TOKENISM
Now that it’s been officially announced this weekend that Leon Lopez IS, indeed, leaving Brookside’s cast this summer, I feel it necessary to say a few bons mots re the subject of ‘tokenism’ in soaps. With the departure of Jerome, only Nisha remains as the TOKEN ethnic character in Brookside, which, effectively, makes Brookside the whitest soap around. In fact, it’s SO white, bright and BLONDE that it could double as an advertisment for Persil Automatic.
TOKEN characters are easy to identify in television programmes. Tokenism usually has to do with the issues of race and sex. My husband is currently addicted to CSI, which airs on Channel 5. It’s currently TRYING to displace ER as the Number One television show in the U S. I think it’s a load of tripe. It’s RIDDLED with tokenism. The central character is a fine old alumnus of the soap genre, William Pederson. It does my heart good to see him now, grey-haired and paunchy, especially since I remember him in my youth as a David Cassidy lookalike, playing young Mike Horton, on Days of Our Lives when the plots were believeable and the acting was good. The show has a TOKEN blonde, who happens to be a TOKEN single mother dealing with TOKEN issues regarding childcare. There’s a TOKEN black man, as well as a TOKEN romantic young girl (the AWFUL Jorja Fox who was on ER for a season as Doyle the AWFUL lesbian resident with the AWFUL nasally, toneless voice. Take it from me, folks, Jorja Fox is the Diane Burke of American television) and the TOKEN hunk with a Southern accent, who just happens to be the TOKEN bezzy mate of the TOKEN black. You get the picture.
Television takes all these TOKENS and homogenises them all into bland, colourless characters. Blacks become colourless and whites become colour-blind. There’s no prejudice, no sexism and no hate, because everyone’s treated the same. It’s nice, pristine and happy-clappy.
Over here, soaps do it nicely, even Eastenders. When the sometime actress Troy Titus-Adams, who played the black barmaid who’s name escapes me on Eastenders, when she wasn’t playing a plank of wood, left a big flea in Eastenders’ collective ear when she left the show, branding them tokenists in the worst way for failing to portray ethnic minorities adequately.
Now, anyone who knows the East End, knows full well that Eastenders is nothing like it - just like Coronation Street is nothing like Manchester and Brookside, I’m sure, is nothing like Liverpool’s representative racial make-up. All three shows have their token Asian characters - characters who would warm the cockles of David Blunkett’s heart because they are essentially ENGLISH characters who just happen to be Asian.
The horribly unpleasant Nita on Eastenders is Bianca in another guise. Give her three months and you’ll hear her resounding voice all around the Square, screaming, ‘Rob-BAAAAY!’ Dev and Vik could equally be interchanged with Steve McDonald and Peter Barlow. The girl who used to be on Dinnerladies and prior to that Sonia’s social worker in Eastenders could easily be interchanged with Raquel. Nisha is the moral doppelganger of Gaby Parr, and Gary Parr is silly to even contemplate getting involved with this killer whale.
And now we have the curious case of Jerome, who entered Brookside as a member of Mick Johnson’s extended family, that managed to be whittled away to nothing over the years. Louis Emerick, in one of the earlier on-line chats done by the Brookside cast for Channel 4, actually credited himself with the inception of Jerome as a character, saying that he recommended to Phil Redmond that his on-screen son, Leo, should have more contact with street-suss black male characters. Hence, the arrival of Jerome, who chided Mick for selling out to the white man’s dream of living in suburbia. Jerome was a stereotypical white man’s black man - an underachieving street thug who drew a rough line between honkey and himself. He was conscious of himself and his racial origins. He was just GAGGING to be stopped and searched.
Then, something curious happened. Jerome took on the aura of Michael Jackson. Jerome started to go pale by half. The street suss was abandoned, as were the boyz from de hood mates. Jerome began to smile more and sulk less. Instead of fightin’ massa, Jerome preached peace, love and understanding and danced to the Step’n Fetchit tune. He took on jobs and was a conscientious worker, he went to university and became designer-conscious and lazy, and not above scamming for money the way many Scousey students are supposed to do. He even acquired the ubiquitous blonde girlfriend, before being tempted away from her side by a sultry, dark lass two shades of being bad.
Jerome became white.
And now he’s going, leaving the show complete with Stevie Wonder cornrows and a social conscience.
And Brookside will be white once more. We needn’t talk about the Caucasianisation of Nisha. She’s the furthest thing from Asian culture immaginable. Of course, since forced marriages are being featured in the news today, we could always introduce Nisha’s family trying to force her into an unwanted marriage to an archtypical fat, tyrannical Osama Bin Laden-type mullah - but that’s not politically correct, is it? Better to leave her the sort of Asian 21st Century lass that Phoney Tony and all his cronies long to see in these isles.
Another day begins.
Tim comes downstairs in Hotel Corkhill to find Jimmy hard at hoovering the lounge.
Nisha, dressed and ready for work, passes a sullen, drunken, stinking, sour Katie in the flat.
Over at the Dixons, Mike Dixon sits on a chair, his head tipped back and his mouth agape. Rachel and Ray lean over him, peering into the dark recesses of his oral cavity - cavity being the operative word. Rachel reaches into Mike’s mouth with a pair of pliers and attempts to pull his tooth.
Tim gathers enough courage to ask Jimmy how his chat with Happy Smiling Helen went. Jimmy’s pessimistic. Helen didn’t have to say it, but she gave him every indication that she wanted him to naff off. Funny, he muses, he was thinking of how Jackie would have reacted to such a conversation. Jackie would have left him in no doubt that she didn’t want him, he said. It would have been all hair-pulling and slinging things.
Well, suggests Tim, trying to be optimistic, if Helen didn’t actually TELL Jimmy to sling his hook, he was still in with a chance.
Jimmy admits that her bottle went, once he’d told her everything about his illness.
Ray and Rachel continue to examine Mike’s open mouth. Rachel confirms hopelessly that the tooth is still there. She can’t pull it out, she says, and it’s oozing puss. (Mike, my friends, has an abscessed tooth). He’ll joost’ave ter tek mo-ah pain kil-lehs.
Mike moans that the ones he’s been using are now no longer any good for the pain.
Mike mentions that a mate of his at work told him that someplace people were able to buy kits that enabled them to pull their own teeth.
Oooh, Rachel witters, not liking the sound of that.
Ray remembers that a mate of his in the army used to pull his own teeth. He got bad gum disease as a result, he says. Not very hygenic all around.
Rachel asks Ray to stop talking about sooch things.
Ray proceeds to examine the Dixon lounge carpet. ‘You know,’ he says, looking at it closely, ‘Jess and I fancy a shag in the bedroom.’
Rachel and Mike glance at Ray sharply, shocked at such frankness, but his next statement makes it obvious he was referring to carpets. Jess had vetoed the idea, he says. She thinks you can’t beat the warmth of a regular carpet.
Mike mentions asking his mate, Fat Lennie, about these do-it-yourself tooth-pulling kits, but Rachel warns him against it. Maybe he should go back to the dental hospital, she suggests.
He can only use the dental hospital in an emergency, Mike explains to his dimwit wife for the umpteenth time. It’s down to him to visit his dentist now.
Sammy’s on the phone, yet again, to Louise. Louise is doing something with her innumerable friends and she forces Sammy to apologise for disturbing her. Before ringing off, Louise asks after her Auntie Katie, who’s just slinked slimily into the room.
Katie’s on a downer at the moment, remarks Sammy, thoughtlessly, and ends the conversation.
Katie asks in a sullen whine why Sammy told Louise that she was on a downer.
Sammy avoids answering the question, instead asking Katie if she slept all right. Sammy rummages through the cupboard and announces that they could really do with some groceries.
Katie volunteers half-heartedly to see to that.
Isn’t she going to work? Asks Sammy.
No, replies Katie, she hates the late shift.
Well, reasons Sammy, she hates that late shift at the Health Club, but they have to work. Besides, Nisha’s not going to have such a great day either. She has the coroner’s hearing into Mrs Tucker’s death.
Katie sits sullenly on the sofa.
Why doesn’t she TRY to cheer up? Asks Sammy, bleakly. If she doesn’t feel like going to work, at least have her hair done or do some shopping? ANYTHING to get her out and about!
At that moment, Dr Parr and Naughtie Nisha the Nudie Nurse are returning from the inquest. Dr Parr is still lamenting not being able to do more for Mrs Tucker and admits to being touched by the thanks received from her family, even inviting him to attend the funeral. He still feels he could have done more for her.
Nisha says that Dr Parr spent the better part of an hour trying to rescusitate an 84 year-old woman, who was 82 the previous week when she died, and who had cancer. He was remarkable, she says, before adding callously, that she didn’t know if she would have tried so hard, herself, considering Mrs Tucker’s age and circumstances. (THAT’S LOVELY to know! Nisha’s supposed to be a nurse!)
Dr Parr replies piously and nobly that he treats all his patients the same, no matter what their ages. But he did note that Mrs Tucker had suffered severe strokes as well in the past and had a DNR order attached to her medical notes.
Nisha asks Dr Parr if he would rescusitate a patient who had suffered a severe stroke, even if it meant their quality of life subsequently would be impaired?
Dr Parr replies that he would, wouldn’t Nisha?
Nisha isn’t sure she would. In fact, if she were certain that the patient wouldn’t enjoy the same quality of life as before, she wouldn’t hesitate to play God and commit euthanasia. (I must say this doesn’t surprise me about Nisha at all, considering the over-inflated view she sustains about herself).
‘Then you’d end up someplace else other than a coroner’s court,’ quips Dr Parr and thanks her for holding his hand at the inquest that morning.
The couple part ways, and Dr Parr nips into the garage to grab a nutritious shrink-wrapped sandwich. The pleasant Leanne greets him, becoming more and more of a cartoon character every day.
As she serves him at the till, Leanne takes an opportunity to ask the doctor if he knows anything at all about phobias. You see, she explains, she was worried about the fact that her birthday was Friday.
Why did she have a phobia about Fridays? Parr asks, puzzled.
Well, Leanne rapidly explains, it wasn’t about Fridays as sooch, it was more about Friday the 13th. She’d often wondered and worried about what it would feel like to have a birthday on Friday the 13th.
Dr Parr, maintaining the puzzled frown on his brow, assures Leanne that she has nothing to worry about if, indeed, her birthday didn’t fall on Friday the 13th. As he turns to go, Leanne has another query.
And does the doctor believe in the phenomenon of spontaneous comboostion? She asks.
Dr Parr tries to make his excuses and go, but Leanne persists. You know, she says, the theory that any place, anytime, a person can just go - whoosh! - up in flames - anywhere - watching telly, in the bath - although, she adds, she supposes it couldn’t really happen in a bath, because the water would put the fire out.
Well, Dr Parr says, rapidly, trying to beat a hasty retreat, he’s certain that if Leanne remains positive, she’ll be all right.
That’s right, she gloats. The master of her own destiny. And she begins to thank the doctor profusely for his support and encouragement. She’s even willing to forget his non-support in her damages claim against Bev. Why, Leanne wants him to know that she’s even thinking of joining his practice as a patient.
Dr Parr looks less than pleased.
Nisha, after Parr-ting, enters NNT to find poor, pitiful, stinky, smelly, rancid, greasy Katie sitting, stupefied by excess booze, on her own in the filthy flat. Hiding her distaste and frustration at almost a year of dealing with this incessant whinger, Nisha tells Katie that it isn’t good for her to sit here in the flat all on her own.
Katie drowsily raises her grease-ridden head to gaze glassily at Nisha, summoning enough energy to inform Nisha that she can’t face people at the moment. Above all, she can’t deal with work - looking at and filing people’s notes, dealing with death certificates.
Nisha’s beyond sympathy now. Once again, more brusquely this time, she tells Katie it’s time she moved on. Of course, she misses Clint, but instead of dwelling on the past incessantly, she should focus more on her future. Fill her life with activities for the time being, anything to avoid the humdrum of reliving life with Clint over and over again in her mind.
Now, she says in a school-matronly fashion, suppose Katie puts in a few hours at the clinic this afternoon. She’ll tell the other staff not to overload Katie with work - anything to show Dr Parr that Katie’s sincere in making an effort.
The miserable, stinking wretch promises nothing.
Meanwhile, back at Hotel Corkhill, Tim isn’t giving up on Jimmy’s chances with Helen yet. He reminds Jimmy of the film he took Tim to see awhile back, Romeo and Juliet (presumably the one with Leonardo Di Caprio and Claire Danes). Tim waxes lyrical of all the trials and tribulations endured by Romeo just to capture the heart of Juliet.
Romeo wasn’t put off by obstacles.
‘Romeo and Juliet,’ quips Jimmy, sounding like a deadpan Ringo Starr. ‘Look what happened ter them. They topped themselves.’
Yes, urges Tim, suddenly a budding expert on Shakespeare, but they knew they were right for each other.
Rather than Romeo, Jimmy says, right now he feels more like Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Look, says Tim, encouragingly, all Jimmy has to do is keep taking his meds. Helen will surely see soon enough that he’s just like anyone else.
‘She’s afraid to stick around,’ Jimmy moans, ‘in case I start to slide.’
Tim reminds Jimmy that he and Emily were afraid of Jimmy, when they didn’t understand the nature of his illness. Perhaps Jimmy should start by asking Ray to have another word with Helen.
Ray doesn’t want to see Jimmy and Helen together, Jimmy says, morosely.
Well, Tim says primly, if Tim were in Jimmy’s situation at the moment, and the tables were turned, Jimmy would be right here telling Tim not to assume anything, just to get in there and make it right with Helen. And what better way to do it than to give her what she wants, Jimmy says, warming to the idea. He’s got his computer ... He aims to trace Helen’s mum for her. He’s certain he can do it.
Adele is leaving for work at the garage and passes Plank, who’s doing another cash-in-hand job on a car (for which he pays no income tax or NI). Plank teases her about doing another hour’s work for her planned holiday. Adele cheekily asks Plank to sub her a loan of a fiver until the weekend.
Plank now teases her about Matty, her boyfriend, binning her. Adele retorts that Matty never binned her. In fact, she binned him.
Plank is curious upon hearing this and wants to know why. Adele wants to be careful, he warns, that she doesn’t get a reputation for going out with too many fellas.
Adele gives him a smug look and flounces off, as Tim approaches from Hotel Corkhill.
‘Families, eh?’ Tim remarks, as Plank watches his sister saunter off, switching her arse provocatively.
‘Who’d have’em?’ Laughs Plank.
Tim admits that he hardly sees anything of his anymore - indeed, there’s almost no one left. (Not true - there’s Carmel, Ben, and Melanie, who must be around the age of Emily, herself now). Plank asks if Tim misses his mum, and Tim replies sadly that he hardly has one anymore. Tim then asks Plank if he misses Jan.
Not miss her exactly, Plank says, but sometimes she still comes into his head.
Jimmy’s going on about trying to find Helen’s mum, Tim says, warily, and he asks Plank if Plank ever thinks about wanting to find or see Jan.
Plank won’t say yes or no, but he does admit that his real mother is on his mind a lot. (Oooooooooooooooooh ... Now mention of a character like this, TWICE in a scene, USUALLY presages an imminent appearance. So, as the second Mrs Murray’s about to depart, does this hint at a return of the first Mrs M? Wonder what frustrated Liverpool housewife they’ve lined up to play her?)
Back at Number 8, Mike is still suffering with his tooth. Rachel is fussing about him, asking what the pain’s like after having taken the remaining two painkillers. Mike replies that there only remains a dull ache. Oooh, says Rachel, the very picture of concern, mebbe M-eye-ke oughter eat soomthink.
Mike replies, cupping his jaw, that he’s not hungry.
Oooh, says Rachel, in wonder, mebbe M-eye-ke oughter’ave soomthink ter drink.
Oooh, echoes Ray, Mike’s got an infected tooth there. He doesn’t want anything too hot or too cold on it. It might affect the nerve. Anyway, Ray announces, he’s off out to make a start on the bungalow’s rear garden.
When Ray stumps out the back door, Rachel asks Mike again if he does want something to drink. Mike jokes that he only wants two things - a gag for Ray and some stronger painkillers.
Outside, Tim apologises to Plank for bringing up the thorny subject of his real mother. Never mind, Plank dismisses, Jan did what she did and it hurt. No matter how much he tries to plaster over his feelings for her, she always comes back to dwell in his mind.
As the lads chat, Ray approaches them, asking them if they were busy that afternoon. Tim admits that he’s bored. All he’s been doing all day is watching telly - and not even digital at that, which they didn’t have.
Well, if they weren’t doing anything in particular, Ray suggests, how about they help him shift some rubbish in the back garden of the bungalow?
As Ray’s talking with the lads, Jimmy bounds from Hotel Corkhill and shouts a greeting from Ray. Immediately, he sees Ray, he asks if he’s seen Helen lately.
Er, no, Ray stutters, trying to avoid Jimmy. As a matter of fact, he was on his way to the chemist just now and wanders off.
Jimmy looks disheartened for a moment, but Tim suggests to him that he help Tim and Plank shift the rubbish from the bungalow’s garden for Ray, as he’d well stitched them up by wandering off.
Jimmy is reluctant to do so, until Tim reminds him that Ray is Jimmy’s lifeline back to Helen.
Over on The Parade, Nisha storms angrily back into NNT, confronting the increasingly pathetic and drunken Katie, who’s still lolling, inebriated, on the front room sofa. Nisha accuses the drunken wretch of making a prime fool of her by not showing up at work.
Poor, pitiful Katie hoists herself into a sitting position and slurs that her head was all over the place that afternoon and -
Nisha rants that she can only cover for Katie’s ‘tummy bug’ for just so long. She couldn’t really tell the staff downstairs that Katie was rotten drunk up here in the flat and had been for the past two days. Taking advantage of Nisha as a friend was one thing, Nisha says threateningly, but taking advantage of her as a colleague was in a different league altogether.
Nisha grabs the phone and shoves it into Katie’s hands, ordering her to call the clinic and inform them that Katie won’t be coming in at all today. Poor, pitiful Katie gazes blankly at the apparatus as though it’s from outer space.
And if Katie DARES show up stinking of drink, Nisha warns, Nisha would notify the practice manager ... Officially.
Tim, Raymundo and Plank work at clearing the rubbish from the back garden of the bungalow. Plank whines about getting splinters in his hands. Tim asks Plank if he could replace any of his body parts at all, which would he replace. Plank replies instantly that he could do with some new pecs.
Tim asks the same question of Ray. Ray replies that he’d want a new prostate gland.
Prostate gland? Asks Tim, quizzically. What’s that.
‘It’s part of your wedding tackle,’ explains Ray. ‘Men have’em but don’t notice that they have’em until something goes wrong.’ When they’re about Ray’s age, he adds.
Ray grabs a spare piece of plyboard and takes a pencil from his pocket and begins to draw a diagram, showing where the prostate is located. Here’s the bladder, explains Ray, and here’s what controls your pee, he adds. And when a bloke goes to the doctor to get his prostate examined, Ray continues, with relish, the doc has to put on rubber gloves and lubricating jelly -
That’s enough for the lads, who move away in disgust.
‘Well, you did ask,’ laughs Ray, innocently.
Tim dashes off, shouting that he has to go drain his prostate; but once he’s out of earshot of Ray, he pulls out his mobile and rings Jimmy.
Back at NNT, Katie opens a large jar of prescription-looking tablets and empties them into a large envelope.
Meanwhile, downstairs, Rachel walks along The Parade and encounters Nisha, who, for some reason, has stuck her head outside the front door of the clinic. Nisha greets her and asks how she is.
Oooh, Rachel says, she’s O-ak-keh. She were coomin’ ter see Nisher any road. She needs stronk pa-in-kil-keh fer M-eye-ke’n thought Nisher could prescr-eye-be soomthink.
Well, not the strong stuff, Nisha replies. She’s only entitled to prescribe light meds. She asks Rachel what Mike needs painkillers for.
Oooh, ‘e ‘s to-ath-ache, says Rachel.
Well, in that case, he needs to see his dentist, Nisha says, but if he needs something for pain, he’ll have to see a doctor at the clinic. Only the docs could prescribe this, and he does need to be seen.
Oooh, no-ah, says Rachel, sadly. She thought she could get soomthink here.
Nisha thinks a moment and then does something highly unethical. She informs Rachel that she has some stronger stuff upstairs in the flat - for her own personal use. She’ll nab a few tablets and bring them round to the Dixons’ later on, she promises.
But as she enters the surgery again, she’s distracted. Dr Parr, as a way of thanking her for her help with the inquest earlier that day, suggests that they meet later on for a pizza. Gaby was going to be late at a conference this evening, he explains. Nisha readily agrees, suggesting that they meet at the bar for a drink at seven.
Across the Parade, Leanne is barking orders at Adele, who’s trying to arrange a window display. At the same time, Leanne is wittering on about Dr Parr’s visit. Why, she and the doc are like that now, Leanne informs Adele, holding her forefinger and middle finger close together. She barks another order at Adele to say that she wants the window display to be at least 4 feet high.
As the two girls talk, a tall, creepy-looking boy approaches from the background. When he comes into focus, we see he looks like a fourteen year-old Steve McMeniman, with spots and glasses. When he speaks he sounds like Terry Christian. He calls out Adele’s name.
This is Russell.
Russell is afraid Adele is binning him now too. Adele, not wanting to give him the time of day for some reason, says that she’s trying to let him down gently.
Sammy and Nisha are back at NNT. Sammy has made some tea and looks in the fridge for some milk. There isn’t any. Damn! She told Katie to get some milk today. Nisha reaches into the cupboard to get the painkillers for Mike. She’s shocked to find the bottle, which was full that morning, nearly empty.
She asks Sammy if she’s used this bottle, but Sammy denies it. Then Nisha’s eyes travel suspiciously to the door of Katie’s room. She’s going to search Katie’s room, she announces.
Sammy tries to dissuade her.
Nisha tells Sammy that this morning this bottle of painkillers was nearly full and now it’s nearly empty. And these are STRONG painkillers, she says. She’s afraid Katie might be hoarding these and she might try to OD.
Katie wouldn’t do that, insists Sammy again. She might talk about it, as she said before, but she won’t do it.
As Nisha’s said before and says again, Katie just might talk about it AND do it.
Sammy wants to keep an eye on her sister, Nisha warns her. This bottle was FULL.
As Plank and Tim finish helping Ray, the older man promises the lads a drink at the weekend. The lads thank him, saying they could do with a pint. As Jimmy comes into view, Tim suggests that he and Plank have a cup of tea at Sitcom House and leave Jimmy to face Ray.
Jimmy immediately asks Ray if he’s chanced to speak to Helen today. Ray confirms shortly that he hasn’t spoken to her.
Jimmy says desperately that he could explain everything fully to Helen, and Helen would listen too, if she could only see that Jimmy had Ray’s support. After all, Ray was supposed to be his mate.
Ray says he’s not about to put his granddaughter at risk.
‘I’m not a pyscho,’ cries Jimmy.
It wasn’t 18 months ago, Ray reminds Jimmy, bluntly, that he stood with Jim atop a roof at Brookie Comp. And then there was the recent escapade when Jimmy tried to walk through the Mersey Tunnel.
Helen’s pretty emotional right now, Ray continues. She’s only just lost her mother. All this is bound to upset her. She needs someone rational right now.
Rational, repeats Jimmy, like a mantra. If she wants rational, he’ll show her rational.
Dr Parr and Nisha share a drink at an intimate table at the bar. Nisha tells Dr Parr about Katie’s excessive grieving for Clint and Dr Parr waxes lyrical about Mrs Tucker. Nisha says Mrs Tucker makes her think of her own parents and wonders what sort of health problems they might be suffering at the moment.
Are they well? Asks Dr Parr.
Nisha never sees them, she says. She’s got brothers and sisters, but they’ve all split up all over. Some in Liverpool, some in the Middle East.
Dr Parr proposes that they drink the Queen’s health.
Mike is still suffering with his tooth. He remarks to Rachel that he thought she said Nisha was bringing some painkillers over.
Oooh, says Rachel, gazing at the clock and trying to figure out what time it is, guess Nisher moosta bin bu-seh.
Mike’s got to work tonight with this pain, he moans. Rachel wonders why he can’t skip work. (Work? What’s that? Why work when Jacqui has money?)
Mike has to work.
Oooh, Rachel has a suggestion, wh-eye no’ borra moon-eh froom Ron fer dentist-
No, replies Mike, adamantly, and he doesn’t want Rachel asking Jacqui for the money either. He’ll just have to suffer until he gets paid and can go to the dentist. Until then, he’ll have to rely on painkillers.
Back at the bar, Dr Parr’s just taken a call on his mobile. Gaby’s not coming home tonight, he informs Nisha, who’s eyes light up at the prospect of pulling a decent and noble man. It happens all the time, he says, explaining his wife’s absence. She’s at a conference in Manchester and has had a bit too much to drink. She’s spending the night with her old schoolmate Bobbie.
Nisha asks Dr Parr if he always wanted to be a doctor. Dr Parr says the choice was virtually made for him, but admits that he’s never wanted to do anything else. He reminsces about the times when he was a child he’d accompany his father, a consultant urologist, on his Saturday morning rounds, along with his father’s medical students. He also reminisces about how his father would always quiz him about anatomy, when all he was thinking about was how to get in the pants of a girl named Lindy Hughes.
So Dr Parr’s father is a urologist, Nisha remarks.
Yes, replies Dr Parr, and confirms that he wasn’t smart enough to make the consultancy grade. You know how it is, he eulogises, a kid tries so hard, and the parents try not to show their disapproval at the kid’s failure. Never mind, they say; as long as you’re happy, they say ... When they really mean that they disapprove.
When Jimmy returns to Hotel Corkhill, Tim asks him if he’s had a word with Ray. Jimmy replies that he’s got everything sussed now. The key to Helen is to find her mother.
But Jimmy’s tried, says Tim. And all he’s run up against is blind alleys.
Well, the way now is to impress Helen with rational concentration, and, thus, to find her mother.
Dr Parr, loosened by the flow of wine, remarks to Nisha that he sometimes feel taken for granted by his wife. It makes a bloke’s ego pretty low, he says, when his wife doesn’t want to spend time with him.
Well, Nisha thinks he’s great company, she says, invitingly.
Dr Parr remarks that he appreciates Nisha’s quick wit.
She’s always been a strong person, says Nisha, provocatively, and she likes to be ON TOP of a situation, she adds with a touch of sexual double entendre. (Yeah, I bet she does, the slut). Their hands entwine on the table. Dr Parr suggests they adjourn for coffee, and Nisha confirms that she’d quite like an early night.
The slut rises, expecting the doctor to follow.
We know he does, but there’s an uncomfortable look on his face.
Maurice Bessman wrote this.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002