Thursday 12th September 2002

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

THE END OF THE BEGINNING

Well, there you have it! The news coming out of Channel 4 almost two weeks ago, stymied me into getting yet FURTHER behind with these summaries.

That’s it. Brookside’s on a downer. It’s being relegated FIRMLY, not only to the Third Division, but into the bowels of the Nationwide Conference. No more thrice weekly showings, but instead, a 90-minute episode to be aired on Saturday at teatime - 5pm.

Only a week before that, we were regaled with the fact that Brookside was now only garnering little more than a million viewers weekly, with 400,000 of them watching the noontime omnibus on Saturday - now I’m no Einstein, but doesn’t that mean only 600,000 are watching the show when it’s aired?

So Mark Thompson’s effectively pulling the plug.

Well, really, all this is something the more astute, long-term viewer has suspected all along. Annabelle even valiantly insisted after all the ‘official announcement’ of Brookside’s extended contract, that the show would die a death come November. And - effectively - that’s what’s happening.

When Phil Redmond, faced with Brookside being put ‘under review’ by Thompson at the beginning of the year, blagged his way out of that predicament by announcing the ground-breakind storyline of the death of Imelda, we, the longer-term viewers, put our tongues firmly in our cheeks and decided to give him one last shout. After all, we’d heard this before. We watched the clueless drug rape and rooted for the rapist - anything to rid us of Nikki Shadwick’s incessant moaning, whingeing, screaming yadda yadda. We watched what COULD have been a provocative storyline, dealing with a person’s right to defend his property against assault when Ron shot Flint. And we watched it turn into what could have been a video entitled ‘101 Ways to Physically Assault Jacqui Dixon’. It was sick. By the end of the tale, we weren’t sure WHO the victim actually was supposed to be.

We were promised a cracker of a storyline with Susannah’s death, and it turned into Max Farnham blowing snot over the prone figure of a shopfront mannequin.

As for the Imelda storyline, my theory is that it was jinxed from the very beginning, and it was this curse that’s brought about Brookside’s downfall. Imelda is killed, and almost immediately Amanda Dowler goes missing. In the glare of publicity surrounding this incident, Brookside tactfully backburner the storyline - hence the over-long period of time between Imelda’s disappearance and the police investigation.

Then the Soham tragedy occurs - more of a sinister coincidence. A caretaker is accused of kidnapping and killing two small girls - coincidentally, at the same time that Marty Muddie, a caretaker, is accused of doing in Imelda. But Brookside in March, isn’t nearly as desperate as Brookside is in the summer. Instead of pulling the episodes which harken so sinisterly back to Soham, Brookside airs them in their entirety. And we, the more intelligent viewer, could be forgiven for detecting a slightly cynical motive behind this decision. After all, someone’s sure to have morbid curiosity about the similarities and tune in.

But they didn’t. Quite the opposite, they turned off. So that by the time the August filming dates roll around, Brookside’s taken on an air of being scared shitless. So, what do they USUALLY do when scared shitless?

When in doubt, get’em out!

We’re treated to episodes, aired in October, of Adele, who must weigh at least 11 stone now, gallumping about the Close, nearly naked, her intex fingers plastered firmly over her recently implanted nipples. And Emily does a dominatrix turn, complete with mortarboard, abbreviated dress and marital aid shoes.

And now the announcement that Brookside’s being relegated.

And Mersey TV? Well, Uncle Phil’s admitted cryptically that 2003 will probably be the last time Brookside is shown in this form and format on Channel 4. That’s a spin statement if ever there is one. It says nothing and it says loads. Next time, I’ll examine and dissect it.

But suffice it to say, that in order to save Brookside, petitions suggested by the more naive posters on the Official Forum apart, it will need at least four million bums on seats at Saturday teatime. That’s five pm - when people are returning from football, Tesco’s, Sainsbury’s, Home Base, or in the kitchen preparing tea, or contemplating going out on the tiles.

And denial is not only a river in Egypt.

It’s the first day of the new school term, which as the date of the episode is 12 September, it means that Liverpool start school amazingly late. Probably accounts for the underachievement we see reflected in Brookside. Rabbity Ruth gazes admiringly at the minuscule school uniform to be worn that morning for the first time by Luke the bunny.

Across the Close, Max Farnham enters the marital bedroom, laden with a scented breakfast tray, for the current Mrs Farnham, who lolls lazily in the marital bed.

And at Hotel Corkhill, the Sage sits before the monitor of the sacred oracle, surfing the Internet since the crack of dawn.

Back at Bicker-Bicker House, there’s mass pandemonium at the poor whites’ breakfast table. Ma’s trudging back and forth, serving inedible-looking food to the lazy-arsed slut Rabbity Ruth, who sits at the table, prodding Luke into eating his mass of congealed sugar and curdled milk. In the background, we hear the constant and droning sound of a power saw.

Ma’s so distracted by the sound, that she doesn’t know in which direction to turn, so she makes a couple of aimless circles in the middle of the room, before she whines, ‘Doesn’t that old man EVER sleep?’

At the utterance of that line, Pa lumbers down the stairs, clad in a dirty, shapeless vest and scratching his beer gut. (Jim Royle, he ain’t). He’s drowsy, like a massive bear just awakened from hibernation.

He’s also heard Ma’s lament. Hopes she wasn’t talking about him, he jokes, as he flops down into the chair at the head of the table.

Ma bends over his shoulder and asks solicitously how he is.

Pa nods that he’s OK, but wants to know if there have been any calls from his firm.

No, Ma whines firmly, and if there is, then the firm can just do without him.

We-he-hell, gruffs Pa, sounding ominously like his Augh’ee Peggy down Wawford way, they couldn’t do without him the previous night.

Rabbity Ruth looks up from her plate, snorks back some snot, wipes some which has dripped on Luke the Bunny’s head and asks Pa why he had to go in the night before. She thought he was above all that now.

There was a crash, Pa explains patiently to his mentally-challenged buck-toothed daughter. No one was hurt, but the bizzies had to be dealt with and as no one else but brain-dead Scousers work for the haulage firm, Pa, being a Londoner, was the only person who could make sense of the situation.

Oh, replies Ruth, offended, and no one but Pa could do that?

Pa smiles smugly, pleased with the fact that he wasn’t born in Liverpool. Schedules had to be re-ordered, lorries re-loaded, and quite honestly, no one born in Liverpool could cope with anything more complicated that 2 +2 and have it equal 4.

As he talks, Ma brings a plate heaped with greasy, burned and blacked food (truly, it is!), and places it lovingly in front of Pa. Pa’s so immune to unhealthy cooking and he’s lived in Liverpool for so long, that he starts off with a burnt sausage and eats it with his fingers. Yuck! (It’s all very well and good to lecture the poor man about smoking, but what about healthy eating - i.e., avoiding fried food, swimming in grease and high in cholesterol - or is this another Public Service Announcement about to be sprung on the unsuspecting public?)

Never mind, Ma soothes, smiling her characteristic idiotic grin, Pa can rest today.

The power saw in the background moves up a gear in noise level.

How can he rest, Rabbity Ruth whinges, with all that noise?

Pa reaches across the table and wags a massive finger under Rabbity Ruth’s snotty nose. None of that lip, he warns. They have to get on with the neighbours.

Even Ray? Rabbity Ruth moans.

Even Ray, Pa says, with his gob full of food. Then he asks where the two snivelling, little toerags who call themselves his sons are.

Oooooh, Ma begins, the Brookside Bike’s gone upstairs to dress for school, and Ali the Ginger hasn’t come down yet.

Pa immediately rises from the table and stomps to the bottom of the stairs, bellowing up the area for Ali to show his despicable face.

Over at Sitcom House, Dire sits miserably on the sitcom sofa, hugging her knees. (Even though it’s the beginning of school term, why hasn’t Adele arrived home in time for it to begin?)

Brigid enters the lounge. Antony’s still in bed, she prods Dire.

Dire shrugs listlessly. He’s not very well, she explains.

Not very well? Echoes Brigid, taking a seat nearby. He looks OK to her, she remarks. It’s the first day of school; he should be going. Why, when she was his age, she never dreamt of missing school - only for serious things like death.

Ignoring her mother’s concerns, Dire suddenly asks Brigid what she thinks of Marty - what she REALLY thinks.

Brigid shrugs her shoulders, non-commitally. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, she comments, indicating that she believes marriage is for life.

Innocent or guilty? Queries Dire.

Brigid leans forward in her chair. ‘Look,’ she says to Dire, matter-of-factly, ‘if you walk out on Marty now, he’ll crack up. Why, he’s barely holding it together as it is.’

But Dire, being Dire and selfish to the core, doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about Marty. It’s herself, she’s worried about. ‘What about ME?’ She whines.

Dire has to listen to her conscience, Brigid tells her.

‘He’s not the same man I maddied,’ Dire confesses.

‘People change,’ says Brigid, with scant sympathy. ‘It doesn’t make them child killers.’ Anyway, Brigid says, changing the subject, she’s going to the shops and promised to get some comics and sweets for Ant. She doesn’t like to see him so miserable.

As she’s talking, Marty quietly opens the front door and enters the room from the foyer. After she goes to the shops, Brigid continues, she’s off to Ron’s. Is there anything the Muddies need?

Dire, glancing reluctantly at Marty, replies that they don’t need anything.

Brigid leaves the room, as Marty sits down heavily on a nearby chair.

Sensing something’s not right by his demeanour, Dire asks Marty what’s wrong.

Marty’s been to the school to see Mrs Plummer, he informs her, bleakly. The proper term is ‘gardening leave’, he adds, sarcastically. But Mrs Plummer wasn’t in, and he was left a message that she would phone him later.

Dire tries to be hopeful. Well, maybe Mrs Plummer will have some suggestions for him, she says. Like the possibility of moving to another school to work. (What a STUPID suggestion? Has this woman no brains?)

Anyway, she continues, does Marty think she should have sent Ant to school today?

Marty, not meeting her gaze, shakes his head. That would be like plastering a big sign on his head, saying, ‘Beat me up.’

Back at Bicker-Bicker House, where every action is a melee of cacophony, last-minute efforts are being made to get Luke the bunny ready for school. He’s looking more po-faced than usual in his crisp, new school uniform, and in the midst of all the kefuffle, Ma objects to being called ‘Grandma’.

Finally, Ma grabs a camera and sits down on the mingey sofa to take a picture of Luke on his first day. Rabbity Ruth, between snorking back snot and gnashing her gigantic choppers, asks Ma if she remembers Ruth’s first day, because Ruth, who’s not very bright at the best of times, can’t seem to remember her fist day at all. Did Ma and Pa both take her to school, or was Pa too busy as per usual?

Ooooh, remarks Ma, wide-eyed, doing her Barbara Royle impersonation, she’s surprised Ruth doesn’t remember her first day. Pa and Ma both took her, and she arrived in a 30-tonne 10-wheeler lorry.

Hmpfh! Ruth snorts, spraying the back of Luke’s head with snot, well, at least Pa was there, which is more than she can say for Luke’s father, forgetting that the real reason the hapless Sean isn’t there at all is not that he doesn’t want to be, but because Ruth won’t let him. But then, the word ‘blame’ isn’t in her vocabulary, is it? Is it, BOLLOCKS!

As Rabbity Ruth’s saying this, from out of nowhere, Ma whips out a compact and starts putting her eye make-up on, like all the other poor white wives and women who inhabit the Close. (Ever notice how Gaby the Grin doesn’t do this? Says it all).

Yes, sighs Rabbity Ruth, oblivious to her share of blame in the situations, it’s a shame things didn’t work out for Luke and his dad.

Ma looks up over her compact mirror. ‘Things didn’t werrk out fer you and yer’oosbund,’ Ma points out, suddenly stricken with a mild case of common sense. ‘Luke and his father is a different matter.’

Big Pa lumbers into the lounge at that moment, dropping to his knees and making a big fuss about Luke going to school on his first day. It reminds him of Rabbity Ruth’s first day, and he begins to wax lyrical at the memory of the lorry in which he ferried her to school. Then he takes Luke by the hand and leads him to the kitchen to sort out his lunchbox.

After Pa’s left the room, Rabbity Ruth, thinking to get some sort of support from her witless Ma, asks her mother if she thinks Ruth should have included Sean in on Luke’s first day.

Ma shrugs, concentrating on her make-up. That’s up to Ruth, she says, blandly.

Interpreting this to satisfy her own selfish ends, Rabbity Ruth sits back in her chair, smiling smugly. Well, she sneers, Luke has Dan now.

Ma puts her toilette aside. But Dan’s NOT Luke’s father, Ma says, and besides, Dan might be away for long periods of time because of his work. However much she wants to, Rabbity Ruth CAN’T substitue Dan for Luke’s father.

Rabbity Ruth struggles to bring her upper and lower lip together over her enormous gapped buck teeth. (Such a shame Brookside’s not lasting longer. She could be sent to the orthodontist who sorted Claire Sweeney out). Reluctantly, she admits that MAYBE she should endeavour to sort soomthink out with Sean ... But she wasn’t having that nasty, stinking Sean come round here losing his temper in front of Luke.

Ma tells Ruth that SHE has to take some of the blame for the predicament and make some concessions.

Their conversation is interrupted at that moment by Ali the Ginger, who trudges down the stairs, verbally sniping at Pa. What good are A-Levels, he mutters, when he hates school so much?

A-Levels will help Ali get a better job, Pa parrots, pushing him out the door.

As he leaves the house, Ali shouts over his shoulder that there’s an e-mail arrived from Kirsty.

Ma jumps up from the sofa to which she’s attached most of the time. Ooooooh! She squeals. What does it say?

Pa, pushing Ali out the door, shouts that he has to leave.

The Sage sits in front of his oracle, tap, tap, tapping. Tim enters the extension, having just got up. Jimmy remarks how late Tim’s awakened. ‘Soom of oos haveter get oop early,’ Jimmy barbs.

Well, rejoinders Tim, some of us have things to stay in bed for.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows, not daring to look away from the magic screen. He thought Emily went to werrrrrk, he remarks.

Tim brags that he has to beat Emily off with a stick, and he muses about perhaps taking an ugly pill to make him less irresistible.

‘Just give it time,’ Jimmy says.

‘Spoken like a bitter, old man,’ quips Tim. By the way, he asks, is Jimmy seeing Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen today, or does he plan to surf the net for an alternative?

Wait and see, says Jimmy, cryptically.

Over at Number 8, Max and Jax loll in bed over the breakfast tray. Jacqui’s all aglow and thanks Max for breakfast in bed on their first anniversary. Max stands over her with his hands held behind his back. Jacqui senses that he’s hiding her anniversary present, but she plays along with the gag and asks him what he’s hiding. (Needless to say, her hair and make-up are perfect).

Well, Max enthuses, as the First Anniversary is traditionally a paper anniversary, so ... And he immediately produces two copies of the fabled Manor Park Reporter, one bearing the date of the day Jacqui was born in 1977, and the other bearing the date Max was born in 1957 - Max has aged ANOTHER TWO YEARS in one year’s time! There’s one for Jacqui’s birthday, he witters, and one for Max’s.

Jacqui takes the two newspapers and stares at them blankly, not sure what to make of the present.

Max waits a couple of beats before uttering the ubiquitous, ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’ Says Jacqui.

Max wants to know what Jacqui thinks about the presents.

Jacqui gulps and then tries to feign pleasure. Why, it’s wonderful, she says. It doesn’t sparkle in the right light or enhance her figure when she walks into a room, but, yeah, they’re all right. Then she reaches under the bed and hands him his present. It’s a digital camera.

Max is speechless. He’s wanted one of them for a long time, he says. Then he hastily promises Jacqui that the papers were only the first of many surprises to come for her that day.

In the kitchen of Number 7, Ron tries to lift a basketfull of laundry, when he suddenly collapses into a nearby chair, just at the moment Brigid approaches the back door. Brigid rushes to his aid, scolding him. He shouldn’t even be thinking of doing something like that! She says, horrified. And just what is he doing here on his own?

Ron clutches his chest, catching his breath. He just can’t have people fussing over him 24/7, he says. They’ve got their own lives.

Just where’s Mike? Brigid wants to know.

Ron tells her Mike has to look after Josh today.

Well, why can’t he do that here? Brigid asks.

Ron rises slowly to move to the sofa in the next room. The truth is, Ron admits, Josh is a handful, and he’d never get any peace with the child around. Also, he adds, he thinks maybe Mike feels a bit guilty about the way he left Ron the other day; so Mike’s trying to avoid him.

That’s not good enough! Brigid declares, stoutly. Ron shouldn’t be on his own and he shouldn’t be lifting heavy loads.

They were just towels, Ron protests.

Towels can be heavy if there’s enough of them, says Brigid. The plain truth is that Ron’s not being looked after properly.

Ron begins to protest, but Brigid tells him to stop being so stubborn. She’s making him a drink, and she’ll have no arguments.

Marty and Dire still sit bleakly in the sitcom lounge. Marty can’t believe he’s actually been suspended.

Don’t read too much into it, Dire says, trying to cheer him up.

Marty, who’s been holding his head in his hands, looks at her with a face full of incredulous disbelief. A girl goes missing at a school where he worked, he says, his voice laden with sarcasm, never to be seen again. He moves schools, and another goes missing. Only this time, everyone knows he hit her. He’s questioned by the police - more than once, mind you - and there’s a special governors’ meeting at the school to decide what to do about him. And when they decide to suspend him, Dire tells him not to read too much into it!

Just remember, Dire tries to explain, that when Mrs Plummer rings to discuss the situation with him, it doesn’t necessarily mean she thinks he’s guilty.

‘It doesn’t mean she’s about to put her job on the line and back me, either,’ Marty quips.

Dire rises abruptly from the couch, clearly exasperated by the whole of the situation. What is the point, then, she exclaims, of going over it again and again?

‘Maybe I want to know at what point you’re going to leave me,’ says Marty, truthfully.

Next door at Hotel Corkhill, Jimmy has the kitchen table covered with plans gleaned from the Internet. As Tim enters the room, Jimmy spreads his hands wide and asks Tim what he thinks. Tim peers down at the papers. He shrugs. All he sees, he says, are drawings of a beach and some umbrellas.

‘Use yer imagination!’ Jimmy booms, through clenched teeth.

Tim picks up a couple of pieces of paper and studies them intently, moving his head from side to side thoughfully. Finally, he speaks. Is Jimmy planning on going to the beach? He asks, innocently.

No, Jimmy explains, drawing out each word for emphasis. He’s bringing the beach HERE - well, to Ray’s and Jessie’s anyway, he adds, as an afterthought. Just think Brighton Beach meets Brookside bungalow, he says to Tim.

Tim, instead, eyes Jimmy suspiciously. Has Jimmy remembered to take his meds? Tim wants to know.

YES, Jimmy asserts, jutting out his phallic chin, and furthermore, he feels GOOD! He booms. He’s CREATING!

Tim glances at him sidewise. Pinching plans off the Internet isn’t creating, Tim reminds him.

‘Listen, kidder,’ says Jimmy, narrowing his eyes and jutting his chin, ‘ever since the Creation, all Man’s done is MOOOOOOVE things about a bit and claim them fer his own!’ Here, he excitedly points to one design, see the way the pebbles go right up the the beach hut?

‘Er, you mean the garage?’ Tim corrects him sceptically.

‘Not when I paint it yeller and blue,’ confides Jimmy, confidently.

And Ray and Jessie are going to let him do that? Tim wants to know.

Not only are they going to let him do that, Jimmy informs him, but they’re going to PAY him to do it. This could be the beginning of Corkhill’s Creative Garden Designs, Jimmy brags proudly.

‘Except they’re not original, are they?’ Chides Tim, slapping the plans against Jimmy’s chest and leaving.

‘Hey!’ Jimmy calls after him. ‘I IMAGINEERED it!’

Ron and Brigid are chatting, whilst enjoying a cup of tea on the sofa. Ron sighs wearily. It’s horrible, he wails, when a child has to look after a parent.

Well, Ron’s certainly looked after Mike, Brigid says, pointedly.

Ron mutters that he’s embarrassed when Mike has to help him with his surgical stockings. It’s even worse with Jacqui, he adds. Oh, he tries not to lumber them both, he begins -

Well, what’s the alternative? Brigid interjects. He can’t rush recuperations. He needs time to heal.

Ron says wryly that he heard enough of that from the cardiac nurse.

Nursing a person back to health is one of the most rewarding experiences in life, Brigid says, smiling gently. If Ron EVER needs anything, she wants him to know she’ll be there for him. And NOTHING goes beyond these walls, she adds.

Ron asks how Brigid’s house refurbishment is coming along?

Just that, replies Brigid, coming along.

But she’s still with Dire and Marty? Ron asks.

Yes, Brigid sighs, but she isn’t liking it.

Well, they treat her OK, don’t they? Asks Ron.

It’s the space more than anything, Brigid explains, or the lack of it.

Well, soothes Ron, it will be like having a new house when hers is finished.

Outside the primary school, Rabbity Ruth is on her knees talking to Luke, whilst Dan oozes slime nearby. She’s telling Luke to have a lovely time playing with his friends, and to be good for his teacher. In a little while, she promises, she’ll be back to collect him.

But Luke isn’t paying attention to what she’s saying, smart boy. He glances to his right and dashes off, crying, ‘Daddy!’ The hapless Sean has just appeared. Luke jumps into his father’s arms.

Rabbity Ruth hops indignantly after the child. Just what is Sean doing here? She demands. Dan looks sullen in the background.

It’s Luke’s first day at school, Sean explains calmly, and he should be there with his son.

Ruth begins to argue, ‘We said -’

But she’s rightly interrupted by Sean. ‘WE said noothink,’ he reminds her. ‘YOU said. Now it’s me son’s ferrst day, and I should be here. It’s him who shouldn’t be here,’ Sean adds, motioning his head toward Dan. Then he tells Dan to get out, before Sean gives him a good hiding.

Sean steps forward toward the school gates with Luke in his arms, but Ruth stops him, asking him what he’s going to do.

Sean looks at his imbecillic wife as if she’s sprouted a second head. ‘What am I goin’ ter do?’ He repeats the question. ‘I’m goin’ ter take me kid inter school.’

Ruth insists that SHE’LL take him in, but Sean insists that they’ll BOTH take him in, and Dan will stay outside.

Dan starts toward Sean in a threatening manner, but Ruth stops him peremptorily and orders him to get into the car and wait. Sean carries Luke through the school gates, smiling, whilst Ruth follows sullenly.

Back at Number 8, Jacqui sits at the kitchen table, gazing at the two copies of the Manor Park Reporter. Max stands shamefully nearby. He sits down opposite her, morosely. The papers, he begins tentatively, they were a bit of a mistake, weren’t they?

No, Jacqui insists, loyally. They’re interesting, really.

Max glances at the date on one paper and then the other. They certainly emphasise the twenty years’ difference in their ages, he remarks. He supposes Jacqui doesn’t really remember what life was like before there was a man on the moon.

Oh, jokes Jacqui, like that’s really made a difference in her life.

Max apologises for the presents, and Jacqui apologises for taking the mick. In fact, she thinks it’s a very romantic gesture on Max’s part, especially since he’s promised her more surprises during the day, she reminds him.

Max smiles uneasily, while Jacqui presses him to give her a clue about one of the planned surprises. Go on, she bets it’s dead romantic.

Suddenly their conversation is interrupted by the sound of Ray’s power saw nearby.

‘It’s like living next door to a test pilot!’ Jacqui complains.

Er, actually, Max begins suddenly, he was thinking about a fly-past.

A what? Jacqui asks.

Getting a plane to fly past with Jacqui’s name on it. When Jacqui hears that, she jumps up and down with glee. That’s the most romantic gesture anyone’s ever done for her.

Max tries to interrupt her to tell her that he hadn’t exactly planned it, but Jacqui’s off. She’s just got to pop next door and tell Ron all about it. Ron’ll be so impressed. And she dashes off.

Max hurriedly reaches for the phone and dials 192, asking for the number of Liverpool John Lennon Airport.

Having deposited Luke at school, the hapless Sean and Rabbity Ruth walk and hop back across the schoolyard to the gate. The hapless Sean points out that Luke was glad he came. Ruth, however, is sullenly snorking her snot. She STILL thinks Sean shouldn’t have put in an appearance, she mutters. She turns to face him. Listen, she begins, she knows that they have to coordinate things for Luke’s sake.

Well, if Ruth had been on time the previous day, Sean informs her, perhaps they could have planned something. Sean tells Ruth that he doesn’t want Luke seeing them arguing.

That’s what she’s been saying all along, Ruth reminds him. (Whilst trying to provoke an argument at every opportunity.) In fact, she continues, that’s why she left him. (Oooh, talk about re-writing the agenda!)

Sean grabs her by the arm, stopping her from walking away.

‘No,’ he corrects her, ‘you left because you were sleepin’ with him there through the fence.’ He motions toward Dan, who’s leaning against the car.

Anxious not to argue on school property, Ruth pleads with Sean, asking that they just agree that Luke is the most important thing in their lives. It’s not about scoring points against each other.

Well, of course, Sean readily agrees. After all, Luke is all he has, isn’t he?

So, resumes Rabbity Ruth, wiping some green snot from her upper lip, they have to agree on a routine - who picks Luke up and who takes him to school.

And who goes to parents’ evenings, Sean adds.

Yes, Ruth agrees.

But, Sean hastily adds, pointing at Dan, he doesn’t want Ruth trying to pass THAT ONE off as Luke’s father!

Dan is her partner now, Ruth tells Sean, smugly. He should accept that.

Sean insists that Dan is not to be left on his own with Luke.

‘Don’t be stupid!’ Sneers Ruth. ‘That’s bound to happen!’

Sean pushes past her and marches up to face Dan. He succinctly tells Dan that he wants the man to remember his place with regard to Luke and not to overstep the mark.

Dan assumes the phoney air of injured innocence. Why, he thinks the world of Luke, he assures Sean.

Ruth, for once, desperately tries to intervene, begging the two men to remember where they are and why they’re here.

Sean glares angrily at Dan. ‘Yer Ruth’sbit on the side,’ he snarls, ‘and that’s all yer’ll ever be.’

Dan slouches against the car, cockily. ‘Why, I’m whatever Ruth wants me to be,’ he replies in his cultivated St Helens voice. ‘Partner, loover, hoosband.’

Sean draws his fist as though to hit Dan, and Ruth shrieks for Dan to get in the car. Dan suddenly pisses his pants and dashes to the safety of the car. Ruth then just tells the hapless Sean to walk away, and he trudges sullenly toward his van, as Dan smiles smugly from the confines of the car and wet underpants.

Jacqui and Brigid stand discussing Ron, as Ron sits on the sofa, wrapped in what appears to be an old lady’s body slipper. Jacqui thinks Brigid has come up with a great idea.

Brigid agrees. It came to her after she gave Ron his tea, she explains.

Jacqui thinks Brigid’s idea makes sense.

‘It’s not as if I don’t have experience,’ Brigid reminds her.

‘Of course not,’ says Jacqui. Why, Brigid’s looked after WARDS full of people. Looking after Ron will be like Ron having his own private health scheme. Er, when can Brigid start?

Well, Brigid preens, she feels as if she’s already started. But she’ll need to get a key cut.

Ron’s been sitting helplessly nearby, watching the performance of the women. He interrupts. Hey, he begins, just because he’s had heart surgery, doesn’t mean he’s not here!

Jacqui means Ron might get tetchy. But this idea is great for Mike, and it means Ron gets his dignity back, being handled by a professional.

Suddenly Max dashes in, insisting that Jacqui come outside quickly. He grabs his wife and they dash outside, as Brigid and Ron exchange weak smiles.

Meanwhile, Max rushes his wife into the back garden of Number 8, urging her to hurry or she’ll miss ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is. Once there, Max points up to the sky, whilst Jacqui follows his gaze, shielding her eyes.

‘Look! There it is!’ Max exclaims. But Jacqui fails to see the object at which he’s pointing, so Max begins to spell the ‘fly-by’ out to her.

‘E - every, A - anniversary, S - something, Y - youthful, J - Jacqui, of course, E-entertaining, T-totally,’ he finishes, smiling and pleased with himself.

Jacqui’s uncomprehending gaze returns to Max’s face.

‘EASYJET!’ Max cries. ‘Just another one of my zany, youthful ideas!’

‘Eeeeeeem, Max,’ replies Jacqui, sidling close to her husband. ‘That was a VIRGIN plane.’

Max’s face falls. ‘I blew it,’ he admits.

‘You did,’ says Jacqui, sympathetically, ‘but I loov yer fer it.’

Back at Sitcom House, Dire is dealing with that most faithful of Brookside household props, the laundry basket, whilst Marty stands by the sitcom kitchen counter. The phone rings, and Dire dashes to answer it. As she answers the phone, Brigid rushes into the house and directly into the kitchen.

‘Guess where I’m moving?’ She cries, excitedly to Marty. And before he can reply, she fournishes the answer - Ron Dixon’s.

Marty can’t believe it. He’s speechless, as Dire continues speaking on the phone.

Well, it solves the space problem, Brigid says, blandly. And besides, Ron needs her help.

Does Ron know? Marty asks, rhetorically.

Know! Cries Brigid. He’s over the moon! Suddenly Dire calls Marty to the telephone. It’s a call from his solicitor.

Brigid, meanwhile, happily witters on to Dire about her move. It makes sense, she explains. She can nurse Ron back to health, whilst waiting for her own home to be finished. And also, she won’t be a million miles away, should Dire need her.

When is she going? Dire asks.

Today, Brigid replies, but Dire pleads with her not to go.

But it’s only next door, Brigid says.

Marty enters the kitchen briefly. Good news, he sighs.

Dire looks up hopefully.

The solicitor says the bizzies aren’t going to pursue the stolen computer, nor are they going to prosecute Antony for wasting police time with the forged letter, Marty explains.

Dire’s face noticeably falls.

Marty clocks this. Well, isn’t she pleased for him? He asks.

‘IT WOULD BE EVEN BETTER NEWS IF HE SAID YER WERE IN THE CLEAR,’Dire booms, as the phone rings again. Dire moves past him to answer it. Brigid announces that she’s going to pack.

Max is finishing a phone call, as Jacqui skips into the lounge at Number 8, announcing that she has excellent news. Ron has his own private nurse now, she says.

Max puts the telephone down and snorts loudly. That’s likely to cost Ron an arm and a leg, he retorts.

Not when Brigid needs a home, reveals Jacqui, slyly. At first, Max thinks Jacqui’s joking, but Jacqui assures him that Brigid’s dead keen on the idea.

Easy on then, Max remarks, for Mike and Rachel. Then he suddenly suggests that he and Jacqui have a picnic. It’s such a lovely day - although it looks pretty cloudy to me. In fact, most days on Brookside look cloudy. I wonder why? Then Max reveals something that makes every long-term viewer sit up and stare bug-eyed at the television screen.

MAX HAS PARENTS!!!!! TWO OF THEM!!!!! AND THEY’RE STILL ALIVE!!!!!

Max tells Jacqui ruefully that his father rang to offer his best for their first anniversary.

Awwwww, coos Jacqui. It’s nice that he remembered. (And has the current Mrs Farnham ever met Mr Farnham pere, I wonder?)

Yes, Max continues. In fact, his father offered his congratulations to the couple and then pointed out that in a mere four years’ time, Max would be fifty and his bride would turn thirty.

Oh, well, sighs Jacqui with disdain, what does age matter? They are what they are, whatever their ages.

Over at Hotel Corkhill, in what’s supposed to be a comic interlude, Jimmy’s still explaining the intricacies of his business venture to Tim. This is where Tim comes in, Jimmy advises him. He’ll need Tim’s van for about an hour.

To do what? Tim wants to know.

Only to help Mother Nature, Jimmy says, cryptically. To move plants, pebbles and the like from one place to another.

‘Yer mean nick’em?’ Tim susses.

If that’s the language Tim wants to use, says Jimmy, tersely.

‘Are you sure you’ve taken your meds?’ Tim asks, incredulous at Jimmy’s suggestion that he go back on the rob.

‘Jimmy Corkhill’s back in business,’ muses Jimmy, smiling a little, private smile. (And here we’re about to see the re-scallification of Jimmy).

‘And draggin’ me back with yer!’ Exclaims Tim.

‘Hey,’ Jimmy points out, ‘I’m merely offerin’ you and yer van a business opportunity.’

Tim moans that he bought that van to do legitimate work (sans paying tax and National Insurance, of course), and all he’s done with it is ferry dodgy rubble and pigs. NOW Jimmy wants him to help nick a garden.

Not a garden, Jimmy explains softly, just half a business park.

Er, and what happened to Jimmy’s advice to Tim about keeping his head down? Tim asks.

‘Yer gorrit sussed,’ Jimmy says, confidently.

Marty’s finishing a heated phone call with Mrs Plummer, standing in the door of between the kitchen and the lounge, telling her that she can stick her job. And what’s more, he won’t be sending Antony to school. Oh, and finally, thanks for ALL her support in backing him. He throws the phone down.

Dire is sitting, po-faced, on the sitcom sofa. She remarks coldly that this will all be a shock for Adele when she returns home from Cornwall.

That’s the least of his wuddies, Marty moans.

Who’ll know about this? Asks Dire, suddenly concerned.

Oh, let’s see, Marty takes a tally. There’s the school governors, the head, her secretary, the staff - oh, and the kids will know soon enough, so that means the world!

Brigid tentatively enters the lounge, asking Marty if he’ll give her a hand moving her stuff to Ron’s. Why, she never realised how much luggage she had.

Now is not a good time, Dire informs her mother, telling her that Marty’s been suspended.

Brigid looks genuinely startled. What have they found? She demands.

Noothink, Marty replies, firmly.

Well, can they do that without any evidence? She asks.

‘They joost have,’ sneers Marty. ‘Soospended on full pay, pending a full disciplinary.’

It’s really NOT a good idea for Brigid to move now, Dire implores. People MIGHT get the wrong idea, she adds.

‘Like a rat deserting a sinking ship,’ quips Brigid, automatically. Then she apologises to Marty. Anyway, she’d best go tell Ron she won’t be moving today.

Without any details, Dire warns her.

‘Of course not,’ replies Brigid, indignantly.

Max guides a blindfolded Jacqui out to the back garden and seats her in a chair. He removes the blindfold, to reveal their kitchen table, removed to the garden and beautifully set for a classy meal, complete with wine. Jacqui gushes. Oooh, she loves the table, and she thinks Max is wonderful. (Er, if Jacqui and Max are home, where are the kids?)

And that’s not all, says Max, mysteriously, as he snaps his fingers. Suddenly, from around the corner of the house, a barbershop quartet, consisting of four elderly men, singing in perfect harmony, emerges. As they begin their song about ‘Max and Jacqui Farnham’, they’re rudely interrupted by the blaring sound of Ray’s power saw.

Gathering the wine, Max hurriedly rushes wife and quartet into the house.

Back at the Bicker-Bicker Homestead, Ma lies (where else?), prostrate on the mingey sofa, whilst Pa kneels on the floor a-MAY-saging her smelly feet. (Well, if they’re going to act like transplanted Alabama poor white trash, I’m going to write about them as such). Ma’s givin’ pore ol’ Pa holy Hell cawse he ain’t give HIS pore ol’ ma (now lemme see, hyeah, that would be ... Gran’maw Gordon) his MO-bile phone number. (That’s enough of that - Christ, I almost married an Alabama lawyer. Thank God, he could talk!)

Pa explains to Ma, in the terminology that he would, no doubt, use with a simpleton, that Pa is a very busy man, indeed. He has to run a fleet of vehicles, lie to punters and brokers about the whereabouts of goods and drivers, and ferry illegal immigrants across the Channel. He’s far too busy to spend time talking to his MOTHER, for Christ’s sake! Anyway, when his mum does ring, all she does is moan about hisdad.

Speaking of moaning, Ma says (and she’s an expert on the subject, herself), they get a rare lunchtime to spend together and all HE’S done is moan.

Well, Pa sighs, despite all his mother’s moanings, he feels she’d be lost without his dad. Suddenly, a horrified look crosses Pa’s big, dumb face. OMIGOD! If anything does happen to his father and he dies first, why, the Gordons might be lumbered with Gran’maw Gordon. There’s simply no room as it is! And it’ll be another 10 years before any of the kids leave. (Er, sorry, but do children normally live in the family nest until they’re nearly thirty in Liverpool?)

Oooooh, Ma reminds him, witlessly, Bitch is still on her gap year, remember? (Meaning, if the old boy snuffs it, let the old girl come live with them. With any luck, she won’t last a year, herself; and if she does, they could easily kill her off with their behaviour - if not Ma’s cooking.)

Pa remembers Ali saying that an e-mail had arrived from Bitch. What did it say?

Ma shrugs. Nothing more than that her money was going faster than usual - and that was after a 3-week-old postcard, thanking them for the last lot of dosh. A phone call would be nice, Ma muses.

Pa then asks if Luke got off to his first day all right. Ma replies that the hapless Sean put in an appearance, but Rabbity Ruth managed to handle the situation. They’ll always have a problem with custody, Ma whines.

They have to sort that out themselves, Pa snaps.

Max’n Jax have now moved the picnic fare inside and are seated at the table, replete with wine, whilst being serenaded by the barbershop quartet, still warbling on about ‘Max and Jacqui Farnham’. The couple laugh happily. Suddenly, Jacqui catches sight of something out of the corner of her eye and turns her head toward the door leading into the lounge. Ron Dixon stands pitifully in the doorway, holding two surgical stockings and looking desperate. Max’s face is a picture of horror.

Rabbity Ruth and Dan the Slimy Man sit side-by-side in Dan’s car outside the school, waiting for Luke to finish. Both are silent for awhile, and Dan looks stolidly ahead. Rabbity Ruth snorks back some particularly vile, green snot and smiles coyly, revealing her enormous gapped choppers. (Aw, too bad she’s getting sacked. She could use her Brookside wages to get her teeth fixed).

That was the most unromantic proposal in the world this morning, she nudges Dan, sidling up to him.

Dan frowns, trying to remember when he proposed at all. What proposal? He asks.

Exactly, laughs Ruth. Dan didn’t even realise he’d made it. What was all that about ‘partner, lover, husband - whatever she wants him to be’?

For a moment, Dan looks as though he’s about to shit his pants. ‘You can’t hold me to that!’ He exclaims, nervously. ‘That was said in the heat of the moment.’

Ruth’s face falls at that comment. She wonders aloud what will happen to them.

Oh, they’ll all probably return to dust in the wind, Dan says, flippantly, stardust from whence they came and all that.

No, insists Ruth, she meant ‘short-term’.

Now Dan shrugs. Well, what does Rabbity Ruth want?

Ruth says all she wants is Dan the Slimy Man and Luke.

‘And my baby?’ Dan asks.

‘Eventually,’ replies Rabbity Ruth. (Wrong answer). Oh, she continues, she can’t believe that Luke’s first day of school was so painful.

It certainly wasn’t helped by Sean turning up, snaps Dan.

It should have been a milestone, Rabbity Ruth muses. Luke’s first day. Their son entering the system. Now, Ruth isn’t the centre of Luke’s universe anymore, she says, sadly. (Well, thank God, for that! I can’t think of a fate worse than death for the child).

Well, replies Dan, looking at Ruth unsympathetically, Luke’s being at school might give Rabbity Ruth the opportunity to continue her interrupted education. She should think about it.

(Dan the Slimy Man is obviously an intellectual snob).

Jacqui sits on Max’s lap, at the picnic table, after the departure of the barbershop quartet and Ron. Max is talking about Ron. He’s worried. Brigid moving in might not be the godsend they thought it would be initially, he says.

Jacqui asks why.

Well, Max explains, Ron might become dependent on her, and when she leaves - which she will -

He’ll transfer that dependency to Jacqui and Mike, Jacqui finishes.

To Jacqui, Max emphasises.

But she can’t handle looking after her dad as well as her businesses! Jacqui protests. (Er, notice - no mention of the kids as her responsibility.)

Exactly, Max points out. Ron’s had a very serious operation, he’s still very ill, and he’s not getting any younger.

Ah! Jacqui remarks, but her dad is determined not to be a burden. It’s not his style.

Max reminds Jacqui that when they got married, they agreed only to live on the Close for six months.

Jacqui nudges Max and teases him about getting maudlin in his old age. Besides, she says, they’re comfortable here.

Max apologises, saying that champagne in the afternoon doesn’t work for him. He just feels that he and Jacqui will be stuck on the Close for the duration (of the show - too right). He remembers leaving university and HIS dad saying that Max could now do anything he wanted. His imagination was his limit.

Jacqui puts her arms around Max’s neck and prettily asks him if he minds staying on the Close a bit longer (er, just until the end of 2003).

How long? Max asks, tetchily.

‘Eeeeeem, as long as me dad needs oos,’ Jacqui says.

Max sighs and says that he’ll be wherever Jacqui wants him to be as long as she’s happy.

Jacqui tells Max that she loves him, and the couple exchange a lingering kiss, before Max suddenly pulls away. Jacqui is worried. What’s wrong? She asks.

Max looks shaken. He replies that he was suddenly bothered by an image of Ron and Max’s PARENTS standing in the doorway, all holding surgical stockings and waiting for the couple to help them put them on.

Suddenly the bothersome sound of Ray’s power saw breaks the silence.

Max and Jacqui burst out laughing.

Andy Lynch wrote this. Yawn.