REGRETTABLY, BACK TO NORMAL
This episode, more than anything else, graphically illustrates the simple fact that Brookside is doomed to failure. If anyone still harboured a glimmer of hope, especially those eternal optimists that bang a gong about how GOOD the show is - I’m thinking about ‘poxy churro*’ on the Official Forum, in particular - then this episode should have been held as conclusive proof that Brookside cannot and will not succeed as a programme or a project.
In fact, the week as a whole exhibited Brookside’s major fault - it cannot sustain any success. Sometimes, it seems that it doesn’t want to do so. There’s a good episode or a good scene, offset by what is patently a load of crap. There are a few good episodes and then it descends into mediocrity again. It’s as though the ‘good’ bits are crumbs thrown from the producer’s table in the direction of the whingeing long-term viewer, who’s angry that a formerly excellent programme has come to become such an amateurish piece of shit, solely for the benefit of keeping said viewer quiet. Then it’s back to the tits, arse and shouting brigade in order to amuse the lowest common denominator of viewer who rules the roost.
Brookside, at the moment, is the palest of imitations of its former self. It,like the nanny New Labour state, thinks it knows what the viewers want and TELLS them what they should want. That’s insulting. If Brookside wants to pitch itself exclusively to 14 year-old Scousers (or anyone with such a mentality), then let Phil Redmond pitch his wares to the local cable television station in Liverpool and let the rest of us get on with watching quality soaps like Eastenders or Coronation Street.
He’s got two years to make this baby good and time’s running out ... Fast.
The programme opens with another shot of Ron in his hospital bed, with Jacqui keeping a vigil by his side.
Ma Gordon strides into the Bicker-Bicker Lounge to see the Brookside Bike seated on the only piece of furniture in the room that attracts arses - the sofa. He’s got his foetid feet propped on the coffee table and watches television at this early hour of the day - probably cartoons.
As she strides through, Ma, who’s pure poor white trash, knows that one judges quality people by the fact that they don’t put their feet on furniture and shouts out, ‘FEET!’, to the Brookside Bike before stopping at the foot of the stairs and screaming for Bitch to move her car as the builder couldn’t get his van parked.
Across the Close at Sitcom House, Marty Muddie watches Plank watch Marty.
Back at the hospital, Ron Dixon wakes and is greeted fondly by his daughter. Mike has joined her. She asks how Ron is and he tells her that he’s better for seeing her and Mike. (Er, why hasn’t either DD or Anthea been apprised of Ron’s condition? Just a thought).
Jacqui and Mike bring up the subject of the coronary bypass again to Ron. Does Ron realise his chances of a full recovery if he doesn’t have the surgery?
Ron admits that he knows that he’ll have no chance or dog chance.
Then the subject is settled, decides Jacqui, Ron will have the surgery.
Ron’s reluctant, however. Maybe his time has come, he reasons. After all, he’s had three heart attacks and angina.
The Brookside Bike still sits on the mingey sofa, when Ma Gordon leans over his shoulder and asks him sweetly to pop out to the garage and get some coal for the barbecue they’re having that evening. She hands him some money with which to pay.
The Brookside Bike, having one moral less than his feckless mother, can’t believe that she’ll actually pay for coal from a garage that she owns.
She wants ter set an example, says Ma, primly, especially to the likes of Leanne.It’s also called ‘keeping the books tidy’.
Bitch follows her amazing tits through the lounge on her way out. Ma calls out to her, asking her what time she’s back that evening.
Bitch replies that she’s planned a night out with the girls from the call centre, but Ma whiningly reminds her that the family is planning a farewell barbecue in her honour that evening.
Bitch shrugs nonchalantly, unconcerned about the fete. Maybe she’ll come back for it, she replies and leaves.(What a spoiled little bitch!)
Big Dire spies her eldest stepson mooching about the kitchen and approaches him tentatively (meaning she only speaks in a normal tone of voice). Without further adieu, she tells Plank that Marty told her about the incident where Jan broke his arm.
Plank whirls around to face his stepmother, astounded.
In fact, Dire continues, Marty’s worried that the police will latch onto this episode and think he has a history of violence.
What did his dad go telling Dire about that for? Plank demands, clearly rattled. Plank was given to understand that Marty wanted all that left behind. This is why he never speaks about Jan.
He refuses to talk to Dire and stalks from the room.
Ron is considering the bypass surgery and asks Jacqui and Mike when he can expect to have the surgery done.
Er, not right away, Jacqui replies, hesitantly.
How long is that supposed to be? Ron asks, suspiciously.
There’s a waiting list of nine months, reveals Jacqui.
Jimmy Corkhill, who’s insensitive action prompted Ron’s latest heart attack, stands on the Dixon doorstep talking to Rachel. Rachel’s telling him that Ron will have to have a tripe coronary bypass and asks Jimmy if there’s a message he wants to pass onto Ron.
Jimmy doesn’t manage to look the least bit guilt-ridden and replies evasively that he’s the last person from whom Ron would like to receive a message. He turns and leaves, just as Ma Gordon is arriving back on the Close with an armload of groceries for the barbecue. As she lifts the food from the boot of her car, she drops some of it on the ground; and the Sage, sensing the recruitment of more disciples, rushes to pick the items up.
Ma thanks him, explaining that the family are having a barbecue that evening for their daughter, who’s about to leave for her gap year.
Oh, the Sage assures Ma that he knows all about daughters fleeing the nest and all. He’s got one of his own - a daughter, that is. She lives and works in Newcastle. Mind you, he witters as he follows Ma to her doorstep, he didn’t want ter see his Lindsey leave at all. Well, yer don’t,do yer? Boot he’s got a philosophy about kids leaving. Looks like a lorra good grub fer this barbecue, he continues. Him, well, it’s boil in the bag fer Jim tonight. His gerrl-friend’s werr-kin, yer see. So it’s a lonely night fer him.
Ma instinctively and politely suggests that Jimmy’s welcome to attend their barbecue, as they’ll have plenty of food there.
Ma is stupid.
Plank hurries to find his father in the back garden. Glancing back surreptitiously in the direction of the house, he whispers to Plank that Dire’s asking questions.
About what? Asks Marty.
About his real mum and his broken arm, Plank hisses.
Marty winces and bangs the palms of his hands against his forehead. He’s spent 10 years trying to wipe Jan out of his memory and now this! He wails.
What should he do? Plank wants to know.
Leave it, advises Marty, in a terse tone. Say nothing.
Pa Gordon returns home late to find Ma in the kitchen. She berates him for being late and tells him that Ali the Ginger and his mate, Thommo, have got the barbecue going. Apparently, Pa is a dab hand at the old grill, so Ma tells him that the burgers for the feast are in the fridge (riveting conversation, this). Ma then tells Pa about Ali the Ginger’s and Thommo’s idea about starting the barbecue with petrol siphoned from her car. (Are this lot for real? Is this really what Phil Redmond and his writers think of the mentality of people watching Brookside? I despair).
Glancing out the window and looking about the room as if she’d be likely to crawl from the woodwork (her natural habitat), Pa Gordon then asks Ma where the Bitch can be found.
Her? Replies Ma, wringing out a dish cloth, which resembles her hair. Why, she’s out on the town with her intellectually-stimulating mates from the Call Centre.In fact, she’s not even sure she can be bothered to attend this barbecue. Oh, and Pa has Ma’s permission to break Bitch’s neck when she returns.
Pa vows that if Bitch doesn’t put in an appearance, he will, indeed, break her neck. (One can only live in hope).
Max has now arrived at the hospital to visit his father-in-law. As he comes down the corridor, he finds Gary Parr leaving the unit where Ron is resting. He warns Max that, if he enters, he should be prepared for hankies at 12 paces, it’s that emotional within.
***WARNING!!!!! YOU ARE ABOUT TO EXPERIENCE A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT, CLARIFYING PHIL REDMOND’S SENTIMENTS REGARDING THE STATE OF THE NATIONAL HEALTH SERVICE. THIS SEGMENT OF BROOKSIDE MAY BE REPEATED AS A PARTY POLITICAL BROADCAST FOR THE LABOUR PARTY DURING THE NEXT GENERAL ELECTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!***
Max asks how the Ron’s coping at the moment.
Dr Parr, trying his level best to look noble and serious - like a true servant of the NHS - but at the same time aware of the tripe that’s about to follow, replies that Ron’s coping well, but Jacqui and Mike are wound up regarding the length of the waiting list for Ron’s operation. He tells Max that he was honest with Mike and told him that Ron would have a waiting list of 9 months before his triple coronary bypass.
Max puts on an indignant countenance. Surely this can’t be justified! He exclaims. Surely Ron’s condition must be serious enough to warrant an emergency procedure, necessitating jumping the queue.
Dr Parr shakes his head severely. Ron couldn’t jump the queue. For all intents and purposes, his condition was recognised by the authorities as having been stabilised. This just isn’t done on the NHS - why, it’s not cricket, old chap! (Ever get the feeling that Harry Enfield’s Mr Chomedley-Warner could have done a treat with this, complete with the jumpy film et al?)
Jumping the queue, Dr Parr continues, is the privilege of sports stars with injuries (like Stephen Gerrard) clogging up orthopaedic lists and binge drinkers and drunks getting new livers. (Oooh, so Uncle Phil doesn’t like Georgie Best, then!) This lot get in the way of people who genuinely need treatment.
Max asks about the possibility of Ron having the operation done privately. Although, Max remarks, it sticks in his gullet the fact that consultants employed by the NHS often do private work.
(Excuse me ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!
This is MAX FARNHAM speaking. MAX-BLOODY-I’LL-SEND-MY-KIDS-TO-PRIVATE-SCHOOL-AND-BE-DAMNED-FARNHAM! To make him the mouthpiece of people who sincerely believe in the validity and viability of socialised medicine is just too funny for words! Pull the other one, Phil!)
Dr Parr spreads his hands in a gesture of desperation. But if they didn’t do private work, he explains, the consultants would merely bugger off to the U S and work there. (Where 97% of the working population is insured privately through their place of employment and all dependent spouses and children are also included in health plans, which includes dentistry, ante-and post-natal care, house calls and a percentage discount on prescription medicines. THAT’S the state of health care in the U S, and where the government allocates more money per capita on recipients of Medicare - health cover for the elderly, which is supplemented by their private schemes for an additional $10.00 per month - and Medicaid - health cover for low income people and those receiving benefits - than is allocated per capita by the benevolent British Government, whatever its political persuasion, on the creaky old NHS. But Phil Redmond would never qualify this, would he? COME ON, DOES ANYONE READING THIS SERIOUSLY THINK UNCLE PHIL OR ANY OF THE CAST OF BROOKSIDE USE NATIONAL HEALTH FACILITIES? DO THEY, BOLLOCKS!)
Max then asks the extremely stupid question of where people go to get private care? (This is asinine, coming from a character who clearly has BUPA stamped all over him!)
Why, replies Dr Parr, people have to pay for private care. And what’s wrong with paying for the best treatment when it concerns your health?
But, Max recites, people already pay for this through their taxes (which also fund layabouts, wastrels, and asylum seekers). It’s only right that they should expect proper health care.Couldn’t they suspend waiting lists for something as serious as this?
Ah, says Dr Parr, Max is speaking like a politician. (Well, more of a statesman, I’d say). The problem with politicians and the NHS is that they are always thinking short-term about what amounts to long-term care.
Politics is a short-term issue, remarks Max.
The truth is, confesses Dr Parr, looking as though he’d like to be anywhere but in Brookside at the moment, the whole NHS needs to be ripped up and started again.
In the meantime, says Max, gazing symbolically into the distance and trying to look noble, no one cares about the Ron Dixons of this world.
(Cue camera to cut to a shot of Mike and Jacqui gazing emotionally at a gasping Ron, lying in bed).
Mike and Jacqui only want the best for their dad, Max intones. And he’s entitled to it. (But he’s a CLAMPETT, Max!)
Max turns slowly to Dr Parr and asks how long Ron would have to wait in order to have the surgery done privately.
Two days, replies Dr Parr.
Thus endeth the diatribe. I’m only surprised that a remark wasn’t made about Britain’s ageing population and how the NHS wouldn’t be able to cope with the demands made of its services thereof. Missed that one, Phil.
Back at Sitcom House, Plank stands doing nothing in the sitcom kitchen. Dire approaches him tentatively from behind, wringing her hands. She says that she’s soddy for bringing up the soobject of Jan with him.
It’s OK, says Plank, it’s just that his dad wants to forget about all that.
But Dire, although she’s apologised, won’t be quelled. Did Jan only hit Plank once? She asks. (Crikey, old Jan must have hurt herself some, beating on a board like Plank!)
Plank begins to get edgy, moving away from Dire’s physical area and shrugging his shoulders. He doesn’t know, he says. After all, he was little. (This is a stupid remark. Of course a child remembers being regularly beaten no matter how small he was at the time).
‘AWWWWW, YER CAN REMEMBER BOOT YER DOAN WANTER SAY,’ coos Dire.
Plank leaves the kitchen and seeks solace with Marty in the back garden. She keeps asking questions about Jan, hisses Plank, jerking his thumb towards the kitchen.
Say nothing, Marty hisses back.
Plank shakes his head ruefully. Marty will have to tell her the whole story sometime, he says, seriously.
Dr Parr and Max are still discussing Ron and the NHS, when Mike and Jacqui enter the corridor from Ron’s unit abruptly. Quickly, the two men change the subject, seeking to talk about Gaby the Grin.
Max asks his wife how her father is. He’s feeling ill, Jacqui replies, but he’s asleep. He’s depressed about the nine-month waiting list, she adds.
Mike remarks that Ron needs this operation now and asks Dr Parr for his opinion.
Well, sooner rather than later, Dr Parr says. In fact, he would strongly advise him having the surgery done privately now. There would be no guarantee of success, but if the op were successful, Ron would have an immediate bettering of the quality of his life.
Marxist Mike bites his principles in half and admits that, although it’s against all in which he believes, if private surgery can help Ron have a good quality of life, he’s for it. And cost is no matter, Mike asserts to Gary Parr. (Of course, it isn’t, when you don’t have to pay for it, you dolt!) Mike looks at Jacqui and announces that he and his sister will split the cost fifty-fifty for Ron’s treatment.
Dr Parr turns to leave, saying that he’ll have a word with Ron’s consultant.
Mike calls out to him, reminding him that money isn’t an issue. (Big words from a man who has nothing).
That all said and done, Mike announces that he’s going home to discuss this with Rachel, after having made the decision himself, because he knows that Rachel has no brain. Jacqui and Max announce ask Mike to tell Rachel that they’ll be around to pick up the kids as soon as possible.
Pa Gordon stands at the barbecue, stuffing his fat gob with food as he cooks. He’s eating like the proverbial horse. This is another stereotypical representation of the reformed smoker.
Dan the Man mooches up to Pa and remarks about the last lot of burgers being burnt. Pa realises that this is, in reality, a complaint lodged by Ma and tells Dan to tell Ma to change the record about burnt offerings. Pa takes a long swig from a bottle of beer. (So he can quit smoking, an obvious vice, but continue to pack food away like there’s no tomorrow and drink like a fish). Pa Gordon remarks that he feels like a bear with a sore head since stopping smoking and takes another swig of beer. Thirthty work, thith, he lisps.
Nearby sit Ali the Ginger and Thommo, also swigging beer. Ma Gordon, progressive mother with no morals, allows her 16 year-old son to drink to excess at home. He just can’t do it in public. Far more rational, Pauline Fowler’s remark UNDER HER OWN ROOF, when she allowed her 17 year-old son and his mate one beer each. Ali and Thommo talk about something unintelligible and laugh. The conversation goes like this:
Ali: Teoej reo netltrjet etpet ;twjtewjt rjpwer ptjhwe tw’rjwerowr.
Thommo: Herpojaqr ‘rjrpoj te’ptj ‘pjtptj tpjewp’aj aprjeptruew’pr jrp’jrw!
They laugh.
Back at Sitcom House, Antony sits in the foreground at the sitcom table, playing with his Gameboy. In the background, Dire is still badgering Marty about Jan. She tells him that she tried talking to Plank about Jan earlier. She demands to know why Marty refuses to talk to her about what happened with Jan and Plank.
‘Because I’ve got more important things ter think about,’ replies Marty, impatiently. ‘Sooch as being the noomber one soospect in the case of Imelda Clough, missing, presumed dead.’
No one’s said the girl is dead, Dire points out.
Oh, the bizzies are not saying so publically, Marty replies, sarcastically, but that’s where it’s leading; and he’s numero uno because he hit her.
Antony listens avidly, but feigns interest in his Gameboy.
Mike returns home and apprises Rachel of the fact that Ron needs a triple coronary bypass. He needs it now, not in nine months, which is how long he’d have to wait for NHS surgery. He tries to explain to Rachel in words of one syllable or less, but Rachel keeps wrinkling her forehead and blinking in miscomprehension.
Anyway, Mike concludes, he’s determined to go fifty-fifty with Jacqui and pay for Ron’s treatment.
Ooooooooh, breathes Rachel, in wonder, ‘ow mooch op’rayshoon cost?
Oh, not more than a couple of grand, he supposes. Besides, they’d easily be able to pay that off when he was working (like taking the profits out of Ron’s business whilst he’s ill).
Oooooh, says Rachel, wh-eye no’let Jac-keh pay fer it all.
‘Rachel,’ Mike explains, firmly, ‘I’m not gonna let me sister pay fer everythink.’
Oooooh, suggests Rachel, wrinkling her forehead and blinking furiously, wh-eye no’let Jac-keh pay fer op’n then pay’er back when they was floosh?
The Gordon barbecue is in full swing. Even though the guest of honour hasn’t put in an appearance, an even more special guest has arrived. Jimmy Corkhill, Sage of the Close, stands milling and mixing with the family. As Ma Gordon passes with a plate of food, Pa, still stuffing his gob and swilling his brew, stops her.
He jerks his head in Jimmy’s direction. What’s HE doing here? He asks.
Ma looks a trifle concerned. Oh, she says, vaguely, she only half-invited him. She never dreamed he’d turn up. She calls Jimmy over and introduces him to Pa.
Then Jimmy turns his attention to the Brookside Bike, who’s wailing about wanting to put some music on. Jimmy takes over this territory, suggesting to the Brookside Bike that Abba’s the sort of music fer a party. Rabbity Ruth snorks back some snot before it drips onto her burger and hops over to her mother. Hopping her aside, she asks Ma if she’s had occasion to talk to Pa about Dan the Man moving in permanently.
Ali the Ginger asks the whereabouts of Bitch and Pa snarls something insignificant in reply.
Jimmy stands, recruiting the Brookside Bike as a new disciple. They discuss the wonders of the Internet. Why, a person can do anything on the Internet - shop for items in America, Jimmy says.
Create designs for teeshirts, laughs the Brookside Bike.
Jimmy looks uncomfortable for a moment. Yes, well, that’s something he won’t be doing again, he mutters.
Rabbity Ruth hops and drips to the area where Dan the Man is filling his face. The two briefly discuss her encounter with the hapless Sean. Rabbity Ruth stupidly observes that Sean formerly never drank as much as he does now. She wonders why he started. (Well, working away from home and coming back to discover your wife shacked up with a bounder and spending your wages on this loser would be reason enough for a bender).
Dan the Man continues munching his burger and not looking at her. Luke must miss his father, he observes. (Unspoken thought: Why buy the cow when I can get the milk for free?)
Pa Gordon continues to stuff food into his enormous gob, and Ma starts to nag him about this. Pa replies that he’s eating to stave off withdrawal symptoms. Nearby, the Sage hears this last remark and his ears prick up, as he’s a sublime prick, himself.
Marty and Dire sit side by side stiffly on the sitcom sofa, as Plank pops through the lounge. He’s dressed to the nines and says that he’s off out to sort a mate’s motor. Dire and Marty remark on how well he’s scrubbed up, and Dire is amazed at all the male toiletries et al, he uses.
Marty muses that in his day, the lads just used to spit on their hands and rub it through their hair.
‘DIDJER DO THAT FER JAN?’ Asks Dire, putting a damper on the situation.
The Sage approaches Pa Gordon as he cooks and stuffs his gob. Er, did Jimmy hear Pa say he was going through withdrawal? Jimmy obviously thinks Pa’s a kindred soul and a druggie, a potential convert to the worship of the Sage.
Pa nods, confirming that he’s determined to go cold turkey. He takes an enormous bite out of his burger. He’s determined never to practice his vice again.
Jimmy nods. He understands. He went cold turkey too. Yer got ter, else it’s no good.
Now Pa thinks he’s discovered a kindred spirit, someone who can give him some support. Uh-oh. Watch out, Pa.
How many a day was Jimmy on? He asks.
Suddenly Jimmy twigs that Pa’s trying to stop smoking. OHHHH! Jimmy bellows. He thought Pa was talking about something stronger than cigarettes.
Pa chomps his burger, his mouth full. He’s not a smackhead, he says. But since he stopped smoking, he’s been eating like a horse.
The Sage wisely assures Pa that Pa’s better off without cigarettes.
Pa jokes that Jimmy should keep telling him that when Pa was climbing the walls.He doesn’t think he has the willpower to sustain refraining from smoking. (Just like Brookside doesn’t have the willpower to sustain good episodes).
Jimmy tells Pa that Pa has a serious addiction problem.Why, it’s all the fault of the tobacco companies in the Sixties! Thus begins a rant about big business taking advantage of the average man and that people like Pa were truly victims. In fact, Pa should seriously think about suing the tobacco conglomerates because of his addiction. Pa looks bemused.
Suddenly, a pair of flying tits are hurled into the fray, followed by a drunken Bitch, who’s, in turn, followed by her drunken low-life mates from the Call Centre.
She staggers into the barbecue area, over-acting the part of someone who’s drunk and not succeeding at all in being convincing. It’s embarrassingly bad.
Ron’s dozing as Dr Parr enters the room. He stirs, upon hearing the doctor lift his chart. As Ron wakes, Dr Parr gently speaks: ‘It’s only me, I’m afraid, Ron. The others have gone home.’
Ron wants to know how his chart looks.
Dr Parr grimly replies that Ron’s chart looks as he expected it to look.
‘Then I’m on me deathbed,’ mutters Ron.
The awful barbecue scene continues with Bitch and her friends running about squealing and drunk. They run wildly about the Close, until she returns to the scene and starts a drunken conversation with Rabbity Ruth. Ali the Ginger and Thommo clear the remaining bottles of beer from a tub of iced water and dump its contents over the head of Rabbity Ruth and Bitch.
Bitch announces that the two lads are SO dead and there begins another gratuitous chase around the Close, which is unnecessary and adds nothing to the plot. It’s just the producer’s opportunity to allow Bitch to run around and jiggle her tits.
Pa talks to Jimmy about smoking 30 ciggies a day.
Max and Jacqui have arrived at the Dixons to pick up Harry and Emma. Jacqui tells Mike that she’s had a word with Ron’s consultant about the private operation and its cost. Mike asks how much the thing will cost, and Jacqui tells him it will cost £14,000.
They collect the kids and leave.
After they’ve gone, Rachel wrinkles her forehead, blinks about forty times and remarks, ‘Ooooooh, fo’teen thousand. Tha’s a bit steep.’
The price doesn’t matter, Mike insists doggedly. It’s his dad’s health he’s concerned about.
Boot, oooooh, seven thousand pound, exclaims Rachel. Oooh, where are they gonna get it?
Later, Antony Muddie is sleeping in his makeshift bed in the conservatory. He’s having his usual nightmare about killing Imelda, but this time, it has a different twist to it. He twitches and moans convulsively, muttering that he’s soddy. There’s a black and white flashback of Imelda’s face, grinning and mouthing the word ‘Meff’.
Antony calls out in his sleep that he didn’t mean it. Another black and white flashback of a dark figure moving awkwardly through the trees in the woods. The figure appears to be Marty Muddie, dressed in his caretaker’s boiler suit. There’s a glimpse of Antony and Imelda struggling in the water, and a flash of Imelda, standing wet and grinning on the water’s edge. The dark figure in the woods walks away, as Antony continues to twitch in his sleep.
Now the dream sequence moves onto the hospital, where Ron Dixon’s passing a restless night. He turns his head restlessly from side to side, his hands convulsively twitching. In Ron’s dreams, he hears the voices of Mike and Jacqui from the past, when he had his first heart attack. A ghostly Jacqui is heard to tell Ron that he’s had a heart attack, while an equally ghostly Mike tells him that they’ve rung for an ambulance.
Suddenly, we hear Anthea’s voice, screaming, ‘Ron!’ In a black-and-white sequence, we relive the moment when Ron Dixon shot Clint Moffatt. We see Ron (take not Brookside) shout a warning to a shadowy figure not to come any closer or he’ll shoot; then we glimpse Clint stalking toward him.
Ron’s hand on the bed makes a fist and twitches.
Then there’s another black and white flash of Ron comforting DD when Tony Dixon died, and his hand twitches again. Then another blast from the past as a much younger Ron, comically wearing a Beatles wig and a collarless jacket, bends over the body of his dying father, begging the man not to die.
Ron gasps in bed and his hands twitch.
Antony continues to dream too. This time tossing and turning, his dream features his father’s figure lumbering through the wooded area. Antony cries out in his sleep. ‘It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!’
Marty and Dire have heard his cries and hover above his bed worriedly. ‘It wasn’t me!’ Shouts Antony, as Dire tentatively shakes him awake.
His eyes now wide open and tearful, he exclaims to Dire: ‘It wasn’t me! There was someone there!’
Marty’s face looks horrified.
Peter Cox wrote this truly awful episode. What was the purpose of the National Health lecture? What was the purpose of Jimmy? What was the purpose of the Gordons?
Someone tell me, please. I want to know.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002