PLUS CA CHANGE
... Plus ca reste la meme, as the old saying goes ... The more things change, the more they remain the same. Writing about episodes watched in retrospect, leads me to believe, sadly, that Brookside hasn’t changed anything at all. In fact, it’s like a Scouse Dragnet - remember that old show? Hey, Brookside even has the cops now.
DUM-DA-DUM-DUMMMMMMMMM ... DUM-DA-DUM-DUM-DUMMMMMMM!
The burly sad-faced actor who played the cop looking for Harry when he was abducted could be the Joe Fridayesque detective, and the weasel-faced interrogator of Marty Muddie could be his trusty assistant Det. Gannon - these two last being played for laughs by Dan Ackroyd and a very young Tom Hanks in the 80’s, but I don’t think Brookside’s budget would lend to either of the salaries THEY would demand.
Sad-faced clown copper could interview Dire Muddie about what she knew about her husband’s clandestine activities.
‘Joost the facts, luv’ just doesn’t have the same ring as the deadpanned, nasally ‘Just the facts, ma’am.’
Dire: ‘Well, yer see, detective, I’ve known me’oosboond was a potential child-killer fer over a year now. Why,’ee even drove our Adele ter the aBORRRRRtion clinic last year,’ee did. And there I was, tryin’ and tryin’ fer a baby o’me own an’ee didn’t even wanter know. Ee’s gorra lorra nairrrrve, ‘ee has.’
Or speaking to Pa Gordon at his door:
‘Gor blimey, guv’nor, yew din’arf gi’me a froight. Ah fought yew was up’ere waw’in ter know if Ah knew a lady o’the name o’Mo’Arris, Ah did.’
And then at the beginning of the episode, you could have sad-faced copper turn to the screen and say, ‘My job is ter keep the peace and an eye on Brookside Close, a tiny enclave of merrr-derers, oonfit moothers, mental defectives, sheisters, teenage tearaways and would-be vice gerrls. Boot that’s me job. Me beat is Brookside Close, and I’m a bizzie, me.’
Then, voiceover: ‘The story you are about to see has been done before. Only the names have been changed to entice the unintelligent.’
Music:
DUM-DA-DUMMMMMM ... DUM-DA-DUM-DA-DUMMM ... DUM-DA-DUMMM ... DUM-DA-DUM-DA-DUMMMMM ... DUM-DA-DUM-DUMMMM ... DUM-DA-DUMMMM....
DUM-DA-DUM-DUMMMM ... DUM-DA-DUMMMMMMMMMMMM!
Gordons - wannabe Grants with a dash of Jackie Corkhill and a hefty portion of Lindsey Corkhill (by the way, I notice that Claire Sweeney has been named one of the top twenty worst dressers in the UK - deemed typical, tasteless soap queen, all orange fake tan and tits).
Muddies - wannabe Dixons with Dire a weird combination of the original DD and Anthea.
Tim - a failed Barry Grant
Jacqui - a common-and-garden Patricia Farnham
Jimmy - Jesus Christ, Superstar, who in the fuck do you think you are?
And GANGSTERS are coming back again - with roly-poly Ted Robbins playing an even weirder amalgamation of Sinbad crossed with Callum Finnegan, this time to tussle with Sammy.
OMIGOD!!! Does this mean Brookside is NOW ‘by Royal Appointment’, especially as it’s now employing a bona fide blood relative of His Royal Scouse Hair Dyedness, Sir Paul, himself? Does this mean he’ll condescend to appear on the show, along with the one-legged liar who conn-descended to marry an old man’s ego - as Mrs Merton once parried - without a thought of the £62 million-pound fortune that comes as part of the package?
My, my ... Brookside IS moving up in the world. And just to prove its versatility and foresight, we’re treated to an episode of Brookside where EVEN ORDINARY HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES take their dramatic turn. Just watch ...
Apparently, it’s another day yet again on Brookside Close - how time DOES fly when one is having fun. Tim stands on the Muddie doorstep, ringing the doorbell.
Marty, Ant and Dire aren’t there, however. They sit in a corridor of the local hospital, Marty on the payphone in the background, whilst Dire and the Antichrist sit looking wuddied in the foreground.
Jacqui Farnham enters what appears to be the private room, albeit on the National Health of her father, only to find Ron sleeping peacefully. She takes a card from its envelope and opens it, before placing it upright on his bedside table. It’s from DD.
Plank Muddie opens the front door to see Tim standing there, looking hopeful. Before Tim can even open his mouth, Plank knows exactly what Tim wants and tells him firmly that he’s saying NO to the so-called bank job.
But the money’s there for the taking, pleads Tim, and the viewer is led to begin to wonder if Tim is indeed very dim as to think any sort of money would be left in the vaults of an abandoned and derelict bank building. As if to make his point, Tim jams his foot in the front door, as Plank attempts to close it in his face.
But, then, of course, Plank would rather spend his afternoons shagging maddied women, Tim taunts. And wetting himself waiting for hubby ter catch him in the act.
At least he wouldn’t be sweating fer the bizzies ter catch him, rejoinders Plank, and one is impressed in the overall improvement of Stephen Fletcher’s acting skills. ‘Now shift yer foot!’ Plank orders Tim.
Tim can’t believe that Plank is actually turning him down. Just wait, Tim threatens backing away, on the next job, Plank wouldn’t even get a cut-in. In fact, Tim doesn’t even know why he bothered with this job, except that he thought Plank was his mate, he adds. He then accuses Plank of wimping out, a charge which Plank denies.
Acting more like a sullen schoolboy denied his own way, Tim pokes out his lower lip and sulks. Well, he’s glad that nasty, stinking Plank Muddie isn’t coming anyway, because he joost couldn’t stand Plank’s whingeing.
There’s a gentle knock on Ron’s hospital room door, and Jacqui opens it to find Bev standing there, clasping a card of her own. Is it all right to come in? She whispers. Only she wanted to leave a card for Ron.
Jacqui invites her in, as she explains to Jacqui that she’s left Josh waiting downstairs in Ortho outpatients in order to get his cast removed. They’ve been waiting for two hours, she says, in exasperation, and he hasn’t been called yet.
Jacqui agrees that the waiting time is ‘disgoostink’, and we have another mini-lecture about the state of the National Health. It’s scandalous, continues Bev, and what’s worse, she’s going to have to leave for work soon.
Jacqui nods, curiously sympathetic. She’s heard, she says, that Mike’s cancelled babysitting Josh that afternoon.
Now Bev is curiously sympathetic, or maybe she’s learned that a body can catch more flies with honey than he can with vinegar? It’s understandable, she says, sadly, with Mike spending half his life at the hospital with Ron ... Oh, and Jacqui too, of course, she hastily adds. But wouldn’t she just murder to find a babysitter for Josh!
Jacqui suggests asking Rachel, but Bev is reluctant. After all, Rachel has Beth, and she’s already looking after Jacqui’s two kids.
Jacqui reckons Rachel won’t mind, under the circumstances. (After all, Rachel lumbered Jacqui with Beth and Josh the other day, herself, didn’t she? It’s pay-back time!)
Bev agrees, but only if Jacqui asks Rachel. She’s too much of a coward.
Suddenly Ron snores loudly and moves his head to the side.
Bev asks Jacqui with concern if he’s going to be OK.
‘You know me dad,’ Jacqui answers. ‘He was never one ter give oop without a fight.’ Jacqui says she’s going to pop out to phone Rachel, and Bev asks Jacqui if she’d mind if Bev sat with Ron awhile.
Jacqui is genuinely touched. Ron would be made oop that Bev even visited.
When Jacqui leaves, Bev removes her card from the bag and places it next to DD’s. She then stands beside the bed and gazes tenderly down at Ron’s sleeping form for a long moment, before bending over and gently kissing him on the forehead.
(Do I sense a redux of Casa BevRon on the horizon? Cue Dragnet music ...)
Over on The Parade, at Naughty Nurse Towers, to be exact, Sammy Rogers-Daniels sits in the foreground, frowning uncomprehendingly at her latest credit card bill. She’s distraught and pulls at her ever-lengthening hair in apt imitation of Ms Fletcher. She’s of a distinct mind to cut up her credit cards, she wails.
Katie, milling about in the background, is ironing her sister’s clothes. She spots a new top that Sammy’s bought. Where did she buy this and how mooch did it cost? Wuddies Katie.
Oh, joost a minute, Sammy consults the offending statement, finds the transaction and tells Katie that she spent £19.99 on the top, which was reduced from £25.00. Studying the statement even more, she begins to moan about the rate of interest charged on her card.
She doesn’t understand simple maths, it seems (and here I thought Sammy, at one time, was supposed to be intelligent. I mean, wasn’t she destined for university before Owen got her up the duff?). Her salary is paid into her bank account, she reasons, and then she has standing orders for all her other bills (er, like what?). And she uses her plastic for everything else. She can’t begin to fathom how people existed before plastic. Why, they must have trudged around with wads of money and coins.
Katie reminisces about how Chrissie Rogers used to keep the weekly housekeeping in a jam jar until Frank brought his wages home. (Cue music from Dvorak’s New World Symphony, aka the Hovis advert):
Daaaa da-da daaa da-da da-da-dee-da-da ...
Sammy furrows her brow and wonders how Louise’s generation is going to cope with plastic et al. Oh, Katie pips, they’ll all probably have them smart caaaards, the ones that scan the pupils of yer eye.
Sammy jokes that it’s just as well they aren’t about now. If they scanned her eyes after a night on the ale, she’d only end up in the red.
(***Hint: This is supposed to be funny. All together now ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)
Ant and Dire sit cosily comforting each other in the corridor of the hospital, awaiting news on Brigid. Marty, we notice is dressed in a naff suit, shirt and tie, all made of varying shades of brown polyester. Ant looks as though he’s due to shit his pants at any moment. He voices concern that Brigid might die.
Oooh, soothes Dire, playing mummy, joost because yer Nin went ter’ozzy in an ambulance dooesn’t mean she’s goin’ ter die. She promises, inanely, that the ‘ozzy’ will make his Nin better. That’s why she’s here - ter have tests. (No wonder Antony acts so infernally immature. The woman talks to him as if he were four years old.)
Antony wants to see Brigid, but Dire shakes her head. The nurse wants to ensure Brigid is comfortable first, she says. And when Antony DOES get to see Brigid, she continues, he might be a bit upset. When Dire left her mother a few minutes ago, Brigid was very confused, she explains, and she’s in a ward with a lot of other little, old ladies who are - well, poorly. Better for Ant to stick close to Dire, she warns. (That way, she thinks, I’ll be able to smell when he soils his nappy!)
Marty tears himself reluctantly away from the payphone. Dire asks if he managed to get through to Adele on holiday. Only her voicemail, Marty says, in a clearly annoyed tone.
(Er, since when has Adele been allowed a mobile? Just like in Eastenders, when did Sonia ever get a computer and how could she afford it?)
Hmph! Snorts Big Dire, grateful for any opportunity to slag her stepdaughter off. She’s too busy having a good time, that one! She didn’t even phone fer her exam resoolts! And what about Plank?
Voicemail again, Marty quips, saying that he’d phone and leave a message if there were any news.
Antony whines that he wants to go into see Brigid. Dire tells both Marty and Ant that Brigid is dehydrated and on a drip. She’s been told that they’ll have the results of Brigid’s tests in another hour. ‘Oooh, warrif me moom’s had a stroke?’ Exclaims Big Dire.
Marty tries to calm her by saying that the doctors would have known immediately if Brigid had had a stroke.
‘OOOH!’ Exclaims Dire again. ‘Warrif it’s that Alzheimers or that dementia thing? Only, I thought them thinks weren’t so soodden. I thought they took years ter coom on!’
Marty urges her to be patient and wait for the test results. He gives her a strong, undeserved hug, whispering to her to hope for the best and to say her prayers.
Back at NNT, Sammy’s gathering up her handbag as poor, pitiful Katie kneels on the floor, filling the washing machine with a load of dirty clothing. Sammy tells Katie that she’s treating her sister to an early lunch at Bar Brookie. Katie demurs, saying that she was only going to have a sandwich in the flat.
‘Well, yer can’ave one in the bar,’ Sammy persists. ‘Besides how often do yer get me springin’ fer a meal>’
Katie protests that she’s only just put a load of laundry on. Sammy insists. Katie doesn’t need to remain in the flat to wash the washing circle round in the machine, she says. She pulls a reluctant Katie toward the door.
As they leave, we’re treated to a five-second shot of the washing cycle beginning in the machine. Then suddenly, the camera pans to the telephone which begins to ring.
Outside in the foyer, Katie hears the phone and turns back, instinctively. Sammy stops her.
‘Boot it might be Nick,’ protests Katie.
Then he can leave a message on the machine, Sammy says, pulling Katie in the direction of the exit. Anyway, why is Katie so reluctant to go to lunch with Sammy?
Katie jokes that it’s because she’s shocked that Sammy’s paying.
And now for something completely different ... Let’s .... MEET THE GORDONS! Yes, folks, it’s Brookside’s newest sitcom family. (Cue theme from The Jetsons: Here’s Al Gordon - trombone interlude: wa-wa-wa-wa ... His boy Stewart ... Wa-wa-wa-wa ... Daughter Bitchface ... Wa-wa-wa-wa ... Ma, his wife ... Wa-wa-wa...)
Today, ladies and gentlemen, we see the two remaining Gordon ladies having a socio-economic chat in the confines of the garage, which the elder Gordon lady owns. Today’s topic of discourse is the Extended Family in Liverpool Society at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century and How Their Morals Differ from Those Found in Southeast/west London of the Same Period ...
Ma is checking stock in the background, whilst Rabbity Ruth, snorking back snot and dripping all over the perishable food, is doing the weekly shop in - you guessed it! - the garage. She’s squeezing loaves of bread unhygenically, wiggling that nose and chomping her choppers. If Lindsey Corkhill resembled Squirrel Nutkin, then Rabbity Ruth is Uncle Remus’s Brer Rabbit.
Ma looks over her shoulder, brushing back a strand of straggly, poor white hair. ‘Where’s Luuuuuke?’ She whines.
Ruth doesn’t seem at all concerned about her son, and replies nonchalantly that he’s at the park, playing footie with Dan the Man (and slipping up in all kinds of grotty slime). Otherwise, Rabbity Ruth grumbles, that nuisance of a child would have had to come shopping with her.
Lucky Luke, whines Ma again. She hates shopping.
Lucky Ruth, Rabbity says, thinking only of herself. Luke with Dan means she gets an hour or so to herself AWAY from Luke.
That’s the thing about kids, whines Ma. They never give their parents a moment ter themselves. (Then why did you have four, you ignorant slut?)
Unless the kids have a REALLY good Grandma and Grandpa, Ruth smarms. (OOOH, is this one the natural successor to Lindsey Corkhill? How long before she’s working in the garage and wearing a ‘Stop for a Drink and a Snack’ sweatshirt?)
Ma moans about her and Pa being called Grandma and Grandpa. Couldn’t Rabbity Ruth think of anything else.
Darby and Joan? Jokes Ruth.
(***HINT: This is supposed to be funny. Altogether now... HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!)
Seriously, Rabbity Ruth smarms, suddenly oozing slime like Dan the Man, she’s just EVER SO LUCKY to have Ma and Pa close at hand (to cook, clean, provide free childcare, discipline the kid, give him pocket money etc).
Ma approaches the counter where Rabbity Ruth is dripping green snot on the loaves of bread. Ma wipes the bread top with her grimy, greasy-fingernailed hand. Pooooor Ruuuuth! She whines. Poooor Ruuuuth’s had a terrrrrrrible time of it lately, hasn’t she? Especially the past two months. (And haven’t we, with the Gordons - especially the past two months?)
‘My maddige is a failure!’ Moans Ruth.
Now, now, coos Ma. There’s no sooch think as failure - only sooccess and lerrrrrr-nink.
‘My maddige is a failure and a lerrrr-nink exPEEEERience!’ Wails Rabbity Ruth, pausing a moment to snork back some snot.
But has the hapless Sean lerrrned anythink? Asks Ma, severely.
Maybe how to behave whenever he doesn’t get his way, concedes Rabbity Ruth reluctantly. Or when someone stands up to him.
That’s not a bad think ter lerrrrn, nods Ma, sagely.
Rabbity Ruth suddenly asks Ma Gordon if she and Pa ever thought about splitting up earlier in their maddige?
‘How long’ve yer got?’ Asks Ma.
Plank Muddie is seen in a phone booth on the phone, obviously to his older bit on the side. He purrs that he can be round her house in 20 minutes and between the sheets in 22. He’s only at home, he tells her, waiting for her call. There was this mate of his who wanted him to do some mad job, but he knocked him back, Plank adds, speaking of Tim. Plank promises the unseen, unheard woman that he’s on his way.
The Muddies are finally allowed to visit Brigid on the ward. They enter and are visibly shocked at the rows and rows of elderly women, some in various states of dementia. She’s on a geriatric ward. As they approach Brigid’s bed, Marty waves to her half-heartedly.
Ant is visibly frightened and whispers to Dire, asking her why his Nin is here.
‘Ter make her better,’ Dire hisses.
Brigid is sitting up in bed, glancing wildly around. They’ve just stuck something in her hand, she hisses to Dire, as Dire sits down beside her bed.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Brigid babble, looking directly at Dire. ‘I seem to have taken the wrong bus.’
Dire tells her mother, in an even tone of voice she might use in speaking to a small child, that Brigid is in hospital.
And they’ve come to see her, adds Marty. (Now that’s a comforting thought, isn’t it?)
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ Brigid insists. ‘Now that it’s all over.’
Antony’s face looks wide-eyed with either fright, guilt or the knowledge that he’s just shit his pants.
Dire tells Brigid softly that Brigid’s not well. They’ve taken her into hospital to do some tests.
Brigid glances frantically about the ward. ‘This isn’t my house,’ she insists. ‘I don’t live here.’ Then she notices Antony standing at the foot of the bed. She squints her eyes, as if to see him better. ‘Shouldn’t you be at Mass?’ She asks, suspiciously.
Marty and Dire pull a bit to one side and begin to whisper to each other. Dire reminds Marty that he has to be at the police station in one hour.
Brigid suddenly calls out to Dire, asking, in a loud voice, if it’s all right for Antony to be there.
Dire suggests that Marty take Antony to the cafeteria for something to eat, whilst she sits with Brigid for awhile and sees what the nurse has to say about Brigid’s condition.
Marty and Ant trot off, and Dire resumes her vigil. Brigid points to an elderly woman in the bed opposite, and mutters to Dire that the woman is in the wrong bed again.
Upstairs on the cardiac ward, Bev is still visiting Ron. She bends over and tenderly kisses his forehead again. This time, Ron stirs, opens his eyes and sleepily greets her. Bev whispers to Ron that he should go back to sleep, but Ron insists groggily that he wasn’t sleeping, merely resting his eyes.
Anyway, Bev says, she was only just going, herself. She’s left Josh downstairs in Orthopaedic Outpatients, waiting to get his cast removed. She only just popped up to see Ron.
Ron mutters the thought that he and Bev have been through a lot together. Bev replies that she’s wuddied about Ron.
‘That’s good of yer,’ Ron mutters. ‘I’ve had me fair share.’
‘But yer’ll bounce back,’ Bev promises. ‘Yer always do.’
‘I’ll give it me best shot,’ Ron says.
Bev tells him to just get better, as Ron drifts off to sleep again.
As Plank is leaving Sitcom House, he’s speaking on his mobile to Adele. He’s been updating her on Brigid and tells her to try to phone Marty. And if she speaks to their dad, tell him that Plank got his voicemail, he adds. And if Brigid takes a turn for the worse, they can call him, because he’ll leave his mobile on.
He then proceeds to tell her about the mad job Tim wanted him to take on, as we see a shot of Tim walking along a deserted street, to the accompaniment of Plank’s narrative voiceover.
The unseen, unheard Adele must have asked Plank why he didn’t take the job on, because Plank repeats the question whilst climbing into his van. Nah, he wanted noothink ter do with that job. He’s got another serrrr-vicing job on fer terday. Oh, and it should keep him busy all day long, he adds, lasciviously.
Now we’re treated to one of the more interesting scenes in tonight’s programme. Back to the extended shot of the laundry going through its cycle in Katie’s machine. We spend a few seconds, watching it revolve, then cut to a shot of the telephone ringing again. (I would say this is part of the existentialist stream of film production, like, the director trying to tell us that watching laundry go around is damned site more interesting than Brookside at the moment).
Ray and Jessie are seen leaving Number 7, on their way to the hospital to visit Ron. Jessie has obviously been giving Ray a mouthful about him wanting Sylvia Morgan to have an abortion. So that’s yet ANOTHER secret Ray’s managed to keep from her, Jess grumbles.
What is she on about? Asks Ray, rhetorically. He only SUGGESTED Sylvia have an abortion, simply because he couldn’t see any other way for her out of her predicament. But it didn’t happen, he adds, because she didn’t go through with it. So, basically, there was nothing to tell Jess. (This is true). In fact, Ray continues, he certain that he’s suggested a lot of things to a lot of people in his life, and the people in question have never acted upon those suggestions. Does Jess want to know ALL of them, chapter and verse? Oh, yet, by the way, he adds, once he suggested that they go to New Brighton for the bank holiday and guess what? They didn’t go, remember?
Jess brushes off this rant by telling Ray not to trivialise the event, just as Rachel the Dim suddenly opens the Dixon front door behind them.
Ooooh, says Rachel, if Ray’n Jes-seh go-ah ter see Ron, give’im her loov. Oooh, and Brigid, she adds.
If they’re allowed to see Brigid, adds Jess. She turns to Ray. It must be serious, she says, as Brigid was taken away in an ambulance, poor thing. Must have been a heart attack or a stroke.
Something very strange happens then. Rachel has a thought. Ooooh, she whispers in wonder, were she in-terrooptin’ soomthink.
Not anything that won’t keep, sighs Jess, giving Ray a look of exasperation. ‘Coom on,’ she jollies, glaring at poor Ray. ‘Let’s go do our duty.’ And the get in his car and leave.
Dire, still sitting with Brigid, tells her that she’s brought a few things from home for Brigid’s comfort. She takes a hairbrush out of the bag she’s holding.
‘What’s that?’ Brigid asks, suspiciously.
‘That’s yer hairbroosh,’ Dire tells her.
‘It’s not mine,’ Brigid insists, recoiling and shaking her head. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’
‘It’s the same one yer use every day o’yer life,’ Dire says, evenly, placing the object in Brigid’s hands.
Brigid recoils and accuses Dire of trying to torment her. Then she points across the ward to the elderly woman opposite her. The woman is seen getting out of bed and rummaging through her bedside table.
‘She’s off again,’ Brigid whispers to Dire. ‘She’s only been in someone else’s bed. Oh well, as long as it’s not mine. Look at her, rummaging again. She should be tied to the bed, that’s what. She’s a menace, that one. Anyway,’ she adds, clutching the hairbrush with both hands, ‘I’ll just keep a tight hold of this.’
Then she places the hairbrush behind her, under her pillows, as Dire looks on with a face full of concern.
Immediately Brigid’s hidden the brush, she then removes it from under the pillow and starts to brush her hair, smiling.
And now we return to that show within a show ... MEET THE GORDONS!!! (Cue ‘I Love Lucy’ theme:
Da-da-da da-da DA da-da ... Da-da-da da-da DA da-da ... Da-daaaa-da da da da DA-DAAAAA ... Daaaa-da-da da da DA DA DA DA ...)
Ma Gordon has been regaling Rabbity Ruth with tales of terror from her own marriage to Pa over the years. As she listens, Rabbity Ruth wiggles her nose to stop the snot from dripping and chomps her choppers.
Oooh, she breathes in wonder, as she snorks back a globule of snot, Ma and Pa have certainly been through a lot.
Well, preens Ma, twirling a piece of stringy white trash hair, it might seem old-fashioned ter Ruth, boot she and Pa stuck it out through all the bad times because ...
(Cue music from ‘Little House on the Prairie’: Doooo-do-do-dooooo do-do do-do-do ... Doooo-do-do-do do-do-DOOOOOOO ... Christ, I need Robert Hampton to supply all the musical accompaniments, here!)
Because (get this now!), THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE OF PA’S PARENTS’ GENERATION DID!!!!! (Hark that ... Not THEIR generation, and not people of HER parents’ generation, but people of PA’s parents’ generation. Considering the fact that Pa and Ma must have been married in the late Seventies, I would have thought them modern enough - her, anyway - to adhere to the divorce option if a marriage became untenable. So good old salt o’the earth SARF Londoners stuck it out, just like in the Blitz, through thick and thin ... And what did the Scousers do? Ma’s parents? Why, they scarpered, fell at the first hurdle at Aintree, vamoosed, slung their hooks. Look at John Lennon. His parents married, daddy went to war and never came back - oh, and he wasn’t killed, he was merely touring the world in the Merchent Navy. Like father, like son. John grows up, gets a girl up the duff, marries her, gets bored with her, and - Bob’s your uncle - he’s off and flying! Yet more proof of the fickleness and stupidity of the lower-class, poor white variety of Scouser - i.e. Ma.)
Oooh, Ma continues, it wasn’t like is was nowadays with Rabbity Ruth’s generation. Why, the divorce rate is sky-high. (You stupid woman. YOU are the one condoning an adulterous relationship under your very roof and in the presence of underage children. You should be shot on the spot, you slaggy hypocrite).
Rabbity Ruth sniffs back some snot and starts to think. She wonders, pensively, if she maybe shouldn’t have stayed with the hapless Sean after all, for Luke the bunny’s sake.
Ma purses her thin, characterless poor white lips and looks disapprovingly at Rabbity Ruth. It’s not a good idea, she suggests, for Rabbity Ruth to try to deny the hapless Sean access to his son. Rabbity Ruth has to do what’s best for Luke in the long run. She can’t be seen to use Luke as a weapon with which to beat the hapless Sean. And where was Luke now? She continues. In the park with Dan - who’s not his real dad (and doesn’t want to be, if you nincompoops would bother to look realistically at the situation!)
Rabbity Ruth stands up straight, chomps her choppers once or twice and stoutly maintains that she can trust Dan with Luke. (Cue Dragnet music: Dum-de-dum-dum ... Dum-de-dum-dum-DUMMMMM! This is foreboding. Actually, no, you dumb, buck-toothed bitch, you CAN’T trust that man with your son. He looks like a paedophile - hey, wait! That’s a BRILLIANT storyline. Got your pen and paper to hand, Heather?)
Ma tells Rabbity Ruth primly that Rabbity Ruth can do what she likes, as long as it’s for the child’s own good. But if she’s doing this thing nly to get back at the hapless Sean, it’s doing neither her nor, more importantly, Luke, any good at all.
Rabbity Ruth has been put firmly in her hutch (and without any carrots either)!
Tim ferrets around the corner of a deserted street, where he spies an empty tipper truck parked opposite.
At the Dixons’, Rachel opens the door to Bev, who has Josh. Josh is still wearing his cast. Rachel greet Bev and lets the two of them inside. Bev can’t stay as she’s late for work already, but she confirms with Rachel that Jacqui had called about Josh staying.
Josh hobbles on his crutches to the nearby sofa and whines that his cast is itching again.
Oooh, remarks Rachel, looking curiously at Josh, an’she thought Josh were gettin’ cast off terday.
They had a three-hour wait, Bev moans. They simply had to leave. Never mind, she says to Josh, they’ll try again tomorrow.
Josh wails that it won’t stop itching.
Tim stands eyeing the tipper truck. Nearby is a pile of rubbish and scrap iron. He sees a metal rod, picks it up and smashes the side window of the lorry. Reaching inside, he opens the door, and finds a spare set of keys on the seat. He starts the lorry and drives off. It almost seems to easy. Well, it is.
Dire Muddie steps from her mother’s ward for a break. As she waits in the corridor, she spies another woman leaving the ward, this one carrying a small girl. Dire stares after the woman with sad-faced longing. Marty appears behind her. Dire turns to face him. She’s just been thinking, she says, softly. She might end up having to look after Brigid, before she’s able to have her own baby.
Marty hugs her.
Dire pulls away and continues. What kind of state would Brigid be in? She wonders. Why, she might have to dress, feed and clean her own mother. What if Brigid didn’t even know her?
Marty murmurs that Dire’ jumping the gun a bit and should wait for the test results.
Isn’t Marty going to be late for his appointment with the bizzies? Dire asks.
Marty reckons that the police would excuse his tardiness under the present circumstances.
Dire simply can’t imagine what else they would want to ask him this time. Marty tells her not to wuddy. It’s only routine, he chants, unconvincingly.
Dire nods in support. It’s bound to be, she tries to convince herself.
We return again to NNT, where the wash cycle is continuing and the phone is still ringing.
Ray and Jessie sit on either side of Ron’s bed as Jacqui hovers over him. Jacqui tells the assembled throng that she’s just popping out to get some food. Will Ron be OK? Ron, now sitting upright in bed, starts to cough, gently, which alarms Jessie a bit. Ron tells Jacqui that he’s in safe hands with Ray and Jessie.
Ray turns to face Jacqui. Is Jacqui going to get grapes, by any chance? He likes grapes, Ray says.
For some reason, Ron finds this funny, and starts to laugh, which prompts a coughing fit. Jacqui promptly tells him off for making himself cough.
It only hurts when he laughs, Ron quips.
Then don’t laugh, says Jess, practically.
‘Don’t laugh!’ Exclaims Ray. ‘There’s no hope if yer can’t laugh!’
Jacqui turns at the door and warns Ron to be careful not to burst his stitches.
Oh, they can promise that, says Ray to Jacqui, over his shoulder, but they can’t promise not to split Ron’s sides.
Ron starts to laugh again, as Jessie frowns and tells Ray off.
‘You caddy on, Ray,’ Ron urges. ‘I need a good tonic.’
Well, Ray quips, he brought the gin.
Ron laughs again, and then tells the couple that he’s out of practice at laughing. Mind you, he says, there’s not a lot to laugh about in this hospital. But the staff were absolutely marvelous. They were always having a giggle amongst themselves.
‘I’ll bet they do,’ vows Ray, ‘especially when they haveter give you a bed bath.’
Ron starts to laugh again, but it dissolves into coughing.
Tim drives hectically through a virtually empty street (somewhere deserted down near the docks, I suppose, wearing his Nike baseball hat pulled low. Suddenly, the truck, as if of its own volition, stops. Tim tries a few times to start the thing, and finally, it chugs to life again.
Back at the garage, Rabbity Ruth, snorks back some snot, wiggles her rabbity little nose and chomps her choppers, as she ferrets through her bag. She asks her mother if Ma can loan her the keys to Bicker-Bicker House, as she’s given her set to Dan the Man (which means they’ll be covered in slime).
Ooooh, Ma moans, laconically, handing her a jangly set of keys, she’ll haveter get more cooot. This set belongs ter Pa.
Rabbity Ruth screws her forehead up to calculate the question of the keys. Gee willikers! Animal crackers in my soup and all that! If Dan has Rabbity Ruth’s keys, and Ma has Pa’s keys, then who has Ma’s keys? (Christ, I think we’ve just hit upon the next storyline featuring the Gordons: The Mystery of the Missing Ma’s Keys. Heather Robson is furiously scribbling as I write).
Ma waves her hands about distractedly. It’s all beyond her lazy mind. Who knows? She exclaims.Ali the Ginger, perhaps, or the Brookside Bike, or maybe even Bitch took them with her on her travels. Oooh, Ma whines, she en’t half wuddied about the fact that Bitch hasn’t called. Ooooh, she hopes Bitch’s tits are keeping oop. She never even called fer her resoolts, Ma moans. And Liverpool Uni keep ringin’ ter see if she can conferrrrrm her place. (Is Liverpool University fucking desperate?)
Rabbity Ruth stupidly tries to put her poor Ma’s mind at rest by telling Ma that Bitch is merely busy having a good time. Then Rabbity Ruth pauses for a noticeable moment and looks at Ma with wide-eyed wonder. How on airrrrrth did Ma ever manage ter cope all those years raising four kids? Rabbity Ruth can’t even cope with one.
Five, including yer Pa, Ma jests. Why, if poor Ma only joost had a pound fer every nappie she changed, every little vest she washed (when she remembered), every pair of shoes the kids grew out of -
All the tears Ma cried, Rabbity Ruth contributes.
All the tears Ma DRIED, Ma corrects her.
Rabbity Ruth admits that she envies her mother. Why, look at the vast amount of time Ma and Pa have stayed together. It puts her measly four years with Sean to shame.
Ma smugly admits that she and Pa are lucky.
‘Does that mean I’m oonloocky?’ Wails Rabbity Ruth. (No, it just means you’re selfish and stupid). Maybe she shouldn’t have maddied the hapless Sean in the first place, she wonders.
‘Yer can’t go back,’ Ma vows. ‘That’s ancient history.’ But she does have to decide whether she’s going to make Luke the bunny pay for Rabbity Ruth’s mess-up with the hapless Sean.
Katie and Sammy have returned to NNT, only for Sammy to discover that Louise has been trying to phone. All she got was the answerphone, and all Sammy could hear was some operator trying to check the number.
Louise must be OK, reckons Katie, but Sammy is wuddied. Louise tried to reverse the charges. She never does that. She always has her phone card and mobile topped-up.
Tim manages to get the lorry to the derelict dock area before it stops a short distance from the old bank building. He tries repeatedly to start it, but the engine seems dead. He pulls out his trusty mobile and makes an agitated call to someone named ‘Dixie’ (er, why are all dodgy Scousers named Dixie?), and he’s heard to tell him that this scrap job should have been done by now. He has a moan about not knowing anything about the engine of the lorry, before ringing off.
Back at the Dixons’, Josh sits in the foreground on a sofa, scratching his cast with a plastic spatula. He scratches so deeply, that he drops the spatula down the cast and can’t retrieve it.
Rachel and Beth stand in the kitchen area, Rachel carrying a trayful of food. She’s organised a picnic for the kids out in the garden, and she asks Josh if he’s coming too. Josh, hiding the fact that he’s dropped the spatula, turns in his seat and says he’ll be out in a minute.
Sammy has managed to contact Louise and ticks her off about reversing the charges. She’s only supposed to do that if something is seriously wrong. Oh, and she’s to tell Tania’s dad that Sammy would be getting back to him tomorrow. She rings off.
Is this about the holiday? Katie asks.
Yes, sighs Sammy. It seems Tania’s dad has to know right away if Louise is planning on going with them. If Louise can’t go, Tania has to have time to find another mate who CAN go with them. (What a pithy excuse! How stupid!)
Katie shakes her head. Sammy should just say no if she’ uncomfortable about Louise going with the Morans.
Oh, she doesn’t want to say no, wails Sammy, but that man really put her off and caught her off her guard. Look, she says to Katie, she’d love for Louise to have a holiday. She just wishes Tania wasn’t Louise’s mate. She’d actually prefer if Louise would pick a mate whose father was a bank manager instead of a bank robber.
Whilst Rachel’s out in the garden, Josh hobbles to the counter and removes a can of tuna. He hobbles back to the sofa and starts to bang the tuna can against his cast.
Rachel suddenly appears in the kitchen and asks Josh when he’s coming out. Beth is asking where he is.
Josh hides the tuna can under a cushion and tells Rachel he’ll be out in a minute. When she’s gone, he starts beating the cast again in an attempt to break it.
Ron is having a severe coughing fit, as Ray and Jessie stand on either side of the bed. Just at that moment, Jacqui returns and is alarmed to see him in such distress.
‘What happened?’ She cries as she enters the room. Jessie, who’s trying to aid Ron, glances up at Jacqui and says she doesn’t know what happened. One minute he’s laughing, offers Ray, and then next minute, this coughing attack.
Jacqui urges one of them to get a nurse and be quick, as she rushes to Ron’s side. Jessie asks pointlessly if there’s anything she can do, and again, Jacqui snaps at the couple to get a nurse, before doddery Ray sprints out the door. OMIGOD! Shouts Jacqui in horror. Ron’s only spitting blood, as hordes of the red stuff pours from his mouth.
Tim now sits in the cab of the rotten, old lorry and shouts down his mobile to Plank. He tells Plank that he needs him ... Now. (Just what Plank wants to hear, but the perfect coitus interruptus.) The lorry’s broken down, he says, helplessly. He needs Plank, NOW! There’s a pause where Plank appears to ask Tim what the problem is, and Tim snaps that the engine’s dead.
‘Yer sooposed ter be me mate!’ Tim whines down the phone. He’s desperate.
Outside the Manor Park copshop, Marty Muddie pauses to straighten his tie, before taking a deep breath, and entering.
At the hospital, Dire is in the foyer talking on the payphone to Adele, telling her about her Nin’s hospitalisation. Dire tells the girl to stay where she is. Adele must make some remark about Marty being narked at her. He’s only narked, Dire explains, because Adele couldn’t be bothered to phone for her results. There’s a pause, as Dire is informed by Adele that the school texted her AS results to Adele - that’s a new one.
WELL, WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL DIRE AND MARTY THIS? Shouts Big Dire.
Inside the geriatric ward, Antony, the tainted saint, sits with a mumbling Brigid by her bedside. Brigid appears to be sleeping fitfully, with her hands limp by her side. Antony holds one of her unresponsive hands in his. Looking wuddiedly at his ill grandmother, Antony whispers that he’s soddy.
He pauses for a second and then repeats that he’s soddy again, this time for recent events. He never meant for anything bad to happen.
As he sits there, Brigid squeezes his hand and opens her eyes slightly.
‘Say a prayer fer me,’ she urges weakly.
Peter Cox wrote this. Not bad, except for the Gordon rubbish. A totally
unnecessary family.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002