki, but Nikki tells her that Christy has had the last cheese roll. Nikki suggests cheese and pickle, but Emily isn’t sure Dire likes pickle. Emily then suggests a cheese and onion roll, saying that if Dire didn’t like it, then Emily would eat it. As Nikki hands her the roll, Christy shouts at Nikki, reminding her to make Emily pay for the food.
Nikki then talks to Emily about having a night out on Wednesday. She thinks maybe Emily would like to accompany her to the bingo and wave at Jerome as he does his calling. Emily screws up her rubber face distastefully. Nikki admits that, OK, Jerome isn’t perfect, but then neither is Tim, she reminds her plastecene sister. As far as their men go, in the future, Nikki and Emily would have to agree to disagree.
Emily remarks that she might just see if Tim fancied coming along Wednesday as well.
On the other end of the bar, Christy stops Tim to give him some welcome news. He’s got a big job lined up, if Tim’s interested. Tim asks what’s on offer as Christy reminds him that he still owes Christy £100 of the wage advance, and Christy’s calling in favours. It’s a heavy job, he warns, but Tim thinks he’s up for it.
Back at NNT, Sammy notes that they are all out of milk in the flat. She’ll make a note to get some when she’s out at the shops.
Poor, pitiful Katie sits in her usual miserable state, feeling sorry for herself and jealous of Jacqui, with nary a thought for the sainted Clint. Katie actually admits that she’s fed up with feeling this way. Sammy asks truthfully what exactly would make any difference in the way Katie was feeling at the moment.
Katie tells her sister that she’s not acting the way she is ‘on purpose’. It’s just her natural reaction to Clint’s death.
Sammy picks up on this whingey thread and feeds it royally. But doesn’t Katie see? The Dixons just LOVE the fact that she’s in the depths of depression. It’s what they want ... Katie sitting here in the blue funk of misery whilst they get on with their Chrimbo shopping or book holidays. (Who? Ron certainly can’t do this and Jacqui, I believe, has the surname of Farnham now).
Katie shouldn’t get mad with the Dixons, Sammy advises. She should get even.
Katie admits, through teeth clenched with irrational hatred, that she would love to get even with the Dixons, especially Jacqui (who’s done nothing at all). But she’s had it out with her before. She’s screamed at her, vilified her in public, thrown water on her, assaulted her, and still Jacqui comes out smelling like a rose. How, apart from actually killing Max Farnham, would she get even with Jacqui Dixon?
Sammy renews her pledge to Katie that she’s there to support her in whatever Katie wants to do to Jacqui; but Katie should seek to do something that’s more permanent and damaging to Jacqui’s life than throwing a tin of paint over Jacqui’s car.
Katie, says Sammy, should strive to do something that would really fuck Jacqui up for life. And Katie readily agrees. (This is more proof than anything that Katie has always wanted Jacqui dragged down to her miserably inadequate level of existence. A crueler, more sinister storyline has never been shown on this show in recent years; and at its end, the character of Katie Rogers should be axed forever).
Timily sit on the sofa at Hotel Corkhill, stuffing their meaty and rubber gobs respectively. Emily has just popped home (literally) to have her evening tea with Tim. She explains to Tim that she begged some time off the OAP night from Dire, by saying that she just had to come home for a hot meal. She finishes at 8PM and asks Tim if he’ll walk over to The Parade to walk her home.
Tim suggests going for a drink afterward, but conscientious Emily tells him she’ll have to see how her tips go. Changing the subject, she asks Tim if he gets bored sitting at home on his own of an evening. Perhaps he’d like a night out with his mates - say next Wednesday?
Tim laughs at her lack of subtlety, and Emily confesses that she has agreed to go with Nikki to the bingo club to have a go at Jerome calling. Tim readily volunteers to go with her, but Emily is surprised. She didn’t think he’d want to go to a bingo club.
‘Are you kidding?’ Asks Tim, with glee. ‘A chance to win some dosh and take the mickey out of Jerome? I’m up for it, and Wednesday just happens to be me night off.’
They agree to go to the bingo, and Emily admits that she has to return to work within ten minutes. She left a client under a dryer and if she left her longer than ten minutes, the client would have a head like a ‘bog brush’. Tim reckons a lot can be accomplished in the ten minutes left to them on their own and the scene fades out in a boring welter of tongues down scally throats. Yuck and yawn.
In the next scene, we see Max Farnham standing in the foreground of the restaurant. Has anyone ever wondered how much Brookside’s budget has been cut? In Max’s previous incarnation as owner of Grant’s, we constantly saw the wide dining area of the restaurant, chokka with people. Now all we see is close-up shots and one table scene.
Max, with a pen hanging out of his mouth, is engrossed in some restaurant activity that engrosses all of his attention. Consequently, he is unaware of Sammy Rogers entering and approaching him. Sammy wears a tight-fitting body-clinging top, which tells us that Rachel Lindsey, in the five years or so since she’s been on Brookside, hasn’t been starving. Her torso is positively matronly.
She calls out to Max in a low tone. Turning, Max greets her with surprise and asks if she wants a table. Well, no, actually, she’d like a word with Max, she confesses, demurely.
No doubt Max has heard about the run-in she and Katie had the previous day with Jacqui. She just wanted to apologise for that incident, especially saying the things she said to Jacqui.
Without cracking a smile, Max replies that Jacqui was very upset when she returned home. Sammy apologises again, saying that she was just trying to hear both sides of the Katie-Jacqui feud.
Then perhaps Sammy would be best apologising to Jacqui, rather than he. After all, it was Jacqui whom they had upset. Sammy prettily begs Max to apologise on her behalf to Jacqui; Sammy felt that she was caught in the middle of this whole fiasco of friendship. Didn’t Max feel the same way?
Again, with the ultimate of poker faces, Max asks Sammy what she suggests he do about the situation.
Sammy declares that Katie and Jacqui are acting like kids in this whole episode. And as they were acting like children, perhaps it was down to Max and Sammy to act like the adults in the piece and sort things out.
The camera closes in on a particularly suspicious look on Max’s face. He susses her intention immediately.
Meanwhile, Jacqui is ringing the doorbell of Number 8. Mike, roused from slumber, answers the door in his dressing gown. Jacqui enters, apologising for waking Mike up. Did he have to work tonight? She asks.
Mike sarcastically replies that he works every night, trying to play the martyr to the sister who’s financially surpported him for years. He was due to get up in half and hour anyway. Jacqui remarks that she just can’t seem to get used to the fact that Mike was working nights (or that Mike was working at all, for that matter).
Jacqui plops, exhausted, on the sofa. She moans about the kids wearing her out. By 9PM, she’s good for nothing, she says, and asks where Rachel the Dim is. Mike replies that Rachel has taken Beth out for a breath of fresh air.
Jacqui’s come around to discuss something with Mike. She and Max had a talk, she tells him, about Christmas. Well, the pair of them realise how strapped for cash Mike and Rachel are this year, how they need all the money they can find to pay their bills. (WHAT bills?) Anyway, Max and Jacqui have decided that Mike and Rachel shouldn’t feel compelled to give them Christmas gifts this year. Instead they should keep whatever money they would spend on pressies for themselves.
Back at the bar, Nikki pauses to have a word with Jimmy. Jimmy’s feeling a bit down. He keeps missing phone calls from Lindsey and when he calls her, she’s always out. Nikki sympathises, saying it’s much the same with her, but in reverse, with Margi in Brussels. (That’s a point! Are the girls planning on spending Christmas with their mother?)
Mind you, warns Nikki, Jimmy must have a handful with Timily on his hands. She hopes that pair (and Timily as well) are behaving themselves. She vows she couldn’t last two minutes living under the same roof as Emily.
Well, Jimmy begins, it took some getting used to; but it was much the same when Lindsey first moved back home (gangsters and all that). And Tim and Emily were doing things that young couples usually do (planning crimes, wrecking the home, whingeing etc).
Without them there, Jimmy confesses, it would be quiet and - well, lonely. Jimmy expounds a bit on how well Lindsey’s doing, reckoning that she’ll have her own place in a year’s time. Best thing for her, moving to Newcastle, he says, unconvincingly. She’s got her own life now, he muses, near tears.
Max and Sammy have moved to a booth at The Shelf. Max has a wine glass and a bottle of white. Sammy primly drinks designer water. Sammy preys on Max’s vulnerability. Surely Max, of ALL people, would know how it feels to lose someone you love, she coos.
As Max slowly hangs his head, Sammy continues. She’s heard all about what happened to Susannah - er, wasn’t that about a year ago?
Max confirms that it was, indeed, the 5th of November last year.
Well, then, Sammy continues, slyly, Max should understand about poor, pitiful Katie and what she was going through.
Max offers to refill her glass with wine, but Sammy sticks to the designer water, while Max remains pensive.
Sammy admits, purringly, that she was surprised to hear about him and Jacqui. Jacqui’s a very lucky girl, she smarms. Max reiterates that he’s a very lucky man. She repeats that, whilst she was surprised to hear about the marriage, she was even more surprised to hear that Jacqui had stopped work.
Yes, Max confirms, Jacqui wanted to stay at home and raise the children.
That must be a rude awakening, quips Sammy, coming from ‘no kids’ to two toddlers. Max admits that Jacqui’s often tired.
‘And not up to doing what you’d like to do,’ hints Sammy. It was much the same for her, when Louise was smaller, she confesses. Louise took so much of her time when she first married Richard. (Although Louise should have been well past toddler stage by then!)
Max remarks that Sammy has an older husband too. He asks the man’s age. Well, replies Sammy, coyly, compared to Richard, Max would be a toyboy.
Suddenly, she rises to leave. She’d best get back to the flat or else Katie would be wondering where she was, she excuses herself. As she starts to leave, she turns helplessly to Max once more. If anyone can sort this mess out, she smarms, Max can.
But as she leaves, Max stares after her, with a suspicious glint in his eye. Maybe he isn’t the old Maxim.
Rachel the Dimwit has returned from taking Baby Beth on a walk. Mike, dressed in his uniform, sits beside her on the sofa. Somehow, this self-pitying pair of whingers have misconstrued Jacqui’s motives again. The wind has been knocked out of their sails. Rachel is astonished that Jacqui had actually suggested that they not bother with Christmas presents this year. (The suggestion, coming from them, had a bit of puerile ‘nyah nyah nyah-nyah nyah you won’t be getting anything from us’ about it; coming from Jacqui, however, to them it seems condescending).
Yes, affirms Mike, that sister of his has beaten them to the punch again! It’s as though SHE decides that THEY are the poor relations. (Well, they are.) It’s as though SHE thinks that THEY are incapable of thinking for themselves. (Well, they are).
SHE dec-eye-des everythin’, agrees Rachel, nodding her head like a nodding dog on the parcel shelf of an old Cortina and stupidly agreeing with Mike. SHE dec-eye-des that M-eye-ke should wr-eye-te to Ron (forgetting that Rachel had readily agreed with Jacqui on this theme).
Mike has an idea - and a stupid one. The couple have one month’s grace before they have to start repaying their loan. That means they’ll have a bit of extra dosh to splash around at Christmas. Who’s to stop them if they want to buy their niece and nephew Chrimbo pressies? He reasons, illogically.
And presents for Max and Jac-keh too, says Rachel, nodding and blinking. That’ll shoah them!
Timily stand at the bar,when Jimmy passes by. He thought Emily was perming OAP’s, he remarks. Emily announces that her ‘oosbund has treated her to a drink. Oh-er, replies Jim, if Jackie had done that more often, they might still be married today.
Anyway, he continues, he and the young couple have some unfinished business from this morning.
Emily immediately assumes a downcast look. Jimmy confesses that he feels that he gets in their way, and he knows that they do get in his. Therefore, he’s decided that HE’LL move into the extension, and Timily can have the room upstairs.
Which one? Asks the Mekon. Lindsey’s or Kylie’s?
Jimmy says that he wants those rooms left just as they are, in the event of Kylie and Lindsey visiting. No, Timily were to have the master bedroom. That way, Jimmy could work on his computer without disturbing them and vice versa.
Sammy has returned to NNT. Katie has been worried about her prolonged absence.
Sammy replies that she’s been busy all day. Katie, suspicious of her sister’s incandescent demeanor, asks if Sammy is drunk.
No, Sammy replies, but she’s been talking to Max Farnham.
Why? Katie asks.
Because, Sammy replies, tantalisingly, she’s found out that the new Mrs Farnham, quite simply, isn’t up to the job. She’s out of her depth, Sammy gloats, bitten off more than she can chew. Why, she’s ready to fall asleep as soon as the sun sets, Sammy laughs.
No, sirree, all is not well in the Farnham abode, Sammy confirms. The whole marriage was a rush job after Susannah’s death. Purely on the rebound and now they’re suffering. Jacqui, Sammy reckons, jumped at the chance to settle down. She reminds Katie of the fiasco with Nathan (mostly Katie’s fault for planting doubts) and then there was Gobby. That little slag always gets what she wants - one sign of an engagement ring and she’s on her back (unlike Katie - one sign of a sibling and she’s on her back; were I Dire Murray, I’d keep a tight rein on Plank and Ant).
Sammy asks Katie if she still wants to get back at Jacqui. Katie says that she does, and more than ever.
Sammy intimates that Max is ‘well up’ for some action. What does Katie reckon it would do to Jacqui to find that her husband was playing away?
Katie replies that it would destroy Jacqui.
That’s right, smirks Sammy. It would certainly wipe the smug smile off her face. And that’s what they were going to do. With Sammy’s help and expertise, she and Katie were going to ‘break up that bitch’s marriage’ and destroy her.
If Jacqui reconciles with Katie after this, Brookside is truly full of shit.
Summary © 2001 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2001