SUMMERTIME
... And the livin’ is easy, fish are jumpin’ ... And the cotton is high ... Well, in Georgia and Alabama it is, but not in Walford, Weatherfield or Manor Park. There’s nothing on television, and why should there be? The weather is nice, so we’re all outside.
It’s a traditionally slack time for soaps. Those whose plots are normally pithy, have even pithier plots. It’s a time for trimming and tying up loose ends. June begins the slow-down, which actually means in filiming terms, the slow-down begins in mid-April, when the June episodes are actually filmed. July’s and August’s filmings are aired from late August well into the autumn, but the actual airing months of June and July, especially the latter, can be particularly dire.
The Jubilee and summer sports’ agendae have helped Eastenders and Corrie much this summer - the Queen’s Jubillee provided the beginning of the end of Janine’s drug saga. Both soaps touched on the World Cup and Norris Cole featured big in the Commonwealth Games interlude on Coronation Street.
With Brookside, however, all we got was a rant against the Queen, by Brookside’s resident Queen, Jimmy Corkhill, a bare mention of the World Cup and nothing whatsoever about the Commonwealth Games, only a 45-minute drive down the motorway.
Of course, the summer slow-down has a reason in soapland. It lulls the body and mind of the viewer, lets them rest their thoughts to the point that one actually asks oneself the question as to why one bothers to watch such programmes at all. Recently, one tabloid trumpeted the beginning of the end of the soap genre, based on the fact that this summer alone, Eastenders and Corrie had both lost 2 million viewers. What the author of the article, obviously someone who has never taken the time to watch a quality soap, failed to realise, is that Eastenders and Coronation Street ‘lose’ 2 million viewers every June and July.
The weather’s nice, people are on holiday etc etc.
I’ll be the first to admit that Eastenders lately has been hard going. The viewers have been subjected to an overdose of the Slater family ad nauseam. Jess Wallace, last year’s golden girl of soaps, has become bloated, big-mouthed and over-bearing. After the high drama and quality acting surrounding the domestic abuse storyline, Eastenders wisely rested Kacey Ainsworth and Alex Ferns. Instead, they thrust Wallace’s big-chinned, lip-glossed mug down our throat each week. Now on ‘Enders official website, they are faced with pleas from fans for less of the Slaters - some even threatening to turn off altogether. Coupled with the bizarre and unrealistic storyline concerning Ant-Urgh-Knee and Zo-eee, it’s been diabolical.
But there’s a light at the end of the tunnel ...
A major Eastenders’ actress, Lucy Benjamin, is about to leave, and the fact that her character has been playing away with none other than Phil Mitchell, means a gearing up of the autumn storyline schedule, in anticipation of the annual Mitchell bun fight at Christmas.
But that’s the way soaps work - lull you into a sense of boredom during the summer months and kick in during the autumn, when the nights draw in, the weather worsens and the storylines hot up.
Not Brookside.
Brookside dares to be different - that’s IT’S tradition. Previously, the difference worked - witness how much LIKE Brookside of old Coronation Street and Eastenders (chiefly the latter) now is. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Well, I hope - for the sakes of Corrie and EE - that Brookside’s dross is the next stage of soap development - cast for looks, rather than talent: a pneumatic blonde or brunette, preferably one with attitude - and never mind the melons, they can always be obtained via the services of a Harley Street surgeon. A hunky lad here. A token gay there. And amidst all this, one character dominating the proceedings, straddling the soap’s storylines like Colossus of the Greek fable - omniscient, omnipresent and omnisombulant -zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Brookside just ain’t happenin’. It’s dissolved into a myriad of cheap one-liners, public service announcements and screaming fits. It’s adopted the plight of the NHS and intertwined it with an AWFUL anti-smoking storyline. A logical conclusion to both would have Ron Dixon miraculously saved in a pristine and modern-looking NHS hospital (which it was, by the way - way too clean for the NHS) and have Alan Gordon affect a Damascene conversion to the ranks of the anti-smokers on his knees at the foot of Ron’s bed. ‘See,’ intones the fateful voice of Dr Parr, ‘what the evils of smoking can do to one’s health!’
Only the problem is ... Ron never smoked a day in his life. So Alan should be safe.
Nope, the public service announcements in favour of the NHS and against the killer weed will result in a record number of BUPA subscriptions and thousands of 10 year-olds buying their first packet of 20 Silk Cuts.
And the Imelda storyline ... Jinxed or what?
No sooner than Antony Muddie had quashed the evil Imelda in the knee-deep waters of the receeding pond, than poor Amanda Dowler went missing. Now, with Marty Muddie, the gormless Brookie comp caretaker under suspicion in Imelda’s disappearance, than we find that the unfortunate Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman have been allegedly done in by none other than - a school caretaker.
As Brookside, quite rightly, tabled the original storyline in deference to the Dowlers’ plight, this latest development can only mean a lengthening of a storyline that viewers are beginning to complain about for drawing things out. It’s not that Brookside’s storylines are over-long - they’re no longer than those of Eastenders, really. It’s just that, with a smaller and less-talented cast, there’s little with which to vary certain lines.
Anyway, it’s summertime ... Dire Murray and Ray are preparing to pack their bags. Let’s watch and see what develops.
As things happen, I set my video to tape this episode and the programme began a couple of minutes too early, so I lost the now-traditional brief introductory shots at the beginning. As they say virtually jack-shit anyway, let’s cut straight to the action.
Dr Nikki, a reluctant traveller, is ironing all the clothes she intends to scrunch up into a knapsack for her trip to the Continent. She stands at an ironing board in the kitchen of Hotel Corkhill. Even though various articles of clothing hang about the kitchen, Nikki must have everything packed or tagged for packing, because she’s wearing one of Kylie Stanlow’s little tops, making her look positively pre-pubescent. Never mind, when she returns from the Continent, she’ll be sure to have a fully-enhanced cleavage.
Poor old Jerome When-I-Was-A-Little-Bitty-Baby-My-Mama-Would-Rock-Me-In-the-Cradle-In-Dem-Old-Cotton-Fields-Back-Home Johnson stands in the background next to a kitchen counter, a look of anguish on his face. He’s trying to convince Dr Nikki that her fate in life is to marry him in Corfu.
Nikki’s trying to change the subject by wondering whether it’s au fait to wear jeans with everything on holiday.
Jerome asks Nikki point-blank if she wants to marry him.
Well, er, stutters Nikki, yes and no and it’s joost that his proposal took her by surprise, that’s all.
Why should it take her by surprise? Asks Jerome. They’ve been engaged before.
Ehhhhhm, begins Nikki, floundering for an excuse, ehhhhhhm, it was de way he said it, dat’s what, yeah - de way he said it.
Boot, argues Jerome, poking out his lower lip, petulantly, he thought Nikki said she wanted ter be maddied in paradise.
Nikki counters that she didn’t mean that at all. She meant that on Corfu, the beach looked like paradise. Anyway, she says irritably, why do they have to get married so soon?
Jerome sulks, saying that he wants everything to be perfect.
Nikki replies that she doesn’t see why they can’t joost treat the holiday as that - a holiday!
Over at Naughty Nurse Towers, Katie Rogers is having an unintelligible rant. She pounces upon Nisha, who’s sitting having her cornflakes at the breakfast bar, waving about a newspaper. Viciously she shoves the crumpled and offending paper under Nisha’s dainty nose.
There’s a front-page article all about Dr Parr saving Ron Dixon’s life. It dregs up all the gory details about Clint’s death - and on terday of all days! She shrieks.
Nisha manages to munch her corn flakes much like a cow ruminating and chewing cud, as she studies the article. Well, she remarks laconically, the paper would hardly sell if the headline read ‘Doctor Saves Old Man Having Heart Attack’, now would it?
That’s not the point, Katie shrills. It’s intrusive. And on terday, the anniversary of poor Clint’s funeral.
The article wasn’t meant to be personal, states Nisha, placing the paper neatly on the breakfast bar.
It’s disruptive, Katie announces, plopping herself miserably on the sofa.
Nisha sighs and asks if Katie’s going to the crematorium to pay tribute to the sainted Clint’s ashes (in hopes that some sort of miracle will occur).
‘Why not?’ Shouts Katie. ‘There’s no one else’s day I could spoil!’ Then she begins to moan about poor Clint having to share a vestibule with the ashes of his dead father. She has to share her grief with a man she’s never met! Oh, she knows Nisha’s about to lecture her about moving on, but she simply can’t do that! She wails.
Oh no? Nisha replies. Well, it looks as though Katie’s doing a good job of moving on. After all, she doesn’t cry over Clint’s photos anymore, she isn’t hoarding sleeping tablets and she hasn’t been hungover for awhile.
Katie remembers that she put away a tank of booze on Remembrance Day.
Nisha reckons that’s moving on.
Katie replies that she doesn’t feel like moving on today.
Nisha then suggests that she and Katie should see a film that evening - maybe a romantic comedy or something. Katie could do with a bit of romance.
That’s not soomthink she’s looking for, Katie mutters.
‘You never find it when you’re looking for it,’ quips Nisha.
Katie pauses for a moment’s think and then decides she’d appreciate Nisha’s company that evening, so she agrees to seeing a film with her.
Back at Sitcom House, the Antichrist dreams again of the mortal sin he committed back in March. He lies on his little monk’s bed in the conservatory, twitching, convulsing and tossing about, as we see black-and-white images of him fighting desperately with Imelda in the shallow pond. Then we cut to another shot of Marty Muddie, dressed in his boiler suit, peering through the trees of the wood - a brief shot of Imelda, wet and smiling cruelly, mouthing the word ‘Meff’. Finally, we see Antony peering into the still water of the pond, seeing his reflection, which turns into Imelda’s which evolves into Marty’s face.
Antony, a look of abject terror on his face, wide-eyed and mouth agape, sits bolt upright as he hears Marty call him for breakfast.
After he’s dressed, Ant ambles into the sitcom kitchen, as Marty busies himself at the sink. In the background, Ant grabs a bowl of cereal and proceeds to eat it standing up at the counter. Marty’s having a verbal go at Adele, who’s dressed for work and seated at the sitcom table, which seems to move all over the kitchen-diner.
Marty asks her irritably why she’s doing so many shifts at the garage.
Adele eyes him cockily and replies that it’s all dosh for her holiday.
Marty shakes his head threateningly. If this is another spiel about Ayia Napa, Adele can just forget it, he promises. Ayia Napa is in the dim and distant reaches of Adele’s past.
But Cornwall isn’t, says Adele, brightly.
And who gave her the idea of Cornwall? Marty wants to know.
That trendy Debbie Gordon at the garage, says Adele. Her daughter went there a couple of years ago, and apparently, it’s THE place to go. (Only this year, when Prince Harry went there, Brookside). They’ve already booked the caravan, Adele say, so they’re off - full stop, end of, debate closed.
Well, sneers Marty, if Adele’s so keen ter go off stayin’ in a caravan, she’ll find herself in a caravan when she returns as well.
Adele sasses back that that old threat wouldn’t work. It didn’t work last time and it won’t work now. Dire won’t see her out on the street, she preens.
No, says Marty, Dire will put her foot down, just like him.
Adele stares myopically at her harrassed father, through her contact lense, frowning intensely. Just why is he being so horrible? She whines.
Ant stands behind Marty, gobbling his cereal as though it’s his last meal. Marty slams his hands down onto the countertop in frustration, turning to Adele.
‘Because,’ he begins slowly, in a low-pitched, but threatening voice, ‘I’m sick ter death of all thid questionin’, because I hate me job. I get no respect there and none here,’ he continues, his voice now rising to a crescendo. ‘But I haveter caddy on, yes, I haveter caddy on - because soombody’s gotter pay fer your oongrateful ways!’
And he storms abruptly from the kitchen as Antony watches his departure through saucer-like eyes and a full gob.
Meanwhile, next door, one of the three most boring couples in soapdom (the other two being Ant-Urgh-Knee and Zo-eee and Kevin and Sally Webster) are debating the subject of marriage - or maddage, as they say in Scouseland.
Why wouldn’t he want to maddy Dr Nikki? Jerome asks rhetorically. She’s gorgeous, she’s foony, she’s brainy (eh? Are we watching the same programme, here?), and he never gets bored looking at her. (All the perfect reasons for getting married to someone. In fact, Jerome reminds her, not long ago last year, Nikki was biting his arm off for an engagement ring. What’s changed? He asks. Er, it couldn’t have been that little escapade where he cheated on her with Nisha,, could it? He wants to know.
Avoiding his gaze, Nikki mutters that she can’t deny that that episode had an effect on her.
Oh, so now she’s going into another Nisha strop, wails Jerome, before Nikki reminds him that he brought the subject up. Finally able to face him, Nikki confesses that if she’d lost him in the fire, her life would have been worthless. She loves him, but she doesn’t have to have marriage for him to realise that. Why does a piece of paper make things different? And why now?
Jerome pulls away from her, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He thought he and Nikki were soul mates (on board the Soul Train of Life, hm, yeah, baby). What is it about Nikki? Is she waiting for someone else? He asks, suddenly.
(Er, yes, probably Jimmy.)
Nikki frowns and brushes that comment away with a movement of her hand, denying that.
Jerome persists. Well, what is it? He demands. He knows that, apart from her rape, he’s the only bloke with whom she’s been. Does she wish she’d had more experience before meeting him? He wants more from her, he cries desperately. He wants to marry her, and he wants an answer before they leave on their trip. Jerome storms toward the door.
‘Ehhhm, doan yer be layin’ a guilt trip on me!’ Nikki cries after him.
It’s not guilt, Jerome replies, evenly. And if Nikki truly feels the same about him, then she’d give up on what she’s holding back.
Then it’s a matter of male pride, chides Nikki.
It’s love, Jerome says. And that’s what maddage all boils down to isn’t it? He closes the door and leaves.
Later in the day, the Naughty Nurse swans into Bar Brookie to find Dr Parr seated at the bar, indulging in a coffee and a cream cake. A tiny spot of cream lies on his cheek, slightly to the right of his lip. He’s not conscious of this at all, and he’s looking glumly lost in his thoughts.
Nisha sashays up to the pensive doctor and comments, in newspaper headline-style, about ‘local hero caught being down in the dumps’.
Dr Parr immediately rouses himself, protesting vociferously that the report in the local paper was inaccurate and sensationalist - besides, the picture of him was awful.
Nisha warns him that Katie has a bone to pick with him about that article. It’s published on the one-year anniversary of Clint’s funeral. Nisha pats the side of her face, indicating to Dr Parr that he’s got a dollop of whipped cream there, but he brushes about, missing it, and Nisha takes his napkin from his hand and proprietorially wipes his cheek for him. She asks after Ron’s progress.
He’s urgently in need of a by-pass, Dr Parr says.
Well, that shouldn’t be a problem, remarks Nisha, bitchily, especially since his daughter and son-in-law own half The Parade.
Nope, replies Dr Parr, Nisha’s wrong. Ron’s going NHS.
Nisha stares at him in disbelief.
NHS, reiterates Dr Parr, warts and all. Wants to wait his turn.
Lost for anything good to say about the Dixons, Nisha is reduced to muttering that Ron’s lucky to have a choice at all.
Dr Parr, remembering his manners, hastily asks in Nisha would like a coffee, or, er, something.
Nisha turns and narrows her eyes, smiling in that annoyingly smug way she has that makes one want to smack her.
‘Depends on what "something" is,’ she tries to purr, flirtingly.
Dr Parr blushes and stammers, ‘Whatever you want.’
Actually, Nisha remembers abruptly, she can’t stay. She only popped out for a brief lunch and she’s due back at the clinic.
What about after work? Dr Parr insists.
Forgetting any promise made to Katie on the promise of spending an evening with something male and dangling, she immediately agrees to meet him back in the bar at six-thirty.
Meanwhile, back at Hotel Corkhill, Nikki sits miserably at the table, whilst the fragrant Sage wafts languidly about the kitchen. He’s giving her unsolicited advice about her journeys ahead through Europe. He realises Jerome and Nikki are skint, he philosophises, but they’ll be rich on adventure when they return.
Noticing how miserable Nikki’s looking, Jimmy asks her what’s bothering her.
Nikki tells him that Jerome’s got this idea about wanting to maddy her in Corfu.
We-he-he-he-ll, Jimmy huffs, sounding like Ronnie Ancona doing an impersonation of Barbara Windsor as Peggy Mitchell, Nikki could do a lot worse than a trip through Europe and a proposal from her boyfriend.
Desperately seeking the truth in the situation, Nikki begs her guru to tell her what she should do.
Tell Jerome he’ll have to wait until she’s decided, he says, immediately. Although, he admits, a ‘maybe’ could be worse than a ‘yes’.
What would the Sage do? Nikki pleads.
Hypothetical, warns the learned Sage.
Nikki tries to deduct a proper mien of behaviour in this situation. She wants to go with her feelings, she confesses, and her feelings are good. But she wants to be sure. She isn’t the sort of perrr-soon ter use divorce as a get-out clause.
The Sage muses on this wise thought. Yes, he announces sombrely, it should be fer life, but then he hits upon the euphemistically useless offering that the only person whose opinion should matter in all this is Nikki.
(What a load of tosh and nothing! This scene was just an excuse to include Dean Sullivan!)
Antony has returned to the scene of his mortal sin, the pond. As he walks down the incline to the area, to the accompaniment of awful harpsichord music, he happens upon a long bough, fallen from a tree. He picks it up and continues down the incline toward the pond.
Later in the afternoon, as poor, pitiful Katie stands looking miserable in the kitchen at Naughty Nurse Towers, the phone rings and the answer phone kicks in. Nisha leaves a message, apologising for letting Katie down that night. She’s happened upon another friend in need, who needs her wise counsel. As she rings off, Katie scurries to the kitchen cabinet, where EVERYONE keeps their vodka, unscrews the cap and guzzles a mouthful. Here we go again.
Back in the woodland, Antony kneels by the side of the pond and extends the bough over the water. He dips the tip of the bough underwater, prodding it against something that looks like it’s soft and white. He pokes at it again, but the object sinks.
Ant stands and stares at the pond for a moment - it’s oddly become deeper - then shrugs, drops the branch and walks away. The camera pans back to show us a large, round pipe thingy, which is obviously where the body’s been hidden all this time; but as the camera pans slowly back, like the hand in Deliverance, a blue cloth object surfaces - remember Imelda was wearing a blue tracksuit.
(Cue banjo and guitar music: Do-do do-do-do-do-do-do-do ... Do-d0 do-do-do-do-do-do-do ... Do-do-do DO DO ... )
Something’s happened to Katie Rogers - and I ask all viewers to remember that it’s been positively weeks since we last saw Diane Burke. In her time off screen, she’s suddenly acquired an ample cleavage. Time was, last year, she and Jacqui looked like budding twelve year-olds. Now, Jacqui’s acquired a Wonderbra, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Ms Burke hasn’t made a couple of trips to a noted plastic surgeon for help in the boob area. She’s wearing a black dress with a v-necked decolletage and as she leans forward to guzzles some vodka, she reveals what can only be at least a c-cup. She’s snarly drunk.
But suddenly her attention is drawn to the window of the flat, looking onto the panoramic view of the garage. There, below, she sees Nick the Builder filling up his white van with petrol.
Meanwhile, in Bar Brookie (of ALL places), Dr Parr and Nisha sit enjoying their candlelit dinner. Dr Parr asks how Katie is, and Nisha shrugs. Probably still at the crematorium, mourning the sainted Clint, she reckons.
Well, Dr Parr comments, she’ll probably only see fit afterward to drown her sorrows Katie-style. (This is the woman, remember, whom he appointed head receptionist). Actually, he continues, he’s surprised Katie didn’t insist on Nisha joining in her fun, as Nisha seems to be that sort of good-time girl.
Nisha blushes, aware that her reputation has preceeded her in this event, and she mutters that Katie has Sammy for that purpose.
As Nick the Builder fills up his tank (now there’s a double entendre), he’s approached by a staggering Katie, who lurches up to him and pushes her drink-foetid face into his. Why doesn’t he let her take him fer a drink? She slurs.
Nick mutters some brush-off in incomprehensible Wiganese. Then he says something about Katie only seeing him on her terms.
‘Aw, c’mon,’ slurs Katie, in a baaaaad imitation of a drunk. ‘Lemme take yer fer a drink. Yer never know, yer could be onter a promise-’
Nike pulls away from her with a disgusted look on his face. He could get that any night he wanted on Matthew Street, he says. Why is she doing this?
Katie jolts back and snarls that it might have soomthink ter do with the fact that her fiancé was beddied a year ago terday. (Really? I thought he was cremated!)
‘Coom on,’ she urges, lunging toward him again. ‘Thish ishn’t pool a pig night. I’m offerin’ it ter yer on a plate - a few bevvies and hassle-free sex.’
Meaning that Katie was at a loss to find someone else with whom to get bladdered, Nick remarks. No, thanks.
All right then, Katie screams, furiously storming away from him, suddenly steady on her feet. She’ll do it her way ... ALONE!
He shakes his head sadly as he watches her walk away.
The topic of conversation between Dr Parr and Nisha has moved onto Gaby the Grin. Gaby the Grin, informs Dr Parr, is visiting her parents at the moment.
Nisha politely asks if Gaby the Grin were still shaken up over the suicide of Rob Dexter.
Dr Parr nods. But, he adds, he’s sure she’s getting plenty of TLC at her parents’.
Oh, Nisha remarks, her eyebrows shooting upward quizzically. Does that mean she doesn’t get enough TLC at home?
Dr Parr begins to stammer. He’s, er, not able to ... Oh, he’d love to be the husband Gaby the Grin wants, but, er, he’s not able to.
(Now what does this mean? Is he a stand-offish prig? An Englishman of the old school, stiff upper lip, up the Cavalry type ... Or is he sexually inadequate at satisfying her needs? What? What? We need to know and this is inconclusive).
Nisha remarks coyly that Dr Parr could do with some TLC himself. Look at all the poor man’s been through - that business with Mrs Tucker and now Mike Dixon. Well., at least Mike’s dropped his suit.
Yes, Dr Parr says, but mud sticks, and it’s still a formal complaint against him. It hasn’t helped his standing around here. People gossiping and all that.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Emily sits at the kitchen table cutting her toenails and placing the cuttings on the tabletop. The Sage wafts around behind her. Jimmy’s just taken the responsibility of telling Emily that Jerome’s proposed to her sister. Emily’s not best pleased that she found this out from Jimmy and not Nikki, herself. Pausing in the pedicurial act, Emily bleats at Jimmy, asking him sarcastically if he were as pleased as she was to hear the news that Jerome wants to maddy Nikki.
Jimmy avoids answering her question by ticking her off for cutting her toenails and leaving the cuttings on the table. Emily sullenly apologises and removes the offending cuttings, whilst taking the opportunity to remark that Jimmy could do with cutting his toenails. She’s seen him barefoot and his toenails were like potato peelings, she chides, as she puts the cuttings in the rubbish bin.
(Isn’t that fascinating? Well, no, it isn’t really - but it proves that Ellison has the making of an actor. Like Ben Hull and Neil Caple, she’s capable of doing something whilst saying her lines, thus appearing ‘natural’.)
As Emily swings the bin top back into position, the Sage stands behind her and heaves a mighty sigh. Sensing he wants to divest himself of a problem, Emily asks what’s wrong with him.
Well, Jimmy sighs reluctantly again, he isn’t going ter half miss Nikki when she goes. It’s the ferrrst time he will have been on his own since being in the’ozzy. Does Emily think, he asks, that he takes Nikki fer granted?
Yes, Emily swiftly replies, boot Jimmy shouldn’t wuddy, because Nikki will be back in no time. In the meantime, she and Tim would be there to help remind him ter take his tablets. (Now that’s a comforting thought).
Jimmy effectively ignores her reassurances, choosing, instead, to remark that it’s only now dawned on him how much Nikki does for him. Not only does she offer him emotional support, she also organises all the practical stuff, like getting him to his outpatient appointments (which we never see). Why, if it weren’t for Dr Nikki, the Sage would be homeless now, wandering the streets in a manic state.
(Correction: Jimmy, if it weren’t for JACKIE’S benevolence, and the fact that the writers can’t be arsed to remember that YOU DON’T OWN THE HOUSE, you would be homeless. Nikki doesn’t come into the equation at all).
Emily nods in sober agreement. Yes, she says, Jimmy does have a lot to thank Nikki for.
Suddenly, a thought occurs to Jimmy. We know this, because he narrows his piggy eyes even more than usual and juts out his Charles V chin in the direction of Emily.
‘Hey,’ he says, ‘yer doan think Nikki’s draggin’ her heels with dis maddage proPOAAAASal ding becuz o’me, do yer?’ (Oh, and they say Kat Slater is self-centred).
Emily gives Jimmy a look of disbelief. ‘Doan flatter yerself!’ She chides.
Back at the darkened Bar Brookie, on the elevated section, Dr Parr and the Naughty Nurse continue playing the flirting game over their meal. Nisha dares to ask the Doctor if he’s ever been unfaithful to Gaby the Grin. (Well, I would have said, distinctly, that it’s been the other way around; but the writers seem intent to re-market a very watchable bitch as a victim wife, so who am I to argue?)
Dr Parr is clearly taken aback by the question, and he blushes to the hilt as he stumbles for words. Nisha, ever the amoralist, interprets this surprise as an admission of guilt and accuses him lightly of having been unfaithful.
Dr Parr protests, but admits that his marriage was, indeed, so weak that any trickle of temptation would simply open the floodgates of infidelity. Nisha’s face brightens at the prospect of breaking up another relationship.
Now Dr Parr turns the tables. What about Nisha? He asks. Has she ever had an affair? (How many men in Liverpool wear trousers? There’s your answer, doc!)
Nisha nods readily.
So? The Doctor continues. What happened? Was the culprit unable to make a commitment?
Hardly, Nisha replies. She says that she was the one who didn’t want commitment, but the bloke did. She only wanted a bit of fun. Also, she knew the girlfriend of the bloke in question and feeling sorry for her, tried to end it. In the end, they got sussed anyway and it all blew up. (Funny, how she conveniently forgot her subsequent wood fetish with the unfortunate Plank. Says a lot for Plank’s personality). She doesn’t like to dwell on the incident now (especially as she’s eating her dinner virtually on the same spot where her face was smacked).
As she’s talking, a drunken, surly Katie staggers into the bar on the lower level and instantly spies Nisha with her ‘friend in need.’
Outside, Nick the builder drives from the garage all of 100 metres to park against the wooden wall bordering The Parade.
Back inside the Bar, Katie storms up to the elevated section and confronts the feckless Nisha.
‘So this is yer friend in need!’ She snarls. And there she, Katie, was, thinking that Nisha was all fer lending her moral support on this, of all, days! Why, it was clear Nisha would rather spend the evening making passes at Gary Parr than passing hankies to Katie. Nisha was nothing more than fairweather, she was!
As she rants at the speechless couple, Nick the builder passes the bar and notices the commotion inside. He enters swiftly.
Nisha lamely defends herself by saying that Dr Parr needed cheering up as well and invites Katie to join them in a drink.
Katie shouts that she couldn’t bear to spend another night in the company of Nisha, just as Nick rushes up the few stairs to the elevated portion and grabs Katie by the arm. As he tries to tug her away, Dr Parr offers another limp apology, saying he didn’t realise that Nisha had made previous arrangements to spend the evening with Katie. Again, Nisha asks both Katie and Nick to join them for a drink, but Nick is successfully pulling her away this time.
As she’s dragged down the stairs, Katie snarls at Nisha, telling her to get lost. She wouldn’t be caught dead in Nisha’s company. Nick mutters to her to shut up and leave the couple to have a bevy in peace. Katie tells Nick to ‘do one’ and Nick replies that he thinks they both should, dragging her in the vicinity of the door.
Katie breaks free and makes a beeline for the bar, saying that she’d prefer to drink here.
There’s a tense dinner going on at Sitcom House. Dire and Brigid seem to be curiously absent, as does Plank. Antony and Adele sit quietly at the table, trying to eat, whilst Marty nervously and irritably moves about from sink to cooker and back. He’s washing dishes and makes a great clatter. Suddenly he begins to wash a glass and squeezes the thing so tight that it breaks, cutting his hand. Blood oozes from the wound.
Now Emily’s phaffing about trimming Nikki’s hair. Standing behind her, she scolds her older sister for telling Jimmy about Jerome’s proposal before telling Emily. And if this were truly a proposal, why wasn’t Nikki jumping for joy? Emily wants to know.
Nikki looks uneasy and shrugs her shoulders. She doesn’t know, she admits. Maybe it’s because it’s the second time she’s had a proposal. Maybe the second time isn’t as special as the first. (It is, if it’s the right person, you idiot!)
Emily wastes no time in reminding Nikki how Jerome messed her about.
But Jerome’s changed now, protests Nikki, wiggling around in her seat to face Emily. Besides, she feels safe and protected in his company.
‘Yer feel borrrred,’ bleats Emily. ‘And yer feel like yer owe him one.’
Like she says, Nikki reiterates, Jerome’s really changed. And he’s been there a lot for her in the past.
Now Emily steps in front of her sister and bends down into her face. ‘Nikki,’ she tells her bluntly, ‘yer was raped and ‘e was nice ter yez. Yer doan loov and troost’im. Now yer joost feel like yer owe him soomthink.’
Any good friend would have done the same, Nikki murmurs. But Jerome was just that, her best friend, and that was important.
And does Nikki still fancy this best mate? Asks Emily, sceptically.
Nikki hesitates a fraction of a second. ‘Ehhhhhhm, not all the time,’ she admits, but adds hastily that that’s only because they’re over the honeymoon period.
Emily raises her sculpted eyebrows. ‘Yer over the hooneymoon period before yez been on hooneymoon!’
Back at Bar Brookie, Gary Parr and Nisha share a laugh, as Katie stands at the bar with Nick, glaring up at the couple. Nick urges her to forget about them.
Well, Katie sighs, turning her attention to her best mate, a glass of vodka, at least Nick wants to get drunk with her that evening.
Nick admits that he enjoys her company, but he doesn’t want to get wasted with her. He asks about the sainted Clint, admitting that he didn’t know she was engaged. Katie shows him the ring, telling him that the police found it on his body the night he was killed. He hadn’t had the chance to give it to her. Did Nick know all the gory details about Clint? She asks.
Oh, he knows bits and bobs already, admits Nick. He’s heard them from Ray and can learn the rest from Katie’s sad eyes. She has the saddest eyes he’s ever seen, he says.
Does Nick want to know something else? Hisses Katie. Clint Moffatt got shot and does he know what she did? She slept with his brother. How’s that for dancing on someone’s grave? She taunts. And before that, there were two brothers who lived in the house near the bungalow on the Close. Well, she had them both as well.
Nick tells her that he doesn’t have a brother. Is she disappointed? He jokes.
Katie can’t understand why Nick’s not disgusted with her, but Nick tells her that he can tell that she’s disgusted with herself; and that attitude has got to stop.
Katie says she needs another drink.
Back at Sitcom House, Marty Muddie sits at the sitcom table, having his cut dressed by Adele, as Ant sits in the lounge, half-watching television, but keeping the occasional ear cocked in the direction of his sister and his father, doing that job he does best, eavesdropping.
Adele is concerned about Marty. He’s never been in a mood this long, she remarks. What’s the matter? It’s not about that Imelda and the police questioning, is it? She asks.
Marty tries to dismiss this as being just routine.
But why did the police want to question him in the first place? She continues.
Marty tries to brush this off as having him help with enquiries. (Uh-oh, you know what that means). Marty rises from the table and tells Adele that he can finish the dressing. Adele follows him to the kitchen counter. She changes the subject, telling Marty that he doesn’t have to worry about her. She promises to be sensible on holiday.
Marty raises his eyebrows. So she still thnks she’s going, does she?
Well, it’s not abroad, Adele protests.
It’s not about her going abroad, Marty explains, it’s about Adele being unsupervised on holiday.
Adele argues that she could come unstuck and get into trouble right outside her own front door. Why, she wasn’t ten feet away from where Marty stood right now, when she got pregnant - right upstairs and under his own roof.
Marty looks chastened.
Adele assures him that she learned her lesson from that escapade, and if Marty doesn’t know that by now, he doesn’t know her at all. He’s got to let go of her a bit.
Marty hugs her close, apologising for his attitude that morning. Of course, Adele can go, he says.
That’s good, Adele replies, chirpily. Because they were leaving on Saturday morning.
Marty laughs shortly, observing that with one word from him, Adele does as she pleases.
Ant turns his attention fully to the scene in the kitchen now, ignoring the television. Marty tells Adele that if he seems tough on the kids at time, it’s only because he wants the best for them. He’d do anything to protect his children, he tells her, anything.
Antony listens intently.
Back at the bar, Nick and Katie are enjoying a drink, as Gary Parr leaves the bar with two fresh glases of white wine in each hand. As he passes behind Nick and Katie, Katie snarls over her shoulder, ‘Mrs Parr not around then?’
Dr Parr quietly responds that his evening with Nisha is nothing like that and leaves the couple.
Katie must have the last word, however, and so she shouts that she wouldn’t tooch ‘that one’ (meaning Nisha) as she’s been around the block a few times. (And Katie hasn’t?)
Nick does his best to shut her up, urging her not to be so hard on Nisha. Look, he begins, he realises Katie must think her life is over now, but it’s not. He knows. He’s been there, he says, looking wide-eyed and earnest.
‘Loov o’yer life die, did she?’ Snarls Katie again.
Dead and buried, Nick attests. Katie thinks he means that the girl died, but before she can confirm this, he begins his tale of woe. The two bought a house together, and Nick grafted hard, gave up all his mates and had no outside interest except for his girlfriend. She was ALL he needed.
So what happened? Katie asks, breathlessly. This wouldn’t make her cry, would it?
Nick says that one day he was looking in the jewellers’ window at some rings, when he suddenly caught sight of her reflection, along with that of her ex-boyfriend.
What did he do? Katie wants to know.
What did he do? Repeats Nick. Why, he nutted the bloked, gibbed her and walked off. Simple as that. Then he proceeded to live the wild life for a bit, went off to Ibiza with his best mate, which was where he first went on holiday with his sweetheart. It was there he got himself together. So he knows what Katie’s going through.
He returned to Liverpool, sold their house and with his share, bought into the bar in Ibiza, which is where he should be right now, except his dad is crook.
(I must say, Brookside deserves an award for managing to get the absolute worst actors to appear in their programme. Does this Nick have any acting experience? Not only does he look like a dolt, he makes Gobby and Flint look articulate, as he definitely speaks as though he’s got a gob full of spit and shit - besides that, his mouth hangs open ALL the time, as though he’s drooling. Talk about a village idiot!)
The unhappy Sage enters the Hotel Corkhill kitchen, to contront an uneasy Dr Nikki, who’s trying to be brave and smile about her terrible predicament. Ehhhhm, she begins, her bags are all packed.
The Sage grunts.
Ehhhhhm, she begins again, is Jimmy sure he’s going ter be all right?
The Sage juts that Hapsbergian phallic symbol to the forefront belligerantly, and asserts that he was all right before Nikki and he’ll be all right after Nikki too.
Ehhhhm, boot, Nikki hasn’t gone anywhere yet? Dr Nikki is desperately seeking a way out of leaving the side of the Sage.
The Sage maintains a hard front. He wants her ter know he’s made oop fer her and Jerome.
Ehhhm, Nikki begins again, she’s made a decision about her answer fer Jerome. Perhaps the Sage would like to discuss this with her over a cup of coffee.
No, ta, smirks Jimmy. He’s got soomthink veddy imPAWWWWWWWWtant ter do in the Internet.
Dr Nikki is deflated.
After their drink and their psychological bonding session, Nick the builder walks Katie back to her flat along the upstairs corridor. As they stop outside, he notices the crooked flat number plate that Katie has managed to fix onto the wall. Nick notes its lack of quality and asks what cowboy put that up. Katie admits to having done it herself, and his derision turns to admiration as he deems her quite a ‘handywoman’.
Of course, Katie uses this lead-in line to make an obvious double entendre about him stepping inside and she’ll show him how ‘handy’ she is. (Three guesses who wrote this episode! Your time starts now!)
Nick is hesitant, but finally refuses. Maybe he’ll come in next time, he promises. In fact, he reiterates, he won’t come inside (now there’s another one!), her flat, until she, herself, calls him and makes a date. The two share the ubiquitous snog.
Nick promises to put a glint in Katie’s sad eyes.
(OH, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, BROOKSIDE, SEND HER AWAY TO SPAIN WITH HIM. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!)
Meanwhile, back in the bar, Dr Parr and Nisha prepare to end their evening in a scene straight from either The Young and the Restless, Days of Our Lives or The Bold and the Beautiful. The bar is dimly lit, as the couple get to their feet. Dr Parr politely, but stiffly apologises for coming between Nisha and Katie that evening.
Nisha, who’s only lacking the big Texan hair and shoulder pads, dismisses his comment with an imperious wave of her hand. Actually, she thinks they did Katie a favour. After all, she says, didn’t she leave with Nick? In fact, Nisha says, she’ll probably end up playing gooseberry upstairs with those two.
So Nisha’s leaving now? Murmurs Dr Parr, narrowing his eyes and placing a hand on Nisha’s shoulder.
Yes, replies Nisha coyly. She fancies an early night. After all, early to bed, early to rise ... (And another double entendre, folks!) For a lingering second, Snapper and Jill - er, sorry, Dr Parr and Nisha exchange suitably smouldering looks. They move imperceptibly toward each other. I see a bodice-ripper on the horizon, then ...
Dr Parr’s mobile sounds. He takes the call. Of course, it’s Gaby the Grin, who’s really a witch with ESP and knows exactly what’s going on. Even as we speak, she cackles and concocts a poisonous potion to do the Naughty Nurse a danger. Dr Parr sounds irritable as he takes his wife’s call. Nisha removes her bag from the table and the two wave goodbye, as Dr Parr explains the reason why he’s in the bar. There’s no food in the flat and he couldn’t be arsed to go grocery shopping ...
Do we care about her attraction for him? Do we, BOLLOCKS! Do we care that one of the two genuinely GOOD actors on this programme is being painted an unwatchable cad and a lecturer in public service announcements? YES! BROOKSIDE IS IGNORANT.
And finally, back at Hotel Corkhill, Jerome Big-Sam-Kiss-Me-Mandingo-Mr Bojangles-Field-Hand Johnson returns to the fold, looking like a dog caught killing chickens. As soon as he enters the house, Dr Nikki, who’s been waiting anxiously in the Hotel Corkhill lounge, lunges to her feet. Where’s he been? Where’s he been? She demands hysterically.
Caam down, caam down, replies Jerome. He’s only been for a farewell drink with his mate, who’s named Jacko, what else? I mean, who else would Stevie Wonder’s mate be? And I ‘wonder’ if Jacko has a chimp named Bubbles? Eh? Nudge-nudge, wink wink.
Well, ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhm, Dr Nikki clears her throat. She’s got soom news fer Jedome, she has. She wants him to know that she’s made her mind oop, all by’erself, she has, with no help whatsoever froom the Sage.
Jerome raises one eyebrow, Robert Mitchum-style. Oh, aye? He says.
Yes, Dr Nikki replies, smiling and trying to glow in the dark. She wants Jedome ter know that she can’t give him what he wants on this holiday, which is a wedding in Corfu.
Jerome’s face falls to the ground in a mighty sulk.
Boot, Dr Nikki adds, hopefully, she COULD maddy him in Liverpool (where else?), when they return.
Jerome stoops to pick his face up off the Corkhill floor, just at the moment Emily creeps halfway down the stairs and perches on a step.
Jerome and Nikki skip into the foyer of Hotel Corkhill, full of pre-nuptial bliss, which is soured considerably when they see Emily’s sombre face.
Heather Robson wrote this biggest piece of shit to appear on Brookside in a long time. This was purely 30 minutes of jack shit on a stick, and it took me four San Miguel’s to write the summary of the damned thing"!
P.S. Oh, yeah, I forgot ... The only good thing about this episode, is that is was a distinctly Gordon-free zone. Can’t be bad.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002