Monologue – 8 May 2017

Tom is still adjusting to having to get over himself.  This dump is all I’ve got now said Tom.

Pip asked Toby if there was a chance she could get her money back.  He said unfortunately, owing to circumstances entirely within his own control, he would be unable to deliver the monies owing from himselves to themselves debts notwithstanding.  For further information please contact our debt helpline.  When she described this to her father it was interesting to note she referred to it as an “investment”, not as forking over her entire profit to a hapless nob-head making moonshine  in a bucket.

As part of her penance, she adjusted her hair shirt and trotted off to Grange Farm to tell them that because she’d given all the cows an STD they were going to have to shoot Bartleby to eat him.   She may as well hire an aeroplane and sky-write “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, for God’s sake I’m sorry.”  Maybe Adam could rig up the drone to do it.

Over at Brookers they were making a list of things to do:

• Ring around other farmers…Ruth.
• Meat deliveries…David.
• Take all blame for everything in the world from the Suez crisis onwards…Pip.

It’s the Dawn Chorus walk!  “The main thing is to get people up and out” said Helen.  “Stop them enjoying themselves at home, nice and warm, in bed on a Sunday morning, and make them stand in a field while I shush them.  They’ll love it.  I always know what’s best for people.”  Glad to see you are back on form, Helen.

Lilian was at a loose end.  Her exciting life choosing cushion covers with Justin is proving to be not quite as thrilling as galloping through shrubberies in wellies and a thong.   It’s awful being bored, when you’ve only got a massive house and a boyfriend and a horse and a gajillion pounds.  But I mean there’s always jigsaws…or um….learning tai chi….or ooh!  I know!  What about running your business?  No-one’s collected any rent for about a year and a half, all the tenants have fallen down the stairs and broken their necks because nobody was maintaining the houses, the ones that survived that died of hypothermia as no-one was servicing the boilers…the least she could do is go round with a skip and scoop up the bodies.

Nic and Emma joined forces again to sit on Will while he wittered on, with a gob full of garlic bread, that Emma was damaging Georg-y.   I honestly think that a nuclear strike couldn’t damage George-y.   They asked Ed to comment but he didn’t hear as he was pushing handfuls of pasta bake into his face and some of it went in his ears.

Toby bought Pip a bracelet.  A charm bracelet, cos she ain’t getting no charm from anywhere else.  I just want things to go back to how they were, said Toby. When you thought I was a misjudged twat, rather than…an actual twat.  I think Pip dumped him, but I’m not sure.  You’d think, wouldn’t you, that having seen where being a massive cowardy cowardy custard got her before, she’d have toughened up a bit but no, she was still enormously passive aggressive, absently mindedly telling Toby it was just for a short while as she busily deleted his number from her mobile and set fire to his clothes.

But it’s ALL GOING TO BE OK as, as entirely predicted by everyone in the world, the Aldridge share out has gone wrong already and Adam has got uppity because Debbie got the same shares as him and he wants more ones than Debbie.  Or at least bigger ones with brighter colours.  That plays a tune.   So the best thing is they are going to have a Home Farm family meeting over lunch to talk about the disaster that is going to be wreaked through the medium of Brian, a couple of bottles of red, and some family chit chat about the division of the millions.  Here we go, ladies and gents.  Eyes down for a full house. We want a good, dirty fight with lots of hair pulling and eye gouging (looking at you there, Adam), Debbie is joining in via Skype which is going to be a bit odd if they’re all there waving roast potatoes about and she’s going to be a disembodied voice from a laptop at the end of the table, and we’re expecting Ruaruaruaridh to be let out of his cupboard under the stairs with an entirely new voice, a wobbly adam’s apple and a huge sense of entitlement.

The End.