Ed Grundy delivered the Gettysburg Address with all the oratory panache of a farmhand reading off a scrappy bit of paper. Alan reminded us of all the escaped animals over the years, like an errant serpent. Of course, we all know what happened to the snake. He ended up marrying Helen.
Speaking of Mr Titchener, showing off one further facet of his Unimpeachable Knowledge of All Things (demonstrated subjects so far include: The role of Minimalistic Shop Design in rural Retail, The Optimal Artificial Insemination Regime for Battery Cows, Ratcatcher Chic for the Hunts of Borsetshire, and ‘I Know What’s Best For You, Helen’), Rob is now world expert in Spa and Beauty Therapy Etiquette. He has, however, failed to notice that Helen now has the healthy glow and general bonhomie of Skeletor. Thank goodness, then, for Krusty and her tactful broaching of the subject. “Oh God! You look like a cadaver.” That’s one health club manager who knows how to make a client feel really special about herself.
If there was no ice for the drinks chez Titchener, they needn’t have worried, given the frostiness of the greeting between Rob & Krusty. And that Krusty’s no fool; she knows, you know…
The exchange between Rob & Helen this week made me realise that – in one way at least – they are extremely well matched. Both go to exorbitant lengths in a doomed attempt to retain control over their lives, but utilising strategies that are colossally damaging. Rob’s need to control everything and everyone around him in subversive (and not-so-subtle) ways are, of course, well documented and much vilified both here and elsewhere.
However, surely we are seeing Helen’s eating disorder rearing its unwelcome head again; perhaps as a way of her to exert a final vestige of control over one aspect of her life that is out of reach, even to Rob? This toxic combination of two people with an uncontainable need for control is just a time-bomb, and the eventual fallout is going to be profoundly unpleasant to witness.
(And in that vein – long term plot prediction – whither Henry? If Philip Larkin is to be believed: “They f**k you up, your mum and dad. / They may not mean to, but they do. / They fill you with the faults they had / And add some extra, just for you.” …So that bodes well.)
Yeah Ruth: You laugh at Matthew now. Just wait until he’s your son-in-law and running Brookfield in ten years time. See who’s laughing then…
This week, the role of Alastair will be played by a sound effect of a departing car.
It isn’t Jill’s constant provision of cake that is the miracle. It is the immaculately hilarious enunciation of every single syllable in the words “FrrruiT CaKe”. That RADA training was worth every penny.
Following on from last week’s return to form, the scene in The Bull with Jazzer, nuTom and love-lorn spaniel Matthew was most welcome; at long last, some actual character progression with nuTom! However, now that nuTom has sworn off discussing sausages & ready meals, his topics of conversation now number nil. Please can we find something new for him to talk about?
Jill is contributing to the family finances by opening a late-nite insomniacs cocoa bar in the Brookfield’s kitchen; a little light jazz, some dropped spoons and a pan of warm milk. Simply perfect for spreading gossip about your granddaughter’s sex life.
Why is older Fairbrother Rex so useless in handling his mercurial younger brother? Toby’s sordid Brighton past popped up again this week – what dark past has he got squirreled away? I’m still sticking to my past prediction of “Rent boy”.
Ah, the ongoing hilarity of the insinuation of a certain Oxford-graduated “Prime Minister” reinventing orogenital porcine relations. Thanks, Jennifer, for making me smile by perpetuating that rumour.
Columbo Krusty isn’t gong to let her suspicions about Rob lie. I want a scene where – dressed in a crumpled mac and chewing on a cigar stub – she confronts Rob about his pre-meditated diminishing and destruction of Helen.
How great to hear Roy and Hayley talking with Phoebe. A sensible, adult conversation that Helen would do well to hear. To hear Roy and Hayley being amicable and responsible parents was brilliant, and so unusual in a soap opera. And never mind about your broken heart, Phoebe – getting hoist into a tree by the Grundys and bizarrely tying a piece of toast to a branch will more than make up for being dumped by bounder Alex.
After bringing in the pigs unannounced last week, Phase 2 of “The Grundy World of Grange Farm Apocalypse” kicked off in drunkenly rowdy style with a shed conflagration. I just don’t buy Joe’s story of the kids with a Chinese lantern. J’accuse Grundy Senior, in Oliver’s Shed with the unextingished dog-end.
Finally, the long awaited conversation between newly-weds Adam and Ian. I don’t like the way that sweet-natured optimist Ian has morphed into surly, muttering-darkly-to-himself Ian. And even if Ian didn’t want to go to a party in Charlie’s honour, surely he wouldn’t be so foolish as to leave his new hubby alone in the farewell clutches of Mr Thomas? Oh, wait… that’s exactly what he does. I really won’t miss the unrequited love story with Adam & Charlie. Always assuming he actually does head off to the gay mecca that is Perthshire.
