OEDIPUS VEX
Imagine yourself at a EE script conference. I imagine these take place in the cellar of some private drinking club. As dwarves in tutus rollerskate between the participants, bearing the drug of choice, plus a stiff chaser, the producers lounge on giant chaise lounges, occasionally yelling with glee as the next shivering scriptwriter is dragged from a softly moaning heap of rags in the corner. The head producer wipes her hands on a runner's Prada scarf and eyes the pitiful figure before her.
HEAD PRODUCER: Which one are you again? Ah yes. We've had to ditch the exchange arrangement with Bad Girls. Jim Fenner made outrageous demands for a believable character that wouldn't immediately sink his career after three shows, so the deal's off. We're keeping Atkins for a bit, but they want the Tall Julie one back. What's she doing right now? Oh well, get her to kiss Minty, throw in a bit of mother/son bonding, and send her back to Brighton. Are we putting the plot cupboard in Brighton these days? How charming. NEXT!
Grateful that she has escaped another ritual humiliation at the hands of Sid Owen, the writer scuttles back into her corner.
HEAD PRODUCER: Who's next then? Chop chop! Time is licence payers' money! Hmmm...this Ben/Cruestella plot. Not quite sure what's going on here, but those On High say that we've got to do some bullying thing. So keep up the good work. What's that? You want to raise the stakes? Fill is going to notice that something's wrong, but he'll get the wrong idea? Speak up!
SCRIPTWRITER: Errr...well, I thought Fill could notice that something is wrong, but being such a dreadful father, would think that Cruestella has it covered.
HEAD PRODUCER: SILENCE! I HAVE AN IDEA. Even better than that, we have a chance for one of those two handers that we usually reserve for Dot and a lucky stooge. Who can we have...think think...
SCRIPTWRITER: How about Dadley? The symmetry between the -
HEAD PRODUCERS: Bald Heads! Yes I know! It'll be like living Gilbert & George, only without the poo. Well, they'll have to talk shit, but you know what I mean. I like the cut of your jib, young...I'm sorry are you male or female? It's hard to tell with those EE-issue uniforms and haircuts. Anyway, not that it matters. Write some stuff about fatherly bonding and up the ante with Stella's torment. How is she abusing him, by the way? Chinese burns on arms? Oh, and throw in an awkward conversation about birds and bees. That'll sort the kid out for another week.
Hang on...I haven't finished with you yet. Since you're such an ideas...whatever...you can also handle the Goggins/Parklife wedding. I want them married by May.
SCRIPTWRITER: I thought doctors couldn't perform weddings...
HEAD PRODUCER: No, not Dr Foxxy, fool! May the month. We haven't had an unfeasibly quick wedding for a while. Make Mrs Goggins decide on 27 April, which is also the anniversary of The Death of St Jimbo. See? I know my Easties lore... That'll give Deano a chance to earn some acting spurs.
SCRIPTWRITER: But...Deano?
HEAD PRODUCER: Nothing too hard, just let him pout a bit over at Atkins's place and do his hilarious drunk acting thing. Carly can do that screwy up face and scream a bit, and the teens'll love it. Make sure he takes his shirt off too. Oh, and give her a cough. I like coughs...
Alright then, who have we got left? Hmmm.... Dadley and JoJo...running out of ideas with those two. Just get her to send him saucy text messages and maybe one of the kids will find it or something. Do 40-year-olds know how to do photo messaging? Must ask my mum.
What else? Oh, Dot and Jim and that baby. Oh I don't know. Can't she come up with some story about it being Nick's? Oh he's had cancer and been in prison forever, hasn't he? How about a ghost baby? We'll rope in the blonde Tanyette and freak out the Beale Devil Children some more.
Oh, there's a point. Prison Bitch Bert. Has he gone blind yet? No? well, get that zombie-faced kid to save him, and get him to the hospital. There's potential in that relationship. We could have another set of Cottons if Dot decides to take her walking frame and go.
sycophantic laughter from the writers' corner...
DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK? That's better. Now...time for pudding...
