IT’S OFFICIAL ... IT’S DOWN
Strange things have been happening in the world of cyber Brookside this week. Without any prior notice, the official website has been pulled. ‘Officially’, it’s being revamped and relaunched (for about the fiftieth time since 1998) - this time, ostensibly, without the awful FLASH element. But I think there’s an ulterior motive.
OK, OK, I buy Ed’s explanation to me that it was done without warning so as not to have to specify a date and time when the thing would be up and running in new form - Brookside have a reputation or making promises that they can’t keep. But doesn’t anyone find it remarkably strange that the FORUM should be pulled at precisely the same moment when there appeared to be an overwhelming amount of negative post concerning Jimmy Corkhill’s character?
Almost to a man, a good 90% of postings called for the ending of Dean Sullivan’s character on Brookside. And these were not just the chosen erudite few who post comprehensible thoughts on the site - these included a fair proportion of the semi-literate tweenie element. In fact, there were so many anti-Jimmy postings, that TPTB were forced to issue their usual spin in an official statement, attesting Jimmy’s worth as a character and reporting how immensely popular he was with ‘most’ of the fans.
Someone’s cage was rattled.
More to the point, SOMEONE who’s character closely imitates his life and who - more than likely logs onto the forum for a peek - saw what was being said and had the mother of ALL hissy fits. Handbags at dawn and all that. SOMEONE to whom TPTB at Mersey listen closely. SOMEONE who fancies himself a sage. SOMEONE who fancies himself ...
Hmmmm ...
Not only that, but I also reckon that when the Official Forum returns, it will be more closely monitored than ever - and for the wrong reasons. Before, it was rapidly becoming the home of the illiterate, inarticulate adolescent fan, mainly from the Northwest, who pounced upon and verbally abused anyone who dared criticise Brookside. The moderator did a fairly good job in ousting these individuals, but he also allowed a fair amount of freedom of expression, resulting in the fact that Brookside’s official forum became an airing ground for long-term fans expressing their overall discontent with the show. I think now that the former, pejorative element of tweenies who ‘fink Tim is fit’n Steve is gr8’ will prevail; and it will be the latter, the let-down long-term viewer who will be sacrificed. Such is the show.
Anyway, the pondlife element of the Forum have been trying to make an appearance on Annabelle’s site - most notably the odious and ignorant individual who started cyberlife as ‘ilovegerrard’. She should really try to contact Gerard Houllier, because she’s certainly scored a hat trick in being banned from the old forum, from Alan’s soapbox and also from Brooksider - twice!!!
I should feel flattered as she’s chosen the screen name ‘Kay’ in her latest reincarnation, which is my moniker on the Forum. However, she’s foul-mouthed, abusive, illiterate, arrogant, ignorant and repulsive and deserves every ban she gets. She takes offence at criticism levelled at Liverpool and Liverpudlians, failing to realise that the worst kind of criticism of this place and its people comes from Phil Redmond, himself. Without a doubt, she is the vilest, most idiotic individual I’ve come across on the Internet, and I sincerely hope she’s consigned by her severely challenged pea-brain attitude to crawl back into the woodwork hole from whence she came, never to return.
Perhaps she should try the Google Newsgroup, where anything goes and no one is banned. It’s much more her speed.
This episode, which takes place the morning after the stupid Gordon barbecue, begins with Antony, still having a nightmare. He lies twitching, tossing and turning in his bed in the conservatory,watched vigilatntly by his father, with concern.
Ron lies sleeping in his hospital beed, with Jacqui and Mike keeping vigil.
Meanwhile, at Bicker-Bicker House, Ma Gordon gently wakes the sleeping Bitch, lifting her smelly and vile, hung-over body into a sitting position and gently cradling the undeserving slut in her arms, whilst urging her to have a drink of water. It’s time to get up.
Just as she’s managed to get the slut into a sitting position, Pa bellows Bitch’s name down the hall, and she bolts from the bed, grasping her mouth, en route to the bathroom to puke.
(Is it me, or would ALL mothers be so wonderfully gentle and understanding if their daughter arrived, late and drunk, for a party given in her honour the day before? Would your mother gently urge and coax you from such a hangover? Would mine BOLLOCKS! I shudder to think of the treatment I would have received at the hands of my late mother, but gentle it wouldn’t have been and it wouldn’t involve sympathy).
As Ant lies twitching and jerking in the bed, Marty stands over him, a sad look on his face. He bends tentatively and reaches out his hand to touch the lad gently on the forehead, when suddenly there’s a rap on the door of the conservatory. Marty jumps and Antony sits bolt upright.
After he’s managed to crawl back into his skin, he looks over his shoulder to see Christy tapping on the conservatory door.
Marty opens the door and berates Christy. He gave him a fright! What the hell was Christy doing banging on the back door?
Christy enters, explaining that he’s brought the bricks Marty wanted with which to build a barbecue. Why is Marty so jumpy? He wants to know.
After Bitch Gordon bolts, Pa stands in the doorway to her room, arms akimbo and in a foul mood. That girl was going to be late for her flight, he booms. Ma, sitting serenely on the bed, admonished Pa and warns him not to have kittens.
Well, Pa announces rightly (like any self-respecting South Londoner), Ma should be having kittens too! What kind of person WAS Bitch anyway, to get roaring, blind drunk the night before leaving on a major trip.
‘Hit’s called bein’ yoong,’ replies the ever-understanding Ma, who knows and comprehends all and should be ripe as a candidate for Sage seduction. Although, patient Ma continues, it’s a wonder the whole family hadn’t hit the bottle with Pa’s mood lately. (Here we go, more stereotypical assumptions about smoking and smokers - Annabelle, please comment!)
Pa replies that his moods are all down to the stress of quitting smoking.
Ma suggests that Pa get himself a nicotine patch, but Pa maintains that they’re a con.
Oooh, Ma says, boot yer can get one on prescription these days. Pa would rather go cold turkey. (I would rather Brookside went cold turkey from this family. They are appalling).
Ma remarks that Pa’s been unbearable lately. (Only Pa?)
Then Pa starts to shout and scream for Bitch. (Surprise, surprise).
Outside, Nikki watches as Jerome Niggaz-with-Attitude-Rappa-Corkscrew-Head washes his car. Jerome is currently competing in a contest to see who has the most absurd haircut, as he now sports an amalgamation of cornrows and corkscrews. It looks ridiculous. Jerome is washing his car as he has a prospective buyer coming that afternoon. If it looks nice, he tells Nikki, he might get more dosh for it, which means more spends for their holiday.
Nikki isn’t at all eager to travel. She’s clutching at various excuses not to go. Is he sure this is a good idea?
Of course it is, Jerome replies. Travel broadens the mind.
Boot, begins Dr Nikki, trying another tack, doesn’t Jerome feel guilty about selling his car? After all, he bought the car with money left him by his late father?
This is something his father would have wanted him to do, replies Jerome. After all, the money was initially left to pay for Jerome’s education, and the trip through Europe will be educational. This would be a trip of a lifetime, he assures her.
Ma is still sitting on Bitch’s bed, musing over her departure. Pa remarks about one hearing so much about young girls going missing on their travels. (Oh, PLEASE, Brookside, let her be lost forever in the rain forest). Ma admonishes him for expressing such a thought.
But look at the state of her the previous evening, he reiterates. She has no sense of responsibility at all. (This is true. They’ve raised her to be totally selfish and callow. I blame the parents).
In an abrupt about turn in her concern, Ma brushes this comment aside. It’s just her age.
Ah, yes, Pa agrees. He remembers Ma’s overly-friendly reaction to a total stranger in Rome in 1977 when Liverpool won the European Cup. (NOW HEAR THIS!!! PA GORDON IS NOT A SCOUSER. HE IS A LONDONER. AND NO LONDONER, NO MATTER HOW LONG HE’D LIVED IN SCOUSELAND, WOULD EVER SUPPORT A SCOUSE TEAM!!!)
Oooh, witters Ma, she does want Bitch to go, but oooh, she will miss her.
Suddenly, their attention is caught by a shriek from the landing outside. Running to the door of Bitch’s room, they find Rabbity Ruth, wearing a skimpy white top, with no sleeves on which to wipe her snot. She’s staring, horrified, at a letter in her hand.
OMIGOD! It’s a letter from the hapless Sean’s solicitor. The hapless Sean isn’t so gormless after all. He wants a divorce from the slut.
Ron has now woken and lies on his side in his bed, facing away from Mike and Jacqui. They stand in the background, while the camera focuses full on Ron’s face. Jacqui and Mike are asking him how he slept and talking about the possibility of Ron having his bypass privately. Ron has a haunted look on his face, however, and is speaking of other things.
He didn’t have an easy night, he mutters. He heard voices and had dreams. Turning on his back and looking up at his two children, he confesses that he saw the Moffatt lad - saw him and heard him.
Never mind him, dismisses Jacqui. She wants Ron to know that his children have discussed everything with their respective spouses and Rachel and Max were in agreement to Jacqui paying for Ron to go private.
Ron tries to ignore her, but Jacqui won’t be swayed. If her dad will only have the operation, Dr Parr says he could be healthier than he’d been in years. Why, he’d be home playing with his grandchildren in no time.
The Gordons have now convened to the Bicker-Bicker Lounge, where Pa stands in the middle of the room, shouting down his mobile to the cretinous, unseen Kevin, telling him that he’d be an hour, no TWO HOURS late, and alternately screaming up the stairs for Bitch.
Ma and Rabbity Ruth sit on the mangey sofa in the foreground, discussing the contents of the letter. The very idea of Sean divorcing her! Exclaims Rabbity Ruth, indignantly. Why, it should be the other way around! SHE should be divorcing HIM! After all, he hit her. (Ah, yes, stupid, but YOU committed adultery, and he has grounds).
Ma makes sympathetic noises as Pa finishes shouting into his mobile.
Well, that just does it! Rabbity Ruth announces, with finality. Sean’s not seeing Luke!
Now both Ma and Pa begin to protest. Ma tells Rabbity Ruth that she can’t use Luke as a weapon against Sean, and Pa maintains that she has no right to stop a man from seeing his son.
Ooh, wails Rabbity Ruth, snorking back her snot ferociously. What should she do? Should she see a solicitor.
No, snaps Pa, putting on his jacket. For the moment, she should do nothing.
Noothink? Repeats Rabbity, not sure she understands the last word as it was spoken like a South Londoner.
Nothing, repeats her father.
Well, accuses Rabbity Ruth, it seems as though Pa’s fallen in support of the hapless Sean.
Pa turns away from her and begins to shriek for Bitch to hurry up. She wanted a lift to the airport this morning - and now she was taking all day about it!
Turning back to Ma, Rabbity Ruth assumes a sorrowful, woe-is-me mien. Oh, how can her father support Sean, telling her to do noothink!
Ma puts her arms around Rabbity Ruth comfortingly. Soomtimes, her Pa does know best. After all, doesn’t Rabbity Ruth want to get her marital home back? She needs the house for her and Luke the bunny.
Pa yells again for Bitch, who suddenly appears downstairs, laden with a backpack, her tits jutting outward at ninety-degree angles.
(***WARNING!!!!! PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT***)
Bitch is complaining about Pa shouting. Pay him no mind, wafts Ma. It’s withdrawal symptoms. Oh, Bitch understands. Thrusting her tits upwards towards her father’s chin, she sympathises with the fact that he’s trying to wean himself off a substance more addictive than crack or heroin (oh, so Brookside approves of these substances then?), she just doesn’t want him to start smoking again in her absence.
And his yoongest daughter doesn’t need to leave with Pa’s angry voice reverberating in her ears! Ma adds, helpfully.
Rachel enters the bar, with Harry, Emma and Beth in tow (who really shouldn’t be there, as Jacqui is so meticulous about Josh not being in the bar). She’s carrying a scanty bouquet of lillies.
Bev remarks upon the flowers, assuming the flower of death is for Ron.She sees Rachel’s been allowed into see Ron, she says, jealously. She tried to visit him the night before, but some stroppy nurse turned her away - immediate family only, she said. Oh, Bev tried to explain her relationship with Ron, but the nurse wouldn’t buy it.
Oooh, breathes Rachel, ak’shly flo-weh’s fer Beth’s grave. She no’see Ron. Ron too weak, she adds.
Rachel comments that Bev looks frazzled - maybe she could do with some time off.
Chance would be a fine thing, huffs Bev. It’s busier than ever, especially with Jacqui not here to help. And she hardly ever sees Josh.
Rachel asks who’s looking after him at the moment.
Adele Murray’s babysitting today, Bev says, but Adele leaves on holiday Saturday. Bev reckons her days as bar manager are nearing an end. She tried to give it a fair go, but it wasn’t to be. And as for being a barmaid, well, she reckons she’s probably better off on the dole.
Bitch is finally leaving and the family assemble outside the house to bid her farewell. In the background, two attractive girls engage in a business transaction with Jerome, buying his car. Nikki arses about in the foreground, and when Bitch follows her geometric tits toward the boot of the car, Nikki approaches her.
Bitch mistakes Nikki for Emily, but Nikki corrects her. ‘I’m Nikki, the flat-chested one. Emily’s me sister.’ She understands that Bitch is taking off for her gap year.
Oh, yes, preens Bitch, knowingly. She’s going to South America.
Isn’t she scared? Asks Nikki. Nikki was about to tour Europe and she was bottling it - all those foreigners, y’know.
The idea, recites Bitch, reading a cue card over Nikki’s shoulder, is to do as many countries as possible. She’s landing in Mexico and then she and her friend plan on working their way down. (Working? DON’T ask as what ...) Her mate Ellie really wanted to see Peru (you know, Paul Simon records, llamas, Incas etc).
Boot, what about the language? Nikki persists.
Bitch shrugs. Well, her mate Ellie knows Spanish. (Ah, but there’s Spanish and Spanish. The South Americans speak a different dialect from the Castellanos. Besides, who needs to speak when you’re flat on your back and your legs are spread wide?) Bitch calms Nikki down, as Nikki’s worried about her finances. Oh, she won’t need mooch money, Bitch assures her. And remember, the wine is cheap. (Of course, we all live to drink).
Over at Sitcom House, Christy Muddie is concerned that Marty’s so nervous. Is it to do with the police questioning Marty? He asks.
Marty looks at Christy incredulously. Of COURSE, he’s bloody nervous. Two kids go missing from two schools where he just happened to work, and the police are drawing their own conclusions.
Christy dismisses Marty’s fears. Ah, the police would only be after pervs.
Christy wasn’t in that holding room, Marty reminds him. They had Marty well and truly scared.
That’s part of the bizzies’ job, says Christy, putting the scares on people.
They certainly did that, avows Marty.
Christy tries to jolly him along, telling him that Marty’s got nothing to worry about. After all, he had nothing to hide. Why, the bizzies probably won’t contact him again.
Outside, Pa Gordon stands in the middle of the Close, bellowing like a bull about to face a matador. It’s easy to imagine him, standing in front of his Volvo, kicking the dirt on the ground, with the smoke of a million previously smoked and stale-breathed fags issuing from his nose. His face reddens and he roars: ‘KIRRRRRR-THHHHHTYYYYYYY!’
Suddenly from out of nowhere, Ma Gordon sprints around the car to confront him. ‘Go and buy yerself a packet o’cigarettes!’ She shrieks.
‘Cahhhn’t,’ sneers Pa, becoming even more Cockney minute by minute. ‘Ah’m a refo’med smoker, me!’
Ma says she wants to throttle Pa (probably more because he’s a Southerner than a smoker. C’mon back to Walford, Pa. You could cadge a fag off Dot or Jim or Paul or Patrick! Besides, Augh’ee Peggy needs your help behind the bar). This cold turkey just isn’t working.
Finally two Jean-Paul Gaultier tits appear in the doorway of Bicker-Bicker House and Bitch descends, royally bidding her new home a farewell. She stops by Rabbity Ruth, who’s snorking back snot and hopping up and down. Bitch tells her to say good-bye to Luke the bunny for her.
Rabbity Ruth admits she’s jealous of Bitch’s trip. She wants to go, and Bitch tells her that she can some day.
Not likely, admits Rabbity Ruth ruefully, not with a four year-old in tow. (Well, that’s your problem, Rabbity. Ever hear of safe sex?) Anyway, Bitch should have adventures for the pair of them - and for Rabbity and herself too. The two idiotic sisters get teary and bleary, before Rabbity Ruth admonishes Bitch not to fall for any men out in South America. (Oh, heaven forbid!) Men can do serious damage to a girl’s health, she continues. (Maybe she’ll fall for Lindsey when she returns, eh?)
Ma Gordon approaches Bitch’s tits and clasps them and her to her skinny frame. She hugs Bitch and calls her ‘Little girl.’ Bitch corrects her. ‘Big girl,’ Bitch admonishes. ‘Dooble D coop.’
Rabbity Ruth hops up and hugs her again, telling her to have a great time and be careful, and Bitch tells Rabbity that that should be her mother’s line.
Ma just can’t seem to finish saying good-bye. She tells her to keep in touch and finishes with a warning for her not to look after parcels for strangers. (Oh, if only, God PLEASE!!! Let her get caught for smuggling drugs in Bucaramanga!)
Pa toots the horn of the Volvo impatiently as Bitch ducks inside, encouraging Rabbity to give the Brookside Bike and Ali the Ginger a hard time on her account.
Then she’s gone. (Not before bloody time too! Talk about long good-byes!)
Mike and Jacqui are preparing to leave the hospital, making their excuses to Ron. Jacqui tells him that she has to get back to the bar to help Bev out, and Mike says he has to sort Ron’s laundry out. Ron asks them to wait a moment. He tells them both that he’s made his decision about whether or not to opt for private surgery. This is an important procedure, and he feels that as it’s his health, it should be his decision. He doesn’t want Jacqui to pay for his by-pass. He’d rather wait and use the NHS.
Jacqui protests. Ron hasn’t thought about this properly. If it’s the money, he shouldn’t think about that at all, she explains, hastily, because she intends to pay-
Ron stops her. It’s not about principles OR money, he says, decisively. Although he must admit that £14,000 was a helluva price to pay. He just wants to wait his turn, he says, simply.
‘Boot joost think o’what might happen!’ Urges Jacqui.
‘Then I’ll leave it in the hands of fate,’ says Ron. Then seeing Jacqui tug her hair furiously in desperation, he explains his motive for wanting to wait. ‘Jacqueline,’ he begins, I could have dis op doon right away, and den soomthink might happen on the operatin’ table. Or I could wait six moonths (Er, I thought it was nine), and make a coomplete recoovery. The point is, I’m prepared ter take the risk.’
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Dr Nikki and Jerome Big-Sam-Field-Hand-Native-Son-Ungawa sit at the Hotel Corkhill kitchen table. Jerome grins broadly, looking more and more like Stepin Fetchit, and spreads a wad of notes onto the table. It’s the money he got for his car. That, he announces is financing their European tour.
Nikki looks dubious. She’s not at all sure that’s enough money to get them both through a month of travelling. (Well, put it this way ... You won’t be able to buy designer gear).
Jerome insists that it is enough.
Well, points out Nikki, groping for reasons to back out of going, what about their rail passes? Once they bought them, there’d be precious little left. And what about accommodation? Hotels?
Easy, explains Jerome. They spend the first few nights at Margi’s place in Brussels, so that’s for free. (Not to mention the fact that Margi will probably sub them a few thousans Euros). Then, they do most of their travelling by night, so’s they can sleep on the train.
And what about food? Dr Nikki the Dim persists.
Jerome Mr Know-It-All-Hit-Song-By-Stevie-Wonder has an answer for that too. You can eat cheap in Europe, he says, simply by getting your meals at those cute little cafes.
Nikki’s got no further arguments for staying with the Sage, so Jerome assigns her the task of studying the Atlas, whilst he goes onto the Internet surfing for interesting places to visit. They have to plan their route. And off he skips, as happy as a pickaninny in a field of raw cotton.
Returning to the hospital, Mike and Jacqui redouble their efforts to try to talk Ron out of waiting for his surgery to be done on the National Health. Mike points out that Ron might not be so lucky as to have a doctor on hand if he has another heart attack whilst he’s waiting.
Putting off the surgery won’t change things, says Jacqui. She thinks Ron’s worried about the operation. It’s only natural to worry about major surgery, she says.
‘I’m joost buyin’ soom time,’ Ron explains, placidly. ‘I need ter thing things out properly, that’s all. Put me affairs in order.’
Jacqui persists in badgering him about going privately, but Ron looks past her at Mike, who’s standing near the door to the unit. Ron asks Mike to go to the hospital shop and find something for Ron to read. Mike begins to protest that he’d already brought Ron the daily papers, which he hadn’t read yet. Then he notices Jacqui perched at Ron’s bedside and susses that Ron wants to have a word with Jacqui alone.
‘Oh aye,’ Mike nods, ironically. ‘I see.’ And he leaves, thinking Ron up to something.
Jacqui thinks Ron wants to talk about refusing the private option because Mike had proposed paying half the costs. If that’s it, she says, once Mike’s gone, Ron needn’t worry, because Mike won’t have to go into anymore debt. She was paying for the operation, herself.
It’s not that, Ron assures her, calmly, although it IS about Mike and money that he needs to talk to Jacqui. Simply and honestly, he tells Jacqui that he needs to change his will and he wants her to help him do it.
Jacqui nods, but doesn’t like to hear Ron discuss wills at a time like this.
Ron tells Jacqui that he proposes changing his will to leave her the sole beneficiary of his estate.
Jacqui begins to protest furiously. This isn’t fair, she says. Mike should be entitled to half of Ron’s estate-
Ron interrupts her. ‘Listen, listen,’ he pleads. Anthea’s still in his last will, so he needs to change it anyway, to take into account that they were no longer married. (Oh, really? And when did the decree nisi come through?) But surely Jacqui knows that whatever money he leaves Mike, the lad will only waste it, and then before yer knew it, little Beth would be left with noothink. At least, he knows he can depend on Jacqui to split his inheritance evenly amongst his grandchildren.
Back at Sitcom House, the telephone rings, and Christy notices Marty go white as a sheet at the sound. He dashes to pick up the phone, only to find that it’s Ant, notifying him of his whereabouts. Marty heaves a sigh of relief as he talks to the boy and finishes the conversation.
Christy comments on Marty’s demeanor, but Marty tries to brush off his reaction.
Come on, scoffs Christy, he’s seen his brother go a whiter shade of pale when that phone rang. It’s the bizzies got him spooked! Why, Marty’s got nothing to wuddy about - unless he’s holding soomthink back, adds Christy.
Marty turns away from Christy and says he has nothing to hide.
Then that’s that, remarks Christy, with finality. He’s got nothing to fear from the bizzies.
But Marty wants to know why they’re lurking about, asking questions about his previous job etc.
That’s the bizzies being the bizzies, says Christy, laconically. You know what they’re like.
No, replies Marty, sarcastically, he doesn’t. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have as much experience in dealing with the bizzies as Christy’s had.
‘Don’t wuddy!’ Urges Christy. ‘If yer’ve noothink ter hide, then yer’ve noothink ter wuddy about.’
Marty states definitely that he’s got nothing to hide from Christy or from anyone, but he doesn’t sound convincing.
‘Then why did yer brick it when that phone rang?’ Asks Christy, roughly. ‘I saw yer reaction!’
Mike Dixon returns to the unit where Ron is resting, sans the requested reading material, by the way (great advert for Brookside consistency), only to find Ron asleep. As he enters the room, Jacqui, standing at the foot of the bed, puts her finger to her lips and cautions Mike to be quiet.
Mike immediately demands to know about Ron’s secret conversation with Jacqui.
Pushing a strand of hair behind her ears, Jacqui avoids Mike’s gaze and accuses Mike of being paranoid. Ron simply wanted to make sure she understood his reason to wait for NHS surgery had nothing to do with money.
Well, if that were the case, asks Mike, why didn’t he say so in front of Mike?
Again, Jacqui avoids his gaze. Maybe Ron didn’t want to embarrass Mike.
Mike still doesn’t understand. ‘Boot yer know I woulda paid yer back,’ he tells his sister. ‘Yer know I would.’
‘Oh aye?’ Remarks Jacqui sceptically. ‘Well, nobody owes any mooney now because there’s not going ter be a private operation.’
Then Jacqui looks at the sleeping form of her dad for an instant. Turning to Mike, she wonders whether or not Ron is trying to punish himself for killing Clint, by refusing an immediate operation.
As Pa Gordon drives back from the airport through what looks to be an industrial estate, a figure suddenly steps into the path of his car, holding both hands aloft. Pa slams on the brakes, as he recognises the figure as that of the hapless Sean.
Pa thrusts his bulk from the car, demanding to know what the hell Sean’s playing at.
Sean hastily assures Pa that he only wants a word ... About Luke, he adds.
Pa sighs heavily and lumbers toward a low brick wall where he plops his fat arse down. Sean follows, talking urgently as he walks. He doesn’t want to stop seeing his son, he pleads. That’s all he wants.
Pa looks up at him from the corner of his eye. Then if that’s the case, he’s got to stop winding Rabbity Ruth up.
Sean is affronted. Winding her up?
The solicitor’s letter, Pa prompts him.
He had no choice in that matter, Sean defends himself. And as for winding her up, why, she’s been winding him up for months, carrying on with Dan, both behind his back and then under his very nose! That’s why he wanted to talk to Pa. He clocked Pa’s reaction the other day when he finally realised the truth behind Rabbity Ruth’s return to the family fold. He knows Pa doesn’t think she’s in the right. He simply wants to make arrangements with her for access to Sean. He doesn’t want to lose his son.
Pa sighs, resigned. All right, he concedes, Sean could talk to Rabbity Ruth through him.
So Pa’s impartial, queries Sean.
Pa laughs shortly. He’s not impartial, he admits. In fact, Rabbity Ruth thinks Pa’s siding with Sean.
So what should he do? Sean asks, seeking Pa’s wisdom.
Well, Pa begins, why not begin by letting Ruth and Luke have the house?
Sean shakes his head furiously. Never. And let her move Loverboy in as soon as she gets the keys?
‘Face it, Alan,’ he says to Pa, ‘would you let Debbie shack oop with another man in YOUR house? Do yer think it’s right that a maddied wooman lives with another man and doosn’t let her’oosband see their son?’
Pa avoids answering.
Jacqui and Mike return to Bar Brookie to be greeted by Bev, asking after Ron. Mike asks if Bev’s seen Rachel and Bev tells him that Rachel stopped by with the kids on her way to Beth’s grave. Mike scurries off to find her.
Jacqui apologises to Bev for leaving her in the lurch to look after the bar since Ron’s been ill and asks how things are going there. It’s quiet now, admits Bev, glancing about, but it’s been chokka.
Jacqui tells Bev she’s really grateful to her for holding down the fort whilst Jacqui’s dealt with Ron, and to show her how grateful she is, Jacqui’s giving Bev a hefty payrise.
Bev sighs, wearily. A big pay rise WOULD be nice, she admits, but it still doesn’t solve her problem with childcare for Josh. Oh, she’s done her best to run this place, she admits, but as a single mum, a job like this just isn’t practical.
Rachel the Dim, with Beth, Harry and Emma gathered around her, kneels by the side of Beth Jordache’s grave and removes the accumulated dead flowers. As she does so, the tells little Beth Dixon about her An’tee Beth. When little Beth gro-as oop, Rachel ‘opes little Beth will be joost l-eye-ke’er An’tee Beth - a lesbian, who was good and k-eye-ne ter ev-er-oone.
Mike rushes up to the little group, apologising for being late. Rachel asks how Ron is, and Mike tells her that Ron doesn’t want to have his operation done privately.
Oooh, marvels Rachel, getting to her feet and proceeding to usher the kids away from the grave, oooh, boot tha’s good en’t it? No’havter pe-ah moo-neh. On Nash’nul’Ealth, get same doc an’ same tre-atment. Now no’havter pe-ah Jac-keh.
But, Mike argues, if Ron had the op done privately, it could be done in a matter of days, instead of months.
Oooh, replies Rachel, not thinking of Ron’s health at all, but only seeing pound signs that aren’t in her bank account. Boot, ‘ow woulda pe-ad Jac-keh. Taken years, tha’.
Jerome has just finished planning the itinerary of his and Nikki’s excursion. Paris, he’s saving until the last stop. They start off in Brussels, he explains, as Nikki tries to act excited, then move onto Nice, Barcelona etc etc, over to Greece, where they plan on taking the ferry to Corfu, for a week on the beach.
Nikki hops up and down in feigned pleasure. This will be the trip of a lifetime, exclaims Jerome. Nine cities in 4 weeks. And just think - it would be something to tell their grandchildren about.
Hang on a minute, says Nikki, suddenly sobering. They’re not even married and already Jerome’s talking about grandchildren. Let’s not run before we can walk, she cautions. There’s a lot of living for Nikki to do, before she settles down to start a family - like cleaning for Jimmy, washing for Jimmy, worshipping Jimmy ...
But, warbles Jerome, this has got to be the Great Jerome and Nikki Euro Tour of 2002. Unless Nikki’s having second thoughts, that is, he eyes her suspiciously. Jerome wants to know if Nikki’s having second thoughts because of Jimmy - because if she is, he wants her to know that Jimmy actually WANTS her to go, because now he’s got Happy Smiling Helen.
From here on out, Jerome declares, it’s he and Nikki forever.
Mike, Rachel and the uncomprending children stand over Beth’s grave and gaze down at it. Rachel tries to pretend that she’s got good, common sense by remarking that, oooh, ‘s foo-neh that body doan ree-l-eye-se ‘ow special a person is oontil person d-eye-s. Oooh, hit took Beth ter d-eye before Rachel knew ‘ow special Beth was.
Too right, agrees Mike, solidly. He always thinks Ron’s a pain, but he doesn’t want him to die. (Christ, that’s big of him to admit! This guy is SO callous!)
Oooh, says Rachel, she been thinkin’bowt Bev’n Josh terday. Poor Bev talkin’bowt packin’ job at baaaaah in. Rachel thinks she and M-eye-ke oughter’elp poor Bev as mooch as they kin. Oooh, mebbe she could look af-teh Josh when no’lookin’ afteh Harry’n Emmer.
Mike reluctantly admits that, yes, he supposes he COULD do more in the way of caring for (and indeed, caring about) Josh. He promises to help out as much as he can. (Where have we heard that before?)
Oooh, remarks Rachel, as they set off for home after a productive day at the cemetary, joost ‘coz Jac-keh woan’elp poor Bev wi’ch-eye-ld-care, doan mean ter say they kaint.
(Hang on a minute. I don’t like Jacqui, or anyone on Brookside, as much as I used to, but I’m patently sick and tired of these lazy, pigshit-thick ignorant dimwits thinking, BELIEVING, that an employer has a God-given right to sort out an employee’s childcare problems. They DON’T. When a person takes a job, that person assumes the responsibility of ensuring that any children they have are adequately cared for, which usually means paying for childcare out of your own pocket. I know childcare is expensive. And good childminders cost good money. But if you want to work and have kids too, you have to pay the price. Jacqui gave Bev a job, and literally saved her from being thrown out on the street. She gives her a living wage and a share in the profits of the business Bev manages for her. Bev hasn’t repaid her in anyway, except to malign her and to whinge and moan about having to pay for childcare when the money would only be frittered away on other fripperies anyway. Mike and Rachel should shut up and MIKE should assume some parental responsibility over the little thug. RANT OVER).
The hapless Sean and Pa still sit on their little wall, filmed through a chicken wire fence. The hapless Sean moans that Ruth and Dan the Man have managed to make a mug out of him. They’ve made him look the idiot in this whole marital fiasco, and now she wants to deprive him of his son.
Pa Gordon nods sagely. He does admit that the hapless Sean does, indeed, have the right to be a part of Luke the bunny’s life. OK, he agrees, finally. He’s willing to intercede on Sean’s behalf in this tangle - but Sean has to promise Pa that there’ll be no further kicking off.
Meanwhile, back at Bicker-Bicker House, poor Ma sits on Bitch’s bed and stares sadly at a skimpy, little top Bitch has somehow managed to leave behind. (Don’t tell me, she comes ALL the way back for it too!)
Rabbity Ruth, snorks some snot, wiggles her nose to remove the rest and hops into the room. She tells Ma not to worry. Bitch will be sure to have fun. Why, tits, er, sorry, it’s one big adventure for her.
Yer doan stop wuddyin’ about yer kids, croaks Ma (who sounds as though she’s a thirty-a-day woman in real life!).
Rabbity Ruth hops to her mother’s side and sidles up to her on the bed. She wants her poor Ma to know that she’s heartily soddy about bringing all her troubles home and dumping them at her parents’ feet.
Ma gazes at Rabbity Ruth and remarks that their home will ALWAYS be Ruth’s home. (Uh-oh, you shouldn’t have said that!)
In that case, pounces Rabbity Ruth, revealing her real intent, has Ma had a chance yet to talk Pa round letting Dan the Man move in for good?
Ma looks doubtful, fingering her snarly hair and looking this way and that. Oooh, dunnoooo, she whines. Now’s not a good time ter talk ter Pa about anythink.
Oh, give him a cigarette and he’ll agree to anything, Ruth snaps.
Oooh, whines Ma. Hit’s not that. Hit’s the boys. There simply isn’t room, yer see, and Ali won’t agree ter share with Stewart mooch longer. She’ll talk ter Pa, boot she can’t promise anythink. Yer dad can’t help it if he’s a traditionalist. Why, Pa believes marriage is fer life.
(Pa, in other words, has morals - something Ma doesn’t).
The important thing, hounds Ma, is that everythink is made as easy as possible for Luke the bunny.
That’s up to Sean, sneers Rabbity Ruth, unsympathetcally.
‘Hit’s oop ter yer both,’ says Ma, weakly.
As Nikki pours over an ancient Atlas, Jerome bounces into the kitchen from the extension, waving a bit of paper about. It’s something he’s downloaded from the internet, about an idyllic cottage near an idyllic church on the idyllic island of Corfu. Nikki reads it. Sounds like an ideal place for a holiday, she says.
Sounds like an ideal place to get married, Jerome replies.
Nikki looks startled.
Just think of it, Jerome chatters. No hassle, no fuss, just dead romantic.
Is Jerome asking her to maddy him? Asks Nikki, stupidly.
Why not? Jerome replies, euphemistically. They’ve already been engaged.
‘Ehhhhhhhhm, boot,’ begins Nikki, twirling her frizzy permed hair onto one finger, ‘why doan we wait a few years?’
But Jerome doesn’t want to wait a few years, he insists. Like Elvis said, it’s now or never.
Cue dramatic music.
Roy Boulter wrote this. Bleeea-chhhhhh!
See y’all in two weeks, when I hope to catch up on the summaries. I’m
off to sunny Spain and I’ve set the video!
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002