THE NEW FAMILY: MY VERDICT
Apologies for the tardiness of these summaries, as I've only just returned from a long weekend in Spain, depositing eldest daughter with family friends to spend six weeks in the country learning the language. Before anyone asks, yes she IS sixteen, which is the same age as Adele Muddie, but the difference being she's living with a Spanish family we know and trust, as well as living in a provincial town, which is cosmopolitan in that its university offers courses for foreign students in the summer. There IS an element of misbehaving and drunkenness during this time - due, primarily, I might add to the British and American element of student passing the summer there. But she knows that if she misbehaves in ANY way that might be construed as an insult to local culture and custom, the paterfamilias of the household has our supportive permission to deal with her as he would his own daughter. Enough said.
Two of this week's episodes I watched before we left; the Thursday ep I taped and watched on my return.
I think, after a fortnight of the new family - especially since Alan has kindly designated me Brookside's unofficial critic - it's high time I rendered my verdict on the Gordons.
Since returning, I've boned up on all the comments being made about that lot on the Official Forum. I understand Annabelle was away for most of the weekend as well, and I had to laugh at the syncophantic free-rein the tweenie-boppers had on that medium. The Gordons got unstinting praise. They are a great, sorry a gr8 family, the lads are fit, they'll do great things for Brookside ... Yadda yadda.
Hello?
Were you watching the same programme as me? I think not, Finknottle.
So, after two weeks of Gordonmania, here's my verdict:-
The Gordons are nothing new to Brookside, as were the Muddies. It's rehash, pure and simple. Nothing wrong with that. All soaps rehash. After all, what's the Phiw-Lisa-Mark sandwich, but a rehash of Ian-Cindy-Wicksy from twelve years ago?
The problem with Brookside is that their rehash is recognisable rehash. Those of us who have watched Brookside for more than five years KNOW that the Gordons are really the resuscitated Grants, just as the Muddies are a repeat of the Dixons. Think about it. Furthermore, the Gordons are the Grants, with a dash of Mandy Jordache and a little twist of Mo Slater Morgan thrown in for flavour.
The best thing about the Gordons is the parents, although I have to laugh at Brookside's misrepresentation of the family as totally Scouser and then having to backtrack because the Cockney chef-cum-actor who portrays the father can't handle a Liverpudlian accent. So now, he's a Londoner who's lived in Liverpool for so long that he's acquired some of the verbal expressions.
Sorry, Brookside, that old chestnut won't work, me old darlin'. I've lived amongst Londoners for over twenty years now, and I can tell you that anyone from the capital city has a chip on his shoulder regarding his identity as a LONDONER far wider than any belligerant Scouser could ever hope to have. This is the REAL situation: SCOUSERS come SOUTH to London to find work. Londoners rarely go to Liverpool and if they do, it's because they are such failures that they border on being institutionalised for life. It simply wouldn't happen.
The mother, I understand, is a proven journeyman actress. She seems OK. As I've said before, she looks like a roughed-up Jenny Agutter - whoops! Another Londoner!
But the overall impression I get of the Gordons is that they are just another pig-shit ignorant, mouthy, belligerant, bickering bunch of SHOUTERS and SCREAMERS conducive to the image of Liverpudlians as a whole, that Phil Redmond seems intent on selling to the nation. I've never seen kids so ill-mannered as the three adolescents inhabiting the household. My kids are 16, 12 and nearly 7 and there's nowt as much bickering and shouting as those three.
The girl, clearly hired for her 36DD cup, ensconced in a two-sizes too small teeshirt emblazoned with BITCH across the front, spends all her time moaning about her mobile and wanting to pick up her car. Sorry, HER CAR? She's supposed to be 18 and off to university? She's SUPPOSED to be intelligent? She couldn't even fathom why the immersion heaters weren't working to turn on the hot water. Well, she's a Scouser! What did you expect? Dear old Mockney-Cockney Dad had the nous to realise the switch had to be turned on. So her boyfriend dumped her by text message. Well, who could blame him, her having a gob like that!
The older sister, who's another bitch, but worse, a deceptive one, looks like pure 100% white trash. She wouldn't be at home on the backroads of Alabama, with the tune from Deliverance playing in the background. Same ratty, snarly, dirty, bleached-blonde hair, with the roots showing, same weak chin, same rabbity, up-turned nose. As I said in the last summary, I half expected her to show up with pink eye and green snot running from her nose. She dropped out of university? Pull the other one.
The wife-beating husband who makes a brief appearance, looks like Gareth Gates after he's been corrupted by Lily Savage, and the boyfriend, a posh boy trying desperately to maintain a Liverpudlian accent, looks like a reject from a BBC cardigan sitcom starring Anton Rogers.
The two sons are just thugs. Sorry, but where I live, albeit in the 'soft' Southeast, the only type of kid who wears a number one tennis-ball haircut is a yob - straight up. To make them more realistic, Brookside should attire the pair of them in Gap hooded sweatshirts and Nike baseball caps. They come across as ignorant, peevish, selfish, belligerant, little gits who want to be thrashed soundly and ferreted away to respective Borstals.
Oh, yes, and ALREADY the family have had a punch-up in the Close. So what else is new? Scally Scousers fighting in Brookside Close. Common. Trashy. Is that what a visitor can expect on a visit to Liverpool?
They are dysfunctional with a capital 'D', and I'm waiting with baited breath for someone in the family to kill another person, thus making them fit in nicely in the murderous world of Brookside Close:
'Jokers to the left of me, killers to the right, here I am: Stuck in the middle with you.'
Let's hope one of the skin-headed thugs sees fit to kill Jimmy. I'd give them the key to the flaming city of Liverpool, if they did that!
If anyone wants to discuss this on ANY forum, I'll be there (except for the Newsgroup, where the only thing that seems to make the sap rise in some posters is the decor of wallpaper on the houses in the Close and slagging off other people who have nothing more to do with that enterprise).
Even though it's the 10th of July in reality, on Brookside Close, it's still the Fourth; but the only fireworks are those about to explode in and around the vicinity of Number 5, where Rabbity Ruth Gordon hops to the front window and glances surreptitiously out. She looks left; she looks right, then sucking in a huge snorking sniff, she wipes a large globule of green snot away from her upper lip with the sleeve of her white top. Well, what are long sleeves for when you're white trash, but to collect green bogies. Suddenly, from behind her, the land phone rings. She watches is warily, wiggling her little rabbity nose suspiciously.
Another phone is ringing, this one in the plush, decoratively-lit offices of Gaby the Grin. Her little ferret face registers fright.
(What a shame Beatrix Potter is no longer alive. She'd have a field day with the feral characters of Brookside!)
Back on the Close, we're treated to a lingering shot of Emily's legs, stretching to the nether regions of her bum as she walks up the drive to Hotel Corkhill, to be met at the door by Dr Nikki. Emily glances over her shoulder and points to the removal van and several cars parked outside Number 5.
Inside Number 5, Ma Gordon confronts Rabbity Ruth. Is Rabbity Ruth ready to tell her mum how she came by having her face beaten to a pulp?
Before Rabbity Ruth can wiggle her nose, snork some snot and wipe it away with her sleeve, Bitch Gordon is led by her pointy tits into the lounge, SHOUTING that she wants a bath (in the midst of unpacking, of course) and THERE'S NO HOT WATER!!!! SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THE IMMERSION HEATER!!!
(Bicker, bicker, bicker, bicker, bicker, bicker ... SHOUT SHOUT ... SHOUT SHOUT).
Ma Gordon asks Rabbity Ruth once more to tell her what happened.
'Well, ya see, mum,' she begins, 'Ah know you nevah loiked Trevor, but 'e's tryin' evah so'ard -' Er, sorry, wrong soap, one that's GOOD. Rabbity Ruth snorks some snot, wipes some green bogies from the top of her mouth and tells Ma Gordon that Sean, her husband hit her. Ooh, boot she doan wan Moom tellin' Dad, she doan. Dad'll only do soomthink rash.
Dr Parr enters his flat to find Gaby the Grin ferreting through a pile of clothes. (Maybe she's decamping the soap? No such luck). He's equally as surprised to find her home at this hour of the day as to find her doing what she's doing. Gaby the Grin confesses that she thought it was about time she had a bit of a clear-out of fashion at home and left work early.
As long as she doesn't plan to clear him out and all, jokes the Doctor. Oh, and he phoned her mobile earlier and there was no reply.
She turned it off, Gaby the Grin replies, snippishly. Besides, he was still in fashon with her (for a time, at least). Anyway, how was the doctor's day?
Dr Parr is annoyed. He's spent a lot of wasted time and effort being interviewed by his peers because of this business with Mike Dixon.
Well, surely that's good, suggests Gaby the Grin, ignorantly. Surely other doctors will see that Mike Dixon doesn't have a leg to stand on.
This is the NHS, Dr Parr reminds her, sarcastically, which only means that
the case will probably end up being heard in the Court of
Rights in The
Hague, right there alongside Slobodan Milosevic. (What a totally wasted line
of dialogue, considering the fact that the likes of the useless kirsty, the
perfidiously ignorant ilovegerrard, and the simplistically child-like robb2002,
all of Official Forum fame, have neither heard of nor care to know who or what
Milosevic was, is or what he stood for.)
Well, Gaby the Grin ignorantly suggests again, maybe it would help if Dr Parr had a word with Mike Dixon, himself?
Oh, he's not even allowed to approach Mike on any condition, Dr Parr says. The only saving grace in that, being that Mike could collapse openly on a city street, and Dr Parr could justifiably step right over him. What annoys him most of all is that he knows that he reacted to Mike out of self-defence, and Mike has blown this whole thing right out of proportion.
Gaby the Grin sighs, distractedly. Let him get his five minutes of fame in court, she says, wearily, before the whole thing's flung out of court, anyway.
Back at Number 5, Rabbity Ruth Gordon is begging Ma Gordon to be allowed to stay. Ma Gordon asks Rabbity Ruth if she's phoned the police about Sean. Oh, yes, she has, replies Rabbity Ruth, nodding and sucking her snot back up her nose. They've referred her to some special unit dealing with battered wives, because that's what she is now, y'know. She's supposed to record anything similar that might happen.
Well, vows Ma Gordon, they'll do anything that they can ter help her.
Rabbity Ruth darts a little glance around the room and asks where 'the lads' are. Ooh, she IS glad ter have sooch ooonderstandin' parents sooch as them.
Pa Gordon enters the room at this moment, demanding to be apprised of this situation. It was all down ter Sean's drinking, Rabbity Ruth eagerly maintains. Boot, she didn't want her folks ter concerrrrn themselves with it. After all, she was a maddied woman and it was her problem.
Pa Gordon vows to hurt the hapless Sean. (Maybe he can call in some of his Mitchell relatives from the East End.)
Ma Gordon and Rabbity Ruth protest vehemently. That would never do. Let the situation settle down before they do anything. Oh, and Rabbity Ruth doesn't want her pa going to see Sean either.
Ma Gordon asks if Luke, another imbecillic-looking Brookside child, knows what's been going on.
He knows his moom and dad had a row, says Rabbity Ruth, and that the police came and told his daddy ter behave.
Just then the room is filled with Bitch's big tits as she SHOUTS again that THERE'S STILL NO HOT WATER. SHE DEMANDS THAT PA GORDON STOP WHAT HE'S DOING IMMEDIATELY AND FIX THE IMMERSION HEATER. (I demand that Pa Gordon land his hamhock fist against her common-and-garden little ferret face.)
Pa Gordon ignores her. What the hell was he supposed to do when some lout roughs up his daughter? He wants to know.
Nothing drastic, says Rabbity Ruth, hastily.
Surely no one would believe that he'd sit by and do nothing whilst some no-mark hits his daughter? He expresses his disbelief.
Across the way, at Hotel Corkhill, Emily passes from the foyer into the Hotel Corkhill kitchen, pausing long enough to show her arse to the camera and to emphasise the fact that her hairdressers' tunic is little more than an elongated blouse. As she pans her arse to the camera, she asks Dr Nikki if the hem of the garment is straight. (Pause here for thousands of adolescent boys to achieve orgasm, courtesy of their hands down their trousers. All right, robb2002? Got your satisfaction? Great. We can move on now.)
Before Dr Nikki can venture her opinion, Emily has moved on to moan about the new family in Number 5. It must be so nice to have a place of your own, she whinges, to have your own privacy and be able to swan around the house any way you wanted.
Nikki points out that Emily does that anyway.
Not REALLY, argues Emily, because of Jimmy. By the way, where is the Sage? She asks.
Dr Nikki looks decidedly uncomfortable, ducking her frizzy head and looking towards the ground. Ehhhm, Jimmy's put himself out of the way for a bit.
Oh, replies Emily. Is he over at Happy Smiling Helen's?
Ehhhhm, no, stutters Nikki. Ehhhhhm, Nikki sort of put her foot in it with Happy Smiling Helen.
'You what?' Emily asks.
'You heard,' replies Nikki. She told Happy Smiling Helen exactly what she thought about her and her association with Jimmy. Ehhhhm, soddy, boot she had ter do that, fer Jimmy's sake. Silly cow! Nikki continues. Thinks that joost because she's read a few books on the soobject, she knows all there is ter know about manic-depression.
(Excuse me ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAA! Somehow the words 'pot', 'kettle' and 'black' come to mind here. Is Brookside REALLY for REAL with Nikki, best described by Jim Shelley as an 'airheaded alcoholic'?)
Ehhhm, and has Nikki told Jerome what she did? Asks Emily, as if Nikki has to gain Jerome's approbation before doing anything.
Again, Nikki averts her sister's eyes and begins fiddling with her frizzy locks, just like Mrs Eeem across the Close would do in similar circumstances. Ehhhhm, she hasn't exactly told Jerome yet, she admits. Boot, she knows she can't go away with him the way he wants - not while things were in sooch a mess with Jimmy.
Back at Bicker-Bicker House, Bitch Gordon enters the lounge balancing a box emblazoned with the words 'corned beef' on her horizontal tits. THIS BOX WAS IN HER ROOM, she shouts. IT'S NOT HERS!
Ma Gordon, who looks increasingly more and more like a poor white, laconically looks up at the big-breasted beast she bore and tells her that it probably belongs to one of the lads. Oh, and as the Bitch isn't doing anything but annoying the shit out of everyone in the house and the majority of viewers also, why doesn't she make herself useful and take that annoying little tyke Luke out for a walk?
SHE CAN'T, shouts Bitch. HER MOBILE'S NOT FULLY CHARGED YET. So now we know, she runs on batteries. Brookside have finally achieved casting a rubber sex toy in a role. Her tits swing round and lead her from the room.
Ma Gordon turns lazily to Rabbity Ruth and opines that Bitch is having boyfriend problems at the moment.
Pa Gordon still can't believe that his own daughter doesn't want him to sort her husband out for hitting her.
Rabbity Ruth sucks back some snot through her nostrils, wipes the green fluid remainnig on her upper lip with the sleeve of her white top and tells her dad that everything will be all right, as the bizzies know.
Besides, whines Ma Gordon, it wouldn't look nice, now, would it fer Pa Gordon ter put his son-in-law in hospital.
Pa Gordon is dying for a smoke. Rabbity Ruth is so surprised that her Pa has stopped smoking, she almost chokes on the snot she's snorking back through her nose.
It's important fer everybody ter stay caaaam, whines Ma Gordon, sounding like the mother of one of Harry Enfield's Scousers. 'Caaam down, caaam down, everybody.'
Bitch's tits lead her back into the lounge, waving her mobile in one hand and dragging the po-faced little Luke by the other. HER MATE, ELLIE, IS ON THE PHONE, she announces, shouting. CAN SHE GO TER ELLIE'S AND PICK UP HER CAR? OH, AND ELLIE WANTS TO KNOW WHERE THEY LIVE. WHAT'S THE ADDRESS AGAIN?
(I really wonder if people in their teens in Liverpool are as stupid as this lot of shouters and screamers. Surely someone her age would know their new address when their parents moved? I find this repetitive line and instance more than annoying.)
Ma Gordon sighs and tells Bitch that they now live at Number 5, Brookside Close. Bitch shouts down the mobile to Ellie that SHE'S NOT SURE IF THEY'RE STILL IN LIVERPOOL. OH, WHAT IS SHE GOING TER DO? SHE'S GOTTER GET TER ELLIE'S TER PICK UP HER CAR? HOW'S SHE GOIN' TER GET THERE FROM BROOKSIDE CLOSE? IT'S MILES AND MILES FROM ANYWHERE.
Ma Gordon lazily looks up at her daughter's massively jutting tits and whines that Bitch will have to take public transport. It joost means taking one extra bus, that's all.
Bitch turns to her rabbit-faced sister and shouts, HAS SEAN EVER HIT YER BEFORE? (Lovely how all this dialogue is joined up cohesively).
Rabbity Ruth avoids answering the question, by wiping more green snot from her nose. Turning her snot-shiny face upwards towards her towering sister's tits, Rabbity Ruth smiles and suggests that Bitch show her her room and she'd help her sort her things out.
As they exit the lounge, Ma Gordon and Pa Gordon, sitting opposite each other,
put their heads together in a manner reminiscent of Griff Rhys Jones and Mel
Smith, as Ma Gordon hisses, 'We troosted that man with our daughter.'
Jacqui has stopped by to see Max at the restaurant, and they're sitting in a booth. Max is having the mother of all moans about his in-laws. Ron's simply driving him around the twist. He's been over at Number 8 three times already, scouring the place for some box he's mislaid. And if it's not Ron, Max continues, it's Mike and his constant carping about his case against Gary Parr.
Jacqui agrees. Mike's behaviour about this thing is simply disgoosting. It's obvious he's in this in hopes of receiving a pay-off in compensation.
Well, Max's theory is that Mike's obsessed with this thing because he hasn't got anything better to do with his time. He's hardly breaking his neck about finding another job, is he?
'D'ye know,' replies Jacqui, 'what that daft Bev even sooggested ter me last week? That I make Mike bar manager!' (Why is that now a daft suggestion? Didn't Jacqui not only make Mike bar manager once before, she also made him licencee? Do the writers not remember this?)
Speaking of Bev, Max announces, she's actually volunteered to babysit for the Farnhams that evening, so Max and Jacqui could have an evening out.
Instead of being grateful, Jacqui's highly suspicious. Oh, she's a crafty one, that Bev, Jacqui hisses. This is all ter do with this childcare thing, trying to make Jacqui feel guilty. But anyway, where does Max plan on taking Jacqui?
Why, to The Shelf, where else? He admits, apologetically. He feels he ought to be here this evening to support Lance.
Jacqui jokes that she hopes Max likes synchonised swimming, because that's what's being practiced in the pool that evening. In fact, they could even put a few tables around the pool.
Up in Bitch Gordon's bedroom, she whinges altissimo voce to her rabbit-faced sister. SHE'S JOOST GOTTER GET BACK WITH HER BOYFRIEND, PETE. OOH, SHE WAS JOOST MISERABLE WITHOUT HIM. SHE'D ALREADY TEXTED HIM HER HOME NOOMBER HERE. IT'S JOOST THAT HE'S AWAY AT UNI, MEETING ALL SORTS OF NEW PEOPLE.
Rabbity Ruth sniffs and wipes her sleeve across her face. Bitch would be best to take a leaf of lettuce from Rabbity Ruth's book of life. Bitch should forget about Pete and go to university, herself.
Just look at Rabbity Ruth. She started at university, then she ditched her boyfriend Dan for Sean, and now she was stuck with him. She should have stuck with university and not fallen pregnant.
Bitch points out that Rabbity Ruth could still go back to uni and finish.
'Oh, yeah,' sniffs the snot-faced one, 'with Luke at a creche, sure.' (Well, why not, as Barry Norman would say. It's possible, if that's what a person wants. But Rabbity Ruth is a Scouser and a poor white, so she'd rather bewail her bereft state of life, much like Mike and Rachel Dixon).
But if Rabbity Ruth had done all those things correctly, reasons Bitch, struggling with the concept of logic, she wouldn't be blessed with a child like Luke.
'It's everything that goes with Luke that's the problem', mutters Rabbity Ruth, sucking back the snot through her nostrils.
Over at Hotel Corkhill, Emily is exasperated with her sister. She can't understand Nikki. One minute, she's off on a trip around the world with her boyfriend and the next minute, she's not. And she's willing to sacrifice all that for Jimmy Corkhill? Why, Jimmy's so wrapped up in Happy Smiling Helen, Emily doubts he'd even know Nikki had gone. In fact, she's never see n Jimmy so happy. No, sirree. Nikki should forget that oddjob and take off with Jerome. (Good, common-sense advice, Emily).
Dr Nikki flies into Emily for referring to Jimmy as an 'oddjob'. Jimmy needs her help, she maintains.
Pa Gordon is on the phone again to the hapless Kevin, the Scouser who's incapable of wiping his arse if a Londoner isn't around to supervise it. He SHOUTS at Kevin to sort the problem at work out. He's booked two days off to concentrate on his move.
Rabbity Ruth slinks out of the kitchen into the lounge, whining that there was no milk for Luke the bunny to drink. Ma Gordon, who's supposed to be busy with the move, but who's still sitting stolidly and stupidly on the sofa, looks up uncomprehendingly. Oooh, well, she reasons, maybe Rabbity Ruth should take a hike down to the garage and buy a carton of milk.
Rabbity Ruth, however, has other ideas, as a sneaky look comes into her little pink eyes. Why don't her parents take a break from whining and shouting - er, from moving, and go get the milk. Rabbity Ruth could sort some things out for them in their absence. It's the least she could do. She's made this move thing like a big adventure for Luke.
Ma Gordon, gazes up laconically at her eldest daughter and whines that Rabbity Ruth and Luke the bunny could double up in Ali Ginger's room.
Oooh, Ma Gordon suddenly wonders, how on earth was Rabbity Ruth going to manage without Sean. After all, he had a good job and could support his son.
Rabbity Ruth vows that if she has to, she'll fight Sean for custody of Luke the bunny.
Jacqui's back home in Number 8, Chateau Farnham Nouveau, when she's paid a visit by Mike, who's come over expressly for the purpose of having an audience at which to whinge about his case against Dr Parr.
Jacqui's fed up to the gills with hearing his rant. Surely he isn't serious about forging ahead with this complaint? She asks.
Too right he was, Mike asserts. It's all about Beth and the way she was treated.
Beth was hardly at death's door, Jacqui points out, rightly. She didn't present any of the classic symptoms of meningitis. In fact, it wasn't even a viral form of the disease. She's fully recovered and she got more than adequate care in hospital. Face it, Mike was only taking this thing on as a cack-handed way of making some money.
No, argues Mike, he wants to see that snotty doctor get what he deserves. It's not about a payoff, it's about joostice. (It's really about jealousy on Mike's part for a contemporary who's used his degree qualifications).
'Oh, come off it,' Jacqui scoffs. 'It's nothink ter do with that at all. It's all about petty revenge and a chance ter get yer hands on soom dosh. Yer should be thinkin' of gettin' a job and gettin' on with yer life.'
Mike argues that he's out to defend his daughter. The trouble with Jacqui, he says, is that she and Max think that they're better than any of the other folk around there. His sister's become a toff and she's defending her doctor mate.
Jacqui accuses Mike of being workshy, and while she's on that subject, she says, she'll have her car keys back, especially since he's had exclusive use of her car, without her permission, since Beth was in hospital.
Reluctantly, Mike, humiliated, tosses the keys onto the lounge table.
Meanwhile, at the garage, Adele lolls about the place, gossiping with s-l-o-w-t-a-l-k-i-n-g Laura, who's grabbed a magazine off the rack and stands reading it. They're talking about Marty. Laura says her dad reckons that even if Marty Muddie IS innocent, he could face life imprisonment.
How could he? Argues Adele. He's done nothing.
Hmmm, ponders Laura. Someone's always surprised when a murderer is caught.
There's been no murder, maintains Adele. There's no body.
Then why were the bizzies so determined to question Marty? Asks Laura.
Because he hit Imelda, replies Adele, oblivious to the fact that Ma and Pa Gordon have entered the garage and stand patiently in the background, waiting for Adele to serve them.
Finally, Ma Gordon clears her throat and speaks.
'Excuse me,' begins Ma Gordon, politely. 'Do you both work here?'
Adele glances sourly over her shoulder for a brief second, before turning her attention back to Laura's magazine. 'I do,' she snaps and nods toward Laura. 'She doesn't.'
'And you are?' Asks Ma Gordon, hoping for an introduction.
Adele puts on a simpering face and begins to walk away from the Gordons, not bothering to look in their direction at all. 'I know who I am,' she replies, sassily, 'but do you know who you are?' She and Laura put their heads together and giggle.
'Yes,' replies Ma Gordon, stonily. 'I'm the new owner of the garage.'
Laura leaves quicker than she's ever spoken in her life and Adele, who should have been sacked on the spot for that rude reply, looks as though she has just shat her pants.
Ma Gordon, however, is willing to make amends. They didn't get off to a good start, she reckons. Adele further puts her foot in the mire by telling Ma Gordon that she was expecting someone fat.
How long has Adele worked here? Ma Gordon wants to know.
Adele replies that she's worked there a couple of months, which is another blatant example of bad continuity with the writers. Adele's been working at the garage for the better part of a year. Adele's frightened that her rudeness has cost her her job.
Ma Gordon looks at her wryly and tells the girl that she can continue to work there, as long as she does the job well.
Pa Gordon jokes about how Ma Gordon will soon put a stop to such shenanigans.
Ma Gordon asks Adele if the bar across the road did meals. Adele replies that she's sure that it does, but not until the evening. (Again, this is wrong! How many times have we seen people having lunch in Bar Brookie?) But she's sure that The Shelf, along the way, is serving.
The Gordons reckon that they'll check it out.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Emily, for some reason, can't seem to fathom the fact that Nikki simply HASN'T talked to Jerome about anything to do with Jimmy or the proposed holiday. In fact, Nikki just doesn't talk to Jerome full stop. Still, she has to ask her sister what Jerome thinks about Nikki not going on the holiday he's planned.
Nikki admits (surprise, surprise) that although she hasn't told Jerome, she's thought her reasoning through. She needs to stay here and care for Jimmy, she nobly declaims.
Although Emily apologises for referring to Jimmy as an 'oddjob', Nikki is annoyed at her sister's obvious reference to her sacred Sage as a nutter. Emily protests that she doesn't consider Jimmy a nutter - why, she wouldn't live here if she did. (Yeah, sure, Emily. When Jimmy goes off on one, you're scared shitless. You only stay in the house because the rent is dirt cheap and you're allowed to do as you please. WHEN will someone wake up, smell the coffee and REALISE that JACKIE CORKHILL OWNS THIS HOUSE?!!!!! IT WAS AWARDED HER IN THE DIVORCE SETTLEMENT!!!!!)
The Gordons are seated in a booth in The Shelf, overlooking the swimming pool. Lance serves them both a complimentary glass of wine. He's quick to remind them, unctuously, that although the restaurant and bar doesn't start serving until 7PM, because they're new to the area, he's giving them a complimentary glass of wine each, and will bring the menu round so they can order.
When he leaves, Pa Gordon wonders aloud to Ma Gordon if Lance is gay, as he certainly has the 'mannerisms'. He then begins to moan about Rabbity Ruth and the fact that she's now involved them in solving her marriage problems. What a waste of her life, he comments, falling pregnant by Sean and leaving university.
Awwwww, cooes Ma Gordon, in a bad impersonation of Sue Johnstone in The Royle Family, still, Rabbity Ruth DID give them a lovely grandson. Oooh, there were just so many things to wuddy about now that all this had erupted. What if there were a custody battle with Sean for Luke? Then there's the decision about who gets their house. In many ways, Ma muses, they should have waited a few years before they had Luke, she sometimes wishes.
Pa Gordon vows darkly that the hapless Sean isn't about to get away with hitting his daughter.
Ma urges him to leave the matter in the hands of the police, if Sean tries to bother Rabbity Ruth again. Rabbity Ruth will then have to get a restraining order.
He doesn't know, sighs Pa Gordon, wearily. A body brings his children up well and they bugger off and marry drunks. (The Gordon children are brought up well? Crikey, I'd hate to see kids who've been brought up badly, then!)
Pa Gordon has an idea. Why don't they ALL eat at The Shelf tonight? They could phone and asks the girls to come over. In the meantime, he says, he has to go to the toilet. (Do we really need to know that?)
As he gets up, Ma places a gentle Olivia Waltonesque hand on his arm. Oooh, she does loov him, she tells him, and she loovs the new house as well. And right then and there in The Shelf, they have their fifth snog of their Brookside career. Oooh, she knows she gets onto his case about bringing his work problems home, boot she does loov him and appreciate him. (A sure sign that the marriage is about to descend into some sort of trouble).
Back at Hotel Corkhill, the Shadwick sisters are still arguing. Emily points out to Dr Nikki, yet again, that Jimmy is NOT her problem.
Hmph! Dr Nikki smiles smugly. That Helen thinks she knows everything about Jimmy's condition, just because she's read a few books! (And your qualifications are, Nikki? Oh, this character is becoming such a dire bore. Please put her out of her misery. Let someone choke her to death in front of the camera, so we can cheer the murderer on!) SHE, Dr Nikki, she put that Happy Smiling Helen right about a few things, she did! Only ... And her ratty little face falls worriedly, sorry WUDDIEDLY, her actions seemed to send Jimmy spiralling down. Looking apprehensively at Emily, she says she'd hate to be somewhere like India and have Jimmy go over the edge. (TWO things: where the hell are she and Jerome planning go go and for how long? I thought this was a poxy summer holiday of a few weeks. INDIA? And secondly, with her away, Jimmy would probably put out the flags and celebrate.)
No, Nikki determines, she caused Jimmy's current setback by the row she had with Happy Smiling Helen. She simply couldn't go away now.
Back at Bicker-Bicker House, Bitch Gordon puts down the phone and SHOUTS to her sister, sitting in the same room that MUM AND DAD WANTED THEM TO JOIN THEIR PARENTS FOR A MEAL.
Rabbity Ruth sucks back some snot, wipes the green bogies away from her upper lipe and slurps that although that was nice, Luke was asleep. Anyway, she wasn't hungry. If she got peckish, she'd jooost make some beans on toast. But Bitch should go. There were no signs of the lads yet, she continues. Oh, and bitch should have a lovely time.
Bitch hesitates. We-e-e-ell, she thought maybe Pete might ring her.
Rabbity Ruth hurriedly shoos her sister out of the house. Well, if he does, she promises, she'll take a message for her. After she's literally pushed poor bitch out the door, as if by coincidence (sure) the phone rings. Rabbity Ruth knows who it is, because her rabbity, little white trash face breaks into a grin when she answers - telling the person that she's all the better for hearing his voice. It's DAN THE MAN Morrissey, who ISN'T singing 'Kill the DJ' but probably will before he exits the show - kill the dj, that is, not sing it.
As Adele stands in the garage, loopy Laura slinks shamefully back onto the premises. She apologises to Adele for her previous remarks about Adele's dad. Why, she wouldn't be at all surprised if Adele thought Laura thought Marty a murderer and her a div. (Well, she certainly should think the latter. We all do.) Actually, continues Laura, she thinks Marty Muddie is OK.
The conversation then turns to their holiday plans. They are wuddied because they're MILES behind in getting money to pay for this holiday. (Sorry, but shouldn't it have been paid for by now?) Another one of their mates has dropped out. (How many were going, for Christ's sake?) This means they'll need even MORE money.
Adele asks the reason for the latest drop-out. Laura tells her that the girl's parents refused to give the travel agency written permission. Oh, if only the others did what Adele had done and forged a letter from her parents! (And has Laura?) Still, she says, changing the subject again, what are the new owners like? Was Adele in very much trouble?
They're nice, Adele admits, but Laura had best make her presence scarce for awhile. They're bound to be keen at first.
At that instant, Pa Gordon sprints into the garage, plops some money on the counter and asks Adele for a packet of cigarettes. No sooner than he does that, than Ma Gordon's in the garage as well, snapping at his heels.
'What's the matter?' She asks, severely. 'The toilets in The Shelf not good enough? I mighta known you'd coom here fer a sneaky packet o'fags. Now let's go get our meal!'
And she pulls him bodily from the garage.
A taxi pulls onto the Close and a spikey-haired boy reels out of its interior. He looks like Gareth Gates after he's spent a night with Lily Savage. He lurches in an exaggeration of amateur drunkenness toward Bicker-Bicker House. This is the hapless Sean, husband of Rabbity Ruth.
Jacqui and Max sit in The Shelf, ruminating over Ron's latest obsession - his missing box. Max says that he asked Ron what was inside the box and Ron got very defensive. It must be something veryprecious, says Jacqui.
The hapless Sean rings the doorbell of Bicker-Bicker House. Rabbity Ruth opens the door. The hapless Sean is visibly drunk. He slurs a demand to shee'is shon. Rabbity Ruth threatens to call the police.
The hapless Sean inshishts on sheeing'is shon.
Rabbity Ruth wipes the green snot from the edge of her nostrils with the back of her sleeve and asks him to leave in peace.
The hapless Sean calls her 'scum'.
At that instant - daaaa-da-da-da-daa-daa-daa-daaaa-da-da-da-di-di-daaaaaaaa! - Is it a bird? Is it a plane? NO! It's SUPERDan. SuperDan steps from the shadows of the foyer of Bicker-Bicker House and lands a pithy punch to the hapless Sean's chin. The hapless Sean crumbles like a leaf in November.
SuperDan, who looks as though he stepped from the old May-December sitcom with Anton Rogers and Leslie Dunlop, turns to Rabbity Ruth and observes manfully, 'He's wasted.'
The hapless Sean stumbles to his feet, and warns SuperDan that this is none of hish businesh.
SuperDan manfully takes Rabbity Ruth in his arms and presses her snot-ridden face to his masculine chest.
As the hapless Sean staggers away, he turns and warns the pair standing on the doorstep that he'll be back for his shon.
AND THIS LOT IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE SAVING GRACE OF BROOKSIDE? COME ON.
Andy Lynch wrote this. Loser.
PRAISE THE LORD ...
NOW PASS THE AMMUNITION ...
AND USE IT ... PLEASE!!!
So it’s ‘official’ then, although I’ve yet to see a press release from Mersey TV nor have I yet to see Jim Shelley, Jaci Stephan or any of the other soap pundits bleating or bewailing the fact.
Channel 4 has FINALLY renewed Brookside’s contract.
Before ANYONE on the Official Forum or the Newsgroup who doesn’t bother to read or digest or even fully comprehend what I have to say on the subject of Brookside - and that includes YOU, Robb2002, as you couldn’t be bothered to understand that the Moderator of that forum was ADVOCATING increasing posting space - I want to say that I’m GLAD Brookside is being renewed - although a contract extending to the end of 2004 is hardly what I’d call ‘long-term’, especially as Mark Thompson specified that he was committed to Brookside on such a basis.
The cynic in me is telling me that this is yet another drink in the last chance saloon being offered Phil Redmond. In other words: ‘OK, Phil, here’s the deal. We know it’s going to take time and a reasonable amount of money to save Brookside’s bacon. So we’re giving you a budget we can ill afford, about two-and-a-half years to bring the show up to par. If it’s no better by that time, its nixville for you. Capisce, baby?’
As I’ve said on numerous occasions, occasions my detractors are quick to ignore, I actually WANT Brookside to succeed. I WANT it to be good again. I absolutely hate, detest and loathe what Mersey TV and its various luvvie producers have done to this programme in recent years. To coin a well-used phrase of the Thatcher years, I can even see the ‘green shoots of recovery’ in Phil Redmond’s efforts to return the show to its roots at the present time. It’s just a shame that a lot of Redmond’s hard work is lost on a target group of viewers who are shallow at best, dimmer than a two-watt bulb at worst.
But, in my opinion, Brookside has to do a great deal in order to succeed. Such as:-
The immediate axing of characters who have been on the show too long to maintain any further credibility. This group is headed by the character of Jimmy Corkhill. Phil Redmond should bite the bullet and admit that Jimmy’s character has gone the limit - in fact, in football terminology, Jimmy’s past his second period of extra time and lost the penalty shoot-out in 1999. He should go. Go now. And ALL his incumbent appendages should follow suit. This includes Happy Smiling Helen and Nikki.
Mike Dixon and Rachel should be the next lot to be axed. Mike should venture South to London for job purposes. After all, the Southeast, and London, in particular, is filled to the brim with people from all over the North of England and from Scotland and Ireland too, trying to forge careers. If Mike truly can’t find any work in the Liverpool-Manchester area, let him leave the area for London. Rachel can either go with him, or - as she would be as big a social detriment to him as the idiotic Zoe will be to Dr Antony Trueman on Eastenders - then let her be despatched, child in arms, into the care of her mother in Bristol.
Katie Rogers should be the next casualty. Make her a viable and bona fide alcoholic, and have her committed by Sammy for extensive and long-term care in some residential home - preferably near the Outer Hebrides. She’s done nothing since the bulemia storyline - which should be mentioned, as bulemia, like manic-depression, is only a treatable condition, with no cure.
If Nisha stays, introduce more of her family. We want to see their reactions to her lifestyle. Create storylines around the difficulties encountered by her and her brothers in trying to reconcile their parents’ cultural values to their upbringing in Britain. There was a terrific opportunity last year for Brookside to show inverse racism, when Nisha was going out - or rather, going to bed - with Plank.
Without Mike and Rachel, a recovering Ron Dixon can rent rooms out in Number 7 to Tim. He’ll pay rent and help Ron run his laundry business. He owes Ron big-time too for Ron’s decision not to grass the lad to the police. Tim effectively becomes Ron’s carer. And as someone else pointed out, Tim works best with a mentor - well, here’s Ron.
Bring characters like the Powells and Christy Murray more into the forefront. Let Lance rent the Corkhill house off Jackie (who really owns it) and then have Christy Murray and Leanne mooch into the scene.
Bring back Jan Murray, so we can hear her side of her marital break-up.
There should be NO love triangle for Stephen Fletcher’s character. Brookside shouldn’t even consider listening to anything this actor has to say. In fact, axe him. Now.
The younger Gordon daughter and the youngest son should be despatched. Follow through with sending her on a trip around the world and hope she gets lost. Send the youngest thug to a Borstal somewhere.
Resist ANY temptation to have any member of the Gordon family commit a murder.
Introduce some viable older characters into the fore. We know that there’s tension and unfinished business existing between Dr Parr and his father. Introduce the older man and let us hear more.
Introduce more professional people into Brookside and resist any temptation to make them from the Southeast. For goodness sake, there must be SOME legitimately professional people in Liverpool.
Jacqui Farnham must fall pregnant ... Naturally. Resist any temptation to make Max Farnham get involved with another woman.
Introduce more viably ethnic characters - not just token blacks or Asians, but a black or racially-mixed family might help.
Resist any temptation to hire from the ranks of the untried, unskilled and unprofessional and DO NOT hire for looks alone.
If any past characters return, let them be popular ones. Bing and his new wife Molly should put in some appearances. Mr Moore. Possibly Sinbad. But NOT Lindsey Corkhill under any circumstance.
Sammy Rogers needs a love match. Get her involved with SuperDan the Gordons’ Man. That should set the cat amongst the pigeons.
Get Ron and Bev back together.
Well, those are my suggestions. Does anyone else have any?
After the hapless Sean departs, Rabbity Ruth Gordon locks and bolts the front door of Bicker-Bicker House.
Leanne’s on shift now at the garage. She opens a large box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray (sponsors of Coronation Street), obtained from the shelf of the garage stock, and opens a magazine. She settles down to enjoy a work-free evening.
Gaby the Grin is clearing up the detritus of a meeting in the conference room of her company.
Back at Bicker-Bicker House, Rabbity Ruth snorks back the green snot through her pert, little bunny nose and descends the stairs into the lounge, where SuperDan waits. All that commotion with the hapless Sean has woken Luke the bunny, she tells SuperDan. The child’s heard voices, recognised his father’s and now wants to know where the man is.
SuperDan suggests that he stick around for awhile, but Rabbity Ruth insists that the hapless Sean won’t be back. However, she admits, gazing up adoringly at SuperDan, had SuperDan not been there, the hapless Sean would have taken Luke the bunny. Rabbity Ruth reckons the hapless Sean is long gone by now. (Which means, viewers, that he’s probably ensconced somewhere just around the corner).
Leanne’s in the middle of a very animated telephone conversation with Christy Muddie, who seems to have ceased to exist in all but the most existential form. It’s all speculative gossip about Marty and his being called in for questioning by the police. As she carries with her over-loud conversation, she’s oblivious to the fact that the Gordons, Ma, Pa and Bitch, have entered the establishment. As Bitch’s tits lead her sulkily around the aisles of the garage, Pa Gordon is sounding off with speculation that that Lance one in the restaurant is a ‘woofter’.
Leanne rambles on, screeching to Christy about Marty. Marty MOOST be guilty, she reasons. Everything points to him. After all, why take a job with kids? She ponders. Oh, and then there was the pond in back of his house.
She pauses briefly in the conversation, to give the unseen and unheard Christy opportunity to wonder what a pond has to do with all this. As she speaks, the Gordons approach the till, quietly (for once).
‘THE POND?’ Shrieks Leanne, chomping on another chocolate. ‘IT’S GOT EVERYTHINK TER DO WITH IT! TREVOR JORDACHE! WASN’T HE HIDDEN FER YEARS OONDER THE PATIO?’
Ma Gordon unobtrusively clears her throat and excuses herself in an attempt to gain Leanne’s attention. Leanne waves off the attempt dismissively, continuing her banter on the phone with Christy.
Ma Gordon attempts again, but again Leanne screams at them: ‘WILL YOUSE SHURRUP? CAN’T YER SEE I’M ON THE PHONE?’
Finally, Ma Gordon remarks pointedly that Leanne’s boss wouldn’t be too pleased with Leanne’s demeanor and behaviour whilst on duty.
‘WELL, ME BOSS AIN’T HERE NOW, IS SHE?’ Leanne retorts.
Ma Gordon simply rests her arm on a pile of merchandise, cupping her face in her hands and smiles benignly at Leanne, silently introducing herself.
Leanne suddenly twigs that this woman IS her boss and promptly shits her pants.
(Another candidate for immediate sacking. I hope Ma Gordon marks Adele’s and Leanne’s cards).
At her office, Gaby the Grin sits at her desk and gives Dr Parr a hard time in a telephone conversation. It’s about Rob Dexter. She assures him that, as far as Dexter is concerned, her mobile’s off to him. She finishes the conversation unpleasantly. It’s obviously late in the day and she’s alone in the building.
Suddenly, she hears a metallic boom sound in the area. She glances up suddenly at the door to her office as the sound occurs again. Jumping up from her desk, she runs to the door and peers down the stairwell. She sees nothing.
Having introduced herself and smarming profusely, Leanne now sits with the Gordons and Bitch at a lawn table in the clutter of the garage. All three are drinking coffee from the machine. Leanne is regaling the Gordons with her personal history, succinctly edited, of course. She points to the bar across the road. See that bar over there? She asks. Well, she used ter roon that bar, she did. So, as Ma Gordon could obviously see, Leanne continues modestly, Leanne was well-suited to a supervisory role.
Ma Gordon purses her lips and suggests wryly that perhaps Leanne might like to supervise some cleaning of shelves in the garage. The place was noticeably dusty.
Oh, promises Leanne, she’d get right on that, first thing tomorra!
Not tomorrow, replies Ma Gordon, she was thinking about this very minute.
Again, Leanne bobs her head in abject agreement, referring to Ma Gordon as ‘Mrs Gordon.’
Ma Gordon insists that Leanne call her ‘Debbie’. She doesn’t stand on any formality and doesn’t see why she and her staff can’t get on like one big, happy family - if everyone made an effort to get on and if Leanne did as she was told.
Standing on the stairwell, Gaby the Grin is startled by the metallic sound again. Then peering down the corridor, she sees a cleaner. Turning back, she’s immediately startled by the appearance of a security man. She promises him that she’ll be gone within a half hour.
Leanne and the Gordons still sit, chatting, at the bar. Bitch is bored. Leanne asks if the Gordons are settling nicely into their new house. Oh, boot they’d best be careful of their neighbours, she warns. It’s a nice house, Number 5, she reiterates. It’s joost a shame that it’s in Brookside Close, with all its recent history, she tuts.
Take that Jacqui Farnham, for example, Leanne begins. Why, between she and that Bev one across the road, they managed to wrest Leanne’s bar from her and ruin the place! That Jacqui’s a right one, swanning around with gangsters and the like.
Glancing out the window, she sees Dr Parr and Katie leave the surgery at the end of the day. Eagerly, she points Katie out to the Gordons. And not only that, she continues, lowering her voice conspiratorily, boot that Jacqui Farnham’s father - he lives on the Close too - actually SHOT that one’s (Katie’s) boyfriend ... AND KILLED HIM!
The Gordons glance apprehensively at one another.
And that Ron Dixon’s not the only MERR-DERER in the Close either.
Lowering her voice even more and leaning close to the Gordons, Leanne hisses a warning to beware of Marty Muddie in Number 10. There’s been a little girl gone missing around the area some months ago, and they reckon Marty killed her.
The Gordons exchange shocked looks.
Not that she wants ter frighten them or anthink, purrs Leanne. She joost thinks it’s good the new folks know about the psychos that live on their doorstep.
As Dr Parr and Katie loiter on the pavement, Katie moans that she’s having trouble turning the surgery alarm on. Dr Parr tells her not to worry about it this evening, just to make sure the door was locked and bolted.
(Why was this scene interjected?)
Later on, the Gordons stroll home after their encounter with Leanne. Ma Gordon surveys the Close in the gloom of twilight, remarking how peaceful it looked. Now she’s faced with all the tales Leanne’s chosen to tell her, she doesn’t know what to think.
As they stroll onto the Close, Jacqui Farnham is following at a distance.
Pa Gordon is sceptical of Leanne’s gossip and cautions Ma to take what Leanne said with a firm pinch of salt. As they slow down to converse (as most Brookside actors can’t walk and act at the same time), Jacqui overtakes them, pausing to introduce herself as Jacqueline Farnham. She lives in Number 8, she says, politely, with her husband and two children. She and her husband own The Shelf on The Parade.
The Gordons introduce themselves as well and Jacqui invites them to pop over to Number 8 once they’ve finished settling in.
When she leaves them, Pa Gordon wonders aloud: ‘So that’s Jacqui Farnham, the one who’s hard as nails.’
‘She seems nice,’ remarks Ma, in amazement.
Pa Gordon leans down and reminds Ma to take EVERYTHING Leanne says with a pinch of salt.
At that moment, Bitch Gordon breaks away from her parents and runs toward Number 5, because Rabbity Ruth has just stepped onto the doorstep to say good-bye to SuperDan. SuperDan greets Bitch fondly, or rather, fondles her a greeting.
(Is that ’22 year-old journalist’ on the Official Forum for real? He sounds more like a closet merchant banker?)
Instead of going home, Jacqui pops over to Number 7, where she finds Ron sorting a few things out. She’s come by because Max was anxious to know where Ron put the damp proofing agreements for the new extension.
Ron can’t be bothered to think about where they might be, as he’s too preoccupied with trying to find his box of personal items that seems to have gone missing. He scurries about the front room of Number 7, rummaging through unpacked packing cases for the box.
‘Dad,’ Jacqui nags, ‘Max NEEDS them guarantees. Yer DID get the werrk damp-proofed?’
Yes, yes, snaps Ron impatiently. He’d look fer the stoof as soon as he found his box. Is Jacqui sure she and Max haven’t seen it?
As Jacqui leaves, Mike comes downstairs, still wittering on about his jealous obsession with Dr Parr.
For once, Ron’s had enough of this. In his opinion, he tells Mike, bluntly, Mike’s wasting too much time with this pursuit of Gary Parr. Why didn’t he give it a rest, eh? Surely, Michael wasn’t that stupid to think he stood a chance in court? Beth was healthy again, thank God. Move on, he urges. And if Mike thought to make a whack at compensation with this, Ron continues, well, he’d be better directing his energies into getting himself a good job.
As a matter of fact, Mike announces, smugly, he has a job interview just the next day. At a computer games’ company.
Ron’s puzzled. What the hell did Mike know about computer games? And his degree was in film, surely? Wouldn’t he be better off trying to get something along those lines?
Mike’s confident. The job was only no the admin side of things, he says. As for computer games, when things were slack in security, that was all he and the other blokes did - play computer games. Besides, he did a bit of computers at uni.
Boot times’ave changed since then, reminds Ron. He, himself, would like to have a crowd turn out to see him play footie at Anfield (er, I thought Ron was an Everton man), but it ain’t about to happen.
It’s ONLY an admin post, says Mike, emphatically, and besides, the company must have thought he had something to offer, as they chose his application from 200 others. He’ll take the interview on spec and see what they offer.
Back at Bicker-Bicker House, upstairs in his lair, the Brookside Bike opens the scruffy, white box emblazoned with ‘Corned Beef’ on its sides. His beady, common, little, trailer-trashy eyes widen in horrible glee at the sight of its contents within.
‘Mingeing!’ He exclaims.
Downstairs, his parents are busy going ballistic over the fact that the hapless Sean, or Sid Vicious, as Annabelle has dubbed him (good one, Annabelle!), dared to show his drunken face on the premises. Why ever didn’t Rabbity Ruth think to call the police? Pa Gordon demands. And while he’s on the subject of unexpected appearances, maybe someone would care to remind him of why exactly SuperDan happens to be here at all?
The Brookside Bike bounds down the stairs and into the lounge to get re-acquainted with SuperDan Dan the Ubiquitous Man. He wants to know what’s been going on and why everyone’s so concerned at the moment. Most of all, he wants to know why SuperDan is here. The superhero is amazed at the growth of the Brookside Bike.
Ma Gordon snaps at the Brookside Bike that if he kept his music down a bit, he might be more aware of what was going on around him. Anyway, everyone in the house thought he was out, and maybe he should be - for the count.
Ma Gordon reckons it’s been 3 or 4 years since the clan’s laid eyes on ol’Dan there. Why, she adds, with just a hint of sarcasm, Rabbity Ruth was only just mentioning SuperDan today.
Well, Pa remarks, suspiciously, he thinks the hapless Sean will have thought it danged strange that SuperDan was here with Rabbity Ruth when he called around.
Ma Gordon is determined to report the incident of the hapless Sean’s appearance to the police, but Rabbity Ruth, swipes her arm across her snotty face, to remove the green gunge and begs her mother not to do that. After all, the bizzies won’t do anything. (Oh, won’t they?)
Jimmy Corkhill sits in the Hotel Corkhill lounge, watching a toy train circle its tracks, again and again, until it derails - a bit like Jimmy’s life, not that any of the shallower elements who watch the show would understand. The doorbell to Hotel Corkhill rings and Jimmy opens it to find Happy Smiling Helen on the doorstep, laden with bags and bags of Indian takeaway. Happy Smiling Helen should really lay off the curry and beer, she’s getting a gut like Sinbad’s and it’s not down to pregnancy.
Jimmy is reluctant to accept her offer of a meal, but invites her in. Happy Smiling Helen notices the train and asks if this is Jimmy’s new hobby. Jimmy explains that it’s a gift for Wills.
Happy Smiling Helen turns a concerned face upwards to Jimmy’s gobby chin and asks why he cancelled their date and didn’t return any of her calls. She’s still new to the dating game, but her 18-really-but-12-and-looking-16-year-old daughter reckons her mother’s a prime candidate for a blow-out.
Jimmy denies this. He then confesses to Happy Smiling Helen that he now knows what Nikki told her. He doesn’t think the sort of life he has to offer would be fair to Happy Smiling Helen.
Happy Smiling Helen, however, is willing to give their relationship a go. She knows what she’s in for, she announces confidently.
But, Jimmy argues, she doesn’t know what Jimmy’s capable of in his condition. (In any condition, for that matter). He’s a danger to any woman.
Happy Smiling Helen puts on a po-face and announces sullenly that she might as well take the takeaway home to Stephanie. (So the selfish Helen has provided a meal for herself and Jimmy without a thought for her 12 year-old child at home! And is she home alone, by any chance?)
SuperDan, basking in the unadulterated admiration of the Brookside Bike and Bitch, both of whom happen to share half a brain cell between them, is regaling them with stories of what he’s been up to since they last saw him. Travelling the world, yadda yadda ... The Brookside Bike expresses a desire to do that, but his sister reminds him that he still can’t read without mouthing the words aloud. (Can she, I wonder?)
Rabbity Ruth sucks back a gobful of snot and reminds SuperDan to beware of Bitch as she’s on the rebound.
‘Oh,’ replies Bitch, poking out her immense chest, ‘and you’re not?’
Ali Ginger makes an appearance, but doesn’t seem too impressed that SuperDan’s there. Maybe he does have a grain of common sense, after all. Rabbity Ruth goes up to chek on Luke the Bunny, as SuperDan accompanies her.
Ali Ginger is not impressed at SuperDan’s ‘coincidental’ appearance. It doesn’t take a genius, he remarks, to figure out what’s been going on between Rabbity Ruth and SuperDan to rile the hapless Sean. Of course, his parents are too dense to have figured this out.
Perhaps SuperDan has a predilection for snot. You know, like:
Don’t ever kiss your honey
When her nose is runny
Cos’ you might think it’s honey
It’s not
It’s snot.
Meanwhile, back at her office, Gaby the Grin’s mobile rings yet again. She answers it and listens silently as the caller identifies himself. She thinks the caller’s actually Rob Dexter, trying another tack. She thinks he’s pretending to be the police and she tells him so, in no uncertain terms.
The caller assures her that this is a genuine call from the police and asks if she’s received calls from Dexter before. Gaby the Grin replies that Dexter used to call her of late all the time and mostly say nothing.
The police then inform her that Dexter has, in fact, committed suicide.
She cries out in horror.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Happy Smiling Fatty Helen is getting fatter as she and Jimmy have just finished gobbling down an Indian takeaway. They sit ensconced on the Corkhill sofa, flatulent and bloated, discussing how stuffed they are. (Stuffed? Happy Smiling Helen looks fit to burst!)
Jimmy asks if she would have preferred barbecue ribs, and Happy Smiling Helen doesn’t understand, until Jimmy reminds her that it’s the Fourth of July (which it still is, in Brooksideland - oh, and we do NOT eat barbecue ribs on Independence Day. It’s fried chicken, mostly, and it’s in picnic form. So do your research, Brookside). Bastille Day is coming up soon too, muses Jimmy. July must be the month of independence. He turns to Happy Smiling Helen, a thought having just occurred to him. We know this, because every time a though occurs to Jimmy, he juts out his chin and squints his eyes, as though he’s sitting on the can with constipation.
Y’know, he begins, other countries do it right. They celebrate people taking control of their own lives - none of that Jubilee rubbish in the States and France. Encouraged by the Franco-American concept of taking control of one’s own life, Jimmy tells Helen if they want to make a go of their relationship, there must be no secrets. He tells Helen about the incident which occurred with Nikki in the extension. Inappropriate sexual behaviour, due to the fact that he was off his meds. He would have forced himself on Nikki, if he could.
(Funny, how this ‘no secrets’ doesn’t entail Jimmy telling Helen of the APPALLING way in which he treated Jackie).
After receiving the message of Dexter’s death from the police, Gaby the Grin sits woefully at her desk, thinking about the suicide of the man. Slowly she picks up her trusty mobile and begins to scroll back through all the unread messages from him, which have accumulated over the past few days. The last one reads, ‘By the time you read this, I’ll be dead.’
Gaby the Grin begins to cry.
It’s night now, at last, on a day that’s lasted three episodes. Ali the Ginger Gordon staggers back onto the Close and makes a beeline for the house which he thinks is his. It’s not. It’s Number 7, now the home of Ron Dixon.
He begins to bang on the front door and shout at the top of his reedy, little white trash lungs, for his father, demanding that he open the door. He’s got no key, he screams.
Suddenly, he hears a key turn in the door. At last, he yells. Just as the door opens, we see Pa Gordon sprint across the Close from upper camera left, reaching his odious son just as Ron Dixon opens the door.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Pa Gordon, apologises profusely, as he leads the incoherent Ali away. Ali is muttering that all the houses look the same to him on the Close.
Pa Gordon pushes him back to Bicker-Bicker House. ‘Another GREAT impression!’ He shouts at him, shoving the boy through the front door.
Ali the Ginger Gordon staggers into the kitchen and starts to rummage about, wondering aloud why there was no food in the house.
Pa Gordon asks if Ali’s drunk. And where has he been all day, for that matter? He should be out looking for a summer job, not taking the piss. If he had his way, the lad would be back in school the next year.
Ali the Ginger Gordon slurs from the kitchen that he’d left school and he was staying out. (Great! Just what the show needs. Another under-achieving, lazy, dodgy male who thinks the world owes him a living. Great impression of Liverpool, that).
Ali the Ginger is craving food, remarking that he’s got the munchies, which prompts Pa Gordon to realise that Ali the Ginger has been ‘on the pot’. (And it prompts me to wonder what kind of pot the Brookside writers smoke that makes them think that stoned people act as hyper as Ali the Ginger. Pot is a depressant. It mellows and relaxes you. If anything, you’re more laid back than ever. If Ali the Ginger IS on drugs, it would seem to be more of the cocaine-type variety, which is a stimulant).
Pa Gordon feels a craving too - for a cigarette. (Notice how he’s supposed to be addicted, but Uncle Phil NEVER shows him with the surreptitious ciggie in his mouth? Now THAT would be realistic).
Ali the Ginger staggers noisily upstairs to go to bed - but of course, he doesn’t realise that Rabbity Ruth is now on the scene. As the boy leaves the room, Pa Gordon mutters that anyone with kids would soon see the need for a cigarette.
Suddenly, Ali the Ginger comes crashing back down the stairs. What the hell are these people doing in his room? He demands. He’s followed by Rabbity Ruth, snorking her snot and whining about Ali the Ginger waking Luke the Bunny - although we don’t hear a peep from the kid (typical Brookside kid).
Jimmy finishes plying Happy Smiling Helen with his tale of woe. Fancy that, he muses with wonder. He could try to wreck Nikki’s life and not even remember a thing about it.
Well, murmurs Happy Smiling Helen, platitudinously, that’s what he’s like without his tablets.
‘Boot I’m not gonna get any better!’ Booms Jimmy, raising his inflection at the end of the statement in that annoying way of his. ‘I’m gonna be on me tablets ferever!’
‘Well,’ soothes Happy Smiling Helen, ‘at least it’s under control.’
‘For now,’ replies Jimmy, ominously.
Happy Smiling Helen vows that Jimmy’s condition wouldn’t scare her off.
As Dr Parr potters about his kitchen, he’s interrupted by Gaby the Grin, bursting into the flat in a torrent of tears. She exclaims hysterically that the police have just rung her at work. Rob Dexter is dead. He left a suicide note for her. He threw himself under a train, apparently. Now he’s dead, and it’s all because she refused to see him.
Now we are finally allowed to see the precious contents of Ron Dixon’s box. In his dimly lit room upstairs, the odious Brookside Bike scans pictures of Bev and Ron onto the internet. Ron is naked, with various limbs of Bev placed strategically across his private parts. Bev, herself, wears some sort of flesh-coloured bra and panties.
The pics were obviously taken by the couple when they were living together.
Mike Dixon lumbers down the stairs of his new home, unable to sleep because of the commotion raised at the front door. He finds Ron in his dressing gown. Ron tells Mike that there was a scally banging on the front door.
Mike can’t sleep because of his teeth.
(OK, OK ... Clear this up for me. Mike Dixon had a toothache, primarily because a tooth or teeth in the nether regions of his mouth were so rotten that they were beyond repair. So they were pulled, and a bridge was made. My understanding of a dental bridge is that it’s one or more false teeth, inserted on a ‘bridge’ and connected at each end to a good tooth. Gary Parr, when he decked Mike, broke the bridge. So WHY is Mike complaining about toothache? There are, simply no teeth there about which to complain!)
Besides, Mike explains, he’s wound up because of his interview. He wanted no more poxy, low-paid jobs such as the security guard job, he tells Ron. He wants a job he can be proud of (well, one where he has to do a minimal amount of work for the most amount of money). This computer games company with whom he has an interview is worth someplace in the region of 2 or 3 million pounds.
Ron listens, half-heartedly.
But first, Mike continues, he has to get this hearing about his complaint about Dr Parr out of the way. And it would be nice, he whinges, if his family were to give him a bit of support about that.
Ron, making a cup of tea, gazes over his shoulder at his son and gently chides him about giving up the complaint. After all, Beth was right as rain now and she never really was in danger.
That’s exactly Jacqui’s attitude! Mike exclaims, miffed. She thinks he shouldn’t bother with this at all.
‘Well, soon,’ Ron sighs, wearily, ‘she IS right. Yer’ve got summat of an obsession with this docter feller. Yer on a hidin’ ter nuttin, Michael. Joost let go. If it’s one thing I lerrned in prison, it’s ter leave well-enough alone.’
Jimmy continues his harangue of Happy Smiling Helen well into the night. It’s her STEPH he’s worried about. After all, he says, it was absolutely horrible what he did to Nikki. And he can’t guarantee that this sort of thing won’t happen again.
And Happy Smiling Helen can’t guarantee that she would stay with him, she replies, reasonably.
But Jimmy NEEDS to know that she won’t walk out on him.
Happy Smiling Helen proclaims that her eyes are open to his faults and condition. She wants to sign up for the duration, she says. After all, Jimmy is worth it. (Er, excuse me, but has this woman led a deprived or sheltered life?) She had an immensely safe relationship with her boring husband, Clive, and that didn’t work out. Now she’s ready to take a few risks. She advises Jimmy to keep the train set.
(A few risks? Does she seriously know what she’s letting herself in for? Nikki is insipid, but this woman is plain stupid. If she wants to take a few risks, Alton Towers isn’t that far away.)
The whole of Bicker-Bicker House is now awake and arguing full blast in the lounge. Bitch Gordon’s tits lead her down the narrow staircase, whingeing her gob off about being woken up. Ali the Ginger is STILL whingeing about losing his room to Rabbity Ruth and Luke the Bunny.
The Brookside Bike is woken up and he starts whingeing about having to share his room with his brother. In the midst of this mayhem of shouting and screaming, (no joke!) the Brookside Bike lets a fart. (Charming!) The whole lot of white trash shout, scream, shout, scream and someone inevitably calls someone else a meff. It descends into chaos and it needs a LONDONER to sort that lot out.
Pa Gordon, UNLIKE Pa Walton, bellows at the top of his voice for everyone to GO TO BED. The awful offspring traipse upstairs.
Pa Gordon slumps defeated onto the sofa, gasping for a ciggie. Ma Gordon drops beside him in comfort.
‘This is NOT GOOD,’ he admits, forcefully. ‘This is NOT how I dreamt it.’
Dr Parr, meanwhile, is trying to do some comforting of his own, as his feral, little wife sits at the table weeping for Rob Dexter and asking again and again why the man killed himself.
Dr Parr, noble man that he is, reasons that Dexter had very serious problems. But that wasn’t Gaby the Grin’s fault, he says. The man simply didn’t live in the real world. If anyone were to blame, it was the police for not following up his harassment of her.
But if she’d just called him back, wails Gaby the Grin, tearfully, he’d be alive.
That’s really none of her concern, quips the doctor. Look, he amends, he’s sorry the bloke’s dead, but there are enough people left in this world with bona fide problems for whom he’ll reserve his sympathy.
It’s HER fault, Gaby the Grin maintains, weeping uncontrollably.
How can it be her fault? The doctor argues. She ignored his harassment. That’s what she was supposed to do. After all, she didn’t ASK the man to kill himself.
But she DID, Gaby insists. The last time she talked to Dexter, she explains, he told her that if she didn’t return his calls, he would kill himself. She was flip and told him to go ahead and do it.
Throwing herself into Dr Parr’s arms, she wails, ‘I told him to kill himself and he did!’
Neil Jones wrote this utter piece of tripe.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002