For some reason the wife and mother of this house thinks I have gone all romantic. Can’t think why. She has been acting very strangely towards me since I rushed in on Monday night. She even whispered something about Valentine’s Day being only a few weeks away. And your point is, madam?
I really don’t think I did anything to make her believe I had gone all soft and gooey. Ah, maybe it was because I watched that soap on Monday night. You know, the one that’s set in Manchester and sponsored by meerkats.
Poor Roy
Perchance I was a little emotional as poor Hayley said goodbye to Roy, to Roy’s Rolls, to the Street – and, well, to the world. She had me reaching for the Kleenex more than once. It struck me that stoic, mechanical, apparently-unfeeling Roy was also to be pitied. His better half had made her terribly final decision but he was the one having it all thrust upon him. Oh, poor man.
Poor man? What on earth am I talking about? It was just a stupid telly soap. They were just actors. Why on earth are we even talking about it? It’s just a fiction being played out for our entertainment and we are all being willingly reeled in. Right, snap out of it.
By the way, has anyone else noticed that Phil Mitchell is back in EastEnders looking uglier than ever and he’s still getting the birds – like his ex, Sharon Watts? How can that happen? Why is the entire nation not talking about that?
Right, back to reality again. Just lost it a bit there. Sorry. Monday’s Corrie saw very fine acting by a pair of thespians who have been bringing us a most thought-provoking yarn. No, I’m not going to go into what I think of the arguments about the actions of the characters in question. That would take thousands of words and you just haven’t got the time.
Hayley has been on the box with Roy for about 15 years and has been in some tricky situations. Corrie won’t be the same. It is so sad. Poor Hayley. Poor Roy. Poor flipping meerkats. Sob.
It’s OK. I’m back in the room.
Anyway, just because a couple of Mancunian actors and some small furry animals selling car insurance can make me moist of a Monday, that does not mean I’m turning into some kind of wuss who makes overblown romantic gestures.
If I remember correctly, I came in the back door and was talking to someone on the mobile. I waved to herself. Then I merely asked her, softly, if she could perhaps get me a tea and something to eat. Why does she think I’ve gone romantic? I can’t figure it out.
This is not a cup and a cake
Oh no. Now I remember. I said: “Hi” as I lifted an invisible porcelain handle to my mouth and mouthed: “Cup.” Then I whispered about something to accompany it, like: “Cake?” Mrs X must have thought I said: “Hi, cupcake.” No, no, no, I didn’t. That would be a bit wet. In films, American dads call their daughters cupcakes until they are 10 years old. There was a full stop between the cup and the cake, right?
Some people found that episode of Corrie on Monday a touch morbid. Yet it had its lighter moments, not least the facial expressions of Roy Cropper. I absolutely love them – even when his beloved life-partner was in the best of health. Those faraway gazes, the pain behind the eyes, that chin. Long-suffering, but in a trainspotter kind of way. Not once did he crack a smile. Actually, he never could when I think about it. And we all have to try and keep positive. Even in serious situations we should try to find some way to smile.
I was talking to a veteran taxi driver the other day and I asked how he was keeping. Most people will say they are fine – even if they’re not. It’s what people do. Yet Neil insisted he was having a great day. Oh really? Why? “Well,” he said, “I keep looking at the funeral notices in the shop windows. If my name isn’t on any of them then I know I am having a very good day.” My day seemed a lot better after that.
One night coming up that is usually fun is Burn’s Night. My brother-in-law, who happens to run a bakery hereabouts, has created a special Burns Supper pie. It looks like an individual shepherd’s pie but in it are piles of haggis and neeps as well as mash. As one of the product testers, I cannot but recommend this savoury sensation.
After extensive research, I can also reveal I have found the pie’s ideal accompaniment. Not tea though. It tastes much better with a wee dram which, coincidentally, I think I deserve after giving such a shameless plug to this tasty takeaway turnipy tribute to Oor Rabbie.
Just hope the bakers will take care making them because I hear one of them Burns just about everything she makes.
