Round at the Aldridge’s, Invalid David’s broken arm has transmogrified him into Mr Bean. It is nothing short of a miracle that the door of Brian’s drinks cabinet doesn’t fall from it’s Lillian-weakened hinges right onto his head. With hilarious consequences.
At least Brian appreciates Ruth’s value to the Brookfield herd. Really very appreciative in fact… like, Siobhan-level appreciative. Danger, Will Robinson; nobody wants to hear a Brian/Ruth affair in 2016.
At the Touch Rugby tournament, Toby’s leery, thigh-rubbing, tongue-lolling letchery at Pip continues to cause involuntary dry-heaving in the listening audience. The event is a massive marketing success, managing to sell 17 of the Fairbretheren’s 45,000 geese. Toby (or was it Rex – it’s still really hard to tell) wonders if Pip might prefer to date losers. No, guys- she prefers to date non-Neanderthals.
In the non-contact sport of Touch Rugby, Rex is the only man capable of sustaining a life-threatening injury. Poor Rex is so fragile, like a delicate Victorian china doll. Let’s hope Pip doesn’t fall for him; one overly vigorous cuddle and she’d shatter him like a blown egg.
Rex declares his own love for Pip in the most half-hearted, emotionless, managerial way possible. Pip sensibly ducks the whole awkward moment. Who knew that scruffy clothes and cow-shit encrusted wellies was the way to drive men wild; Pip has Rex, Toby and probably that new lad Matthew following her every step like lusty puppies.
For all of the usual reasons, Rob continues to be in want of a horrible demise. This week I am imagining a death like that of Edward II. (Look it up.) The unexpected apprival of Ursula, Rob’s mother, prompts more miserable awkwardness. She is a dreadful passive-aggressive manipulator – quelle surprise. She advises Helen to pray that the unborn dæmon foetus “doesn’t take after his father.” Pray and pray and pray, Helen. Never stop praying.
How lovely to hear Oliver’s voice, phoning in from Tuscany like a Grundy Fairy Godfather. Emma pops in to visit Ed at Grange Farm with a batch of leaky mince pies and an offer to make Ed one last happy memory in the house. Expect the announcement of Emma Grundy-Grundy’s next pregnancy around the end of February.
On the sixth day of Christmas, Kate Aldridge gave to me; a camp of Mongolian Yurts and a communal dugout toilet complex. (Thanks, Kate – you really shouldn’t have).
Charlie has chosen to commit the ultimate Ambridge sin and Move Out Of The Village. Adam is both angry and sarcastic about the text message he received on the subject. Are we supposed to believe that these two men purport to have feelings for one another? What a horrid, shouty, tetchy relationship that would / might-still be.
In better news, the re-opening of the shop has seen the reappearence of the pink paisley tabards. Susan confides in Clarrie that the old folks of the village have missed the Village shop. Sweet Mrs Mallard says it ripped the heart out of the village. Other villagers have described it as “a botched tonsillectomy” and “like having a lobotomy without anaesthetic”.
A lovely poignant scene between Clarrie and Susan, marred only by the entire audience sniggering behind their hands when Clarrie announces that the Grundy’s have always paid their taxes. Yeah, right.
The mood of the Grundy’s on Turkey Slaughtering Day is mirrored by the weather. Now you know how the turkeys feel. Every Bloody Year. They are unable to compete with the unstoppable might of the Fairbretheren marketing machine. “Just look how much effort Emma put into that website” said Eddie; almost none at all, as it goes.
David has bought Ruth a bronze sculpture of a cow and calf for an anniversary gift. The fact that it is of “Angel Of The North” proportions, and is still yet to be granted planning permission for it’s ultimate installation atop Lakey Hill means that it is one more thing that can be added to Ruth’s list of “Things That David Did Not Discuss With Me”.
The Fairbretheren are slaughtering their geese. I have visions of them dressed up like the Muppet’s Swedish Chef, waving cleavers around with gay abandon and copious loss of blood. (Their own, not the geese).The Brookfield herd have pneumonia, and it is All Pip’s Fault for wasting time cavorting with the Fairbrethern. Although I would’ve thought that chlamydia was the bigger risk there. Thank goodness for Saint Matthew who can hear a calf cough at a thousand paces.
It’s an Utterly Predictable Christmas Miracle! As forseen by everyone back in May, Oliver & Caroline ain’t coming back from Tuscany and have gifted Grange Farm back to the Grundys for the forseeable. Plot prediction; Nonagenarian Joe is not long for this world – in a bittersweet twist, he will die happy in his precious farmhouse before the Stirlings return to Borsetshire.
Ian doesn’t want any “unpleasant surprises” at the Stag-Do. Aaannd… cue Rob. Charlie and Adam declare their feelings – they have a very odd, rather hateful way of showing their love for one another. I don’t think Adam is settling for Ian. I just fear that the wedding is going to go horribly pear-shaped thanks to Jennifer’s drunken slurrings and Rob’s wicked black heart.
Ruth is happy to blow off her wedding anniversary to stay and play with some Kiwi cows. And Sam the tour-guide, perhaps. The not-insubstantial cost of the wasted return plane ticket doesn’t enter the conversation once.
