#just call me guvnor

[forensicated]

04x06 - Just Call Me Guvnor

Sun Hill have reached the final phase of Operation Red Card. Most of them were unaware that the operation had been running full stop because of the security involved in two officers being undercover in such a dangerous operation. During the briefing Ted and Christine are subtly making eyes at each other. I think I'm coming down with a case of the 'ships.

Frontline, a gang of violent football hooligans, have been infiltrated by two officers and they're now at the point where they can act to take them out of business. Derek makes a run down of how they're going to do it - including arresting the two undercover officers who will likely resist arrest to keep cover. They're ordered to show no signs of recognition of any of the officers.

Alec and Bob pout about working early mornings. Bob thinks it's a sad day all round, not just for him but for the nick and the entire MET as the new DI, Frank Burnside, is due to start that day. Alec realises Bob is not a Burnside fan. "Does Pinocchio have a wooden whatsit?"

Viv is in CAD wishing that she was out with the rest of them. Reg does not feel quite as keen, glad that he's in the safety of the office because he thinks the Frontline members are sick in the head. They stand, watching the clock for it to click to 6am when the operation is due to start. "Here we go, here we go, here we go....." Reg chants as they receive the transmission.

Jim tries to run up the stairs with uniform to get stuck in as they wield the sledgehammers to force doors open. Ted literally hauls him back and reminds him of the first rule of CID operations - 'Let the wally's [uniform] go in first!'

Officers storm the house and arrest everyone in sight, breaking the bed in one case. Jim doesn't learn and charges in to help an arrest and ends up going flying. Ted gets spat at a few seconds later and headbutts the bloke for it!

There's one way to be introduced to your new DI and for Jim, this probably isn't the best way....

The shock on Ted and Jim's faces leads to Frank being outed to the gang as a police officer. The uniformed officers leading him downstairs start to get a bit rough with Frank before Ted warns them off. Frank orders them to tear the house apart once the suspects are all out and that he'll have their nuts in a tin if they miss anything.

"You two aren't exactly bursting with A Levels are you?!" Ted's not looking in the slightest bit happy with recent revelations for more reasons than one. "How were we supposed to know?" ".... Sir." Frank adds with Ted practically having to spit out. "Sir."

Taffy and PC Extra find a collection of CS gas canisters under one of the beds and Yorkie finds a gun and bullets in another room.

The yobs at the station are kicking off and try intimidating a female officer who walks through custody with one following right behind her until another PC Extra throws him against the wall. Others are refusing to talk to Bob to be booked in. One gives his name as Dick Turpin so Bob half jokes he's charging him with armed robbery before telling Jim to take him to cell 2. "You can't do that!" the criminal protests. "I've just done it. Next?" ""Get Stuffed." "Is that with 2 f's, Mr Stuffed?"

Bob is angered to see Frank strike one of the prisoners (the same one that Ted headbutted) after he calls him out for being a police officer. He takes Frank aside for a quiet word, warning him that he should report him. Frank warns him he'll become unstuck if he does report him. "I don't like you. I don't like your methods." "Bob... you're amongst friends. Say what you mean." Bob wonders out loud how Frank was missed by Operation Countryman (an operation to catch bent coppers) Frank warns him he's out of order.

Ted pootles along to find Christine who is with June and another officer making detailed notes of the weapons discovered during the raid. He's carrying a crossbow and June refers to him as 'Bernie The Bolt' 🤣 Ted almost gives him and Christine away by staring at her and seems as though he's about to ask her out before Jim and Mike appear. Mike tells Ted that Burnside wants to see them in his office. Christine says she knows Frank from way back and calls him 'a good copper' which leads to Ted walking off rather crossly. "Obviously he doesn't agree...." "No ma'am." Mike sighs. "It's safe to say Mr Burnside is not the most popular person in the nick."

Ted angrily insists they should have been told that Burnside was undercover. He insists they're not just people so should have been warned. "That's right, you're my people now..." Frank interrupts before admitting he knows there are a lot of people in the station who don't like him but he couldn't care less. He's not there for popularity, just to get the job done. "And whatever you think of me, I do get the job done. I'm good, ain't I!"

Bob tells Tom that he doesn't give bent coppers like Frank a chance. Christine overhears and is horrified and tells him she does not share his opinion, calling it malicious gossip. "I love it when she talks dirty." Alec murmurs as she walks off. "She'll learn...." Bob sighs.

Upstairs, Frank tells CID that as long as they do their jobs properly, and don't take the piss he'll back them all the way. Charles and Derek happily welcome Frank to the station in front of CID who are obviously watching and listening in. Frank says his fellow DS did most of the hard graft and that he's still undercover but shrugs off his outing as his fault for his own reaction when he saw Jim and Ted. Both Jim and Ted are clearly surprised. Frank tells Ted that he's not fully out of the shit however because the prisoner he headbutted is shouting his mouth off about police brutality.

Viv complains about not being let out on Operation Red Card because she is a woman. Taffy reckons he's all for equality but jobs like that are 'better left to the men'. Yorkie agrees because 'some of those men are right headbangers!' Reg joins the table and is playfully mocked as Sun Hill's answer to Rambo for agreeing. "June, I'm more your thinking woman's bit of stuff!" Reg insists. "Yeah, well I wouldn't have to think twice!" The others remind Reg about the book he was running on the DI's job and Malcolm remembers he hasn't been paid for backing Burnside (which means that Ken also hasn't because he also backed Burnside).

Bob calls Ted a berk for headbutting a prisoner, even if he did spit at him. Ted worries that Burnside is going to hang that - and him outing him on the raid - over him for as long as he can get away with to make him behave. "Well stuff that!" "You're preaching to the converted," Bob assures him. He thinks he can help Ted out by having a quiet word in Frank's ear about the prisoner he slapped and threatening to out him for that if he doesn't help Ted.

Christine nips in to see Frank finally, "Hello Sexy." he grins, approaching her. Christine lifts a folder up quickly in front of her to stop him thinking it's more than a professional meeting. "Welcome to the firm." They have a quick catch-up with Frank insisting the promotion to Inspector is what he deserves. She chuckles that she hasn't been called 'Chrissie' in a long time and he says he hasn't seen her in a long time, perhaps they could do something about that and admits he still thinks about her. She shuts him down and he promises that the past is the past before telling her he's now divorced incase it makes a difference. Christine suggests he tell Ted and Bob the truth about Operation Countryman and tell them that he was working undercover as a bent officer to catch other bent officers. Frank insists he doesn't care what they think, even with Christine explaining that they can't help but think he's dodgy if it's all they have to go on. He insists he doesn't need to explain himself or his past to anyone. "What did I ever see in you. You really don't care, do you?" She says, walking out.

Frank goes to see Bob for an off-the-record talk. Bob asks Frank to cut Ted a bit of slack as he's not the only one who hit a prisoner from Frontline. If he doesn't, then he'd be duty-bound to report him. Frank asks if he's talked to the prisoner about it. Bob admits he hasn't so Frank takes him and Ted to go speak to him. The prisoner in question is an undercover officer, Nobby Trimlet, who Frank slapped to help him keep his cover with Frontline after he had been outed. Nobby tells Ted that Frank talked him out of making life hard for him and suggests that he take Frank to the pub to thank him.

As they all clock off, Christine invites Bob into her office and asks him what he knows about Frank and Operation Countryman. She tells him that Frank was undercover as part of Countryman and she thought he should know before letting him go.

In the pub Frank offers to buy Ted a drink but Ted suggests that he buy Frank one. "... Guv'nor." "You just called me Guvnor. That's enough for me." Frank smiles. Bob then takes him to one side and apologises to him. "Still doesn't mean I like you though," he says, before accepting a drink from Frank. "It's a start...." Frank says, going to place the order.

[dciburnside]

4.6 Just Call Me Guvnor

[jimcarver]

4.6 Just Call Me Guvnor

[augustusaugustus]

4.6 Just Call Me Guvnor

BURNSIDE: You two aren’t exactly bursting with A-Levels, are you?

BURNSIDE: What is it with you, anyway? CRYER: I don’t like you. I don’t like your methods. BURNSIDE: Bob, you’re amongst friends. Say what you mean.

BURNSIDE: Ted, what are you having? ROACH: Well, if it’s all the same, I’ll get you one… Guvnor. BURNSIDE: You just called me Guvnor. That’s good enough for me.

I love that the first we see of Frank as the new DI is him tits out in his boxers. It’s a fun ‘first’ episode all-up, with Ted going around headbutting undercover DSes and Bob telling Frank exactly what he thinks of him, only to have to eat his words.

[9leaguesofmirrors]

His Soul's Best Mate (a Dave Parkes and Phil Proctor friendship fic)

I've recently become obsessed with the friendship dynamic between Phil and Dave (the other members of Legz Akimbo) and decided to write this: a fic about platonic soulmates

Two boys sat in a waiting room among several other hopefuls, waiting for a chance to audition for an up-and-coming theatre company called Legz Akimbo

One has his head buried in his audition book, murmuring his lines under his breath and making notes as he went along. If this went well, it could mean breaking through into a tough industry he'd been training for all his life

The other's scrolling through his phone. He doesn't quite know if this is what he wants, but that doesn't mean he isn't up for giving it a good go. Growing bored of Letterboxd, he puts his phone away and glances over at the man next to him. He sees the monologue

"I almost picked that one."

This caused the other man to lift his head in surprise, which quickly changed into a warm smile

"It's one of my favourite plays, you've heard of it?"

"Only thanks to a lot of researching!" Laughed the stranger "I'm not exactly an encyclopedia of theatre knowledge."

"What did you end up choosing?"

"Found a play called One Man, Two Guvnors. Figured I'd give it a shot."

"You're a fan of comedy! I had a feeling."

"Wow, it's that obvious?"

That made them both laugh. In a potentially volatile industry like the theatre, it was nice to meet someone that felt like a human being

"I'm Dave by the way." He extended his hand, a big grin on his face "Dave Parkes."

"Phil Proctor." He shook it

"No way, Proctor?" Dave chuckled in disbelief "Like in The Cruci-"

"Yes," Phil sighed with a smile "just like The Crucible. I guess my destiny was laid out in front of me since birth."

"Better hope you're good then!"

That's when Phil knew he'd found a very good friend

*********************************************

Rehearsals were interesting. And by interesting, Dave meant "his personal hell". Seriously, their new director was more unstable than a dingy boat on a stormy sea! He thought that, overtime, he'd get better. He was yet to be proven right

One evening, Dave was on a video call with Phil for their weekly line-learning session. They figured they'd start early, plus Dave appreciated being able to talk to his friend without Ollie breathing, or rather screaming, down his neck

"Have you worked with Ollie before?" He asked during their post-run through break

"Nah, first time. You?"

"Same here, was just wondering how you were finding it. I mean, Ollie seems to like you-"

"Like me?" Phil laughed a little at that "Funniest thing I've heard all week!"

"But he always brings up that audition you're going to, the one for that radio show?"

"Only because he's pissy about me missing rehearsals!" Phil muttered "Sarcastic git..."

Once Dave heard that, it all started to click. It would explain why Ollie spent so much time talking about it, yet never showed any real interest aside from that

"Right. Sorry, sarcasm gets lost on me." Dave shrugged "Joys of autism, I guess."

As soon as he saw the look of surprise on Phil's face, Dave couldn't help but laugh - he'd forgotten that was part of him he didn't know yet

"I was diagnosed pretty recently, plus I'm really good at hiding. Trying to get better at not doing that."

"Why didn't you say anything? I mean, you don't owe anyone an explanation, but surely you could get additional support-"

"From Ollie? Not a chance! We both know what he'd do:" Dave took his pink-tinted sunglasses from his desk and put them on, imitating Ollie's voice and mannerisms "My name is Ollie Plimsolls, and welcome to my new play entitled Autism Speaks. I have no idea that this is also the name of a crapsack company because I do absolutely no research. Please sit through this agonising performance while these two actors beside me slowly feel their souls decay!"

Phil could hardly breathe from laughing, and Dave was no better as he took his glasses off again. There was something about having someone that shared their irritancy with their director that felt like Spring air

"He really is something, isn't he?"

"I think the word they use is 'crackpot'." Phil said "I'd quit, but I need the experience. Plus, I like doing stuff with you."

"Boo, that's soppy!"

"Dave, don't be a dick!" Phil teased lightly "Speaking of dick, I don't think Ollie will like it if we still don't know our lines by next week, so we should probably go for another run-through."

Dave started to move his hands like Ollie again

"You don't have the whole script memorized after 2 weeks?! What kind of actor are you?!"

"Don't Dave, I'll start laughing again!"

They only made it through a page of the second run-through because Dave kept doing the "Ollie Voice" and Phil couldn't concentrate

*********************************************

4:00...

They'd been there for half an hour...

And Ollie was still ranting

Phil had stopped listening about 10 minutes in... actually, that was a bit generous. He'd probably clocked out by the 5 minute mark. It was Dave's fault, really, for improvising onstage. That was the reason he started laughing. It never happened, Phil was always great at staying in character, people saw it as a challenge, to make him corpse onstage

So far, only Dave had succeeded. And he had a consistent success streak

Of course, Phil wasn't completely innocent. After Dave started it, he had to get him back somehow - besides, they always ended up laughing when they faced each other head-on

They enjoyed it

The kids loved it

Ollie clearly didn't see the funny side

"How hard is it not to laugh onstage? Neither of you are that funny, surely it should be a simple task!"

When Ollie's back was turned, Dave looked at Phil and mouthed you hungry? That earned a silent shhhh from Phil, who was not about to enrage their director anymore - he actually wanted to go home at some point today

"You two are impossible!" Continued the angry blond man, still not looking behind him "You've ruined my production, you've ruined my reputation-"

You ruined my dream journal! Dave mouthed, laughing as Phil tried desperately to hold back his own laughter

"It's like watching a 5 year old throw a fit." Phil murmured, quiet enough that only Dave heard it

"In those silly jumpers, he looks like one too."

"How far could you push him in a pram?"

This time, it was Dave's turn to clamp his hand over his own mouth, trying to avoid any sound coming out

"Odds on 6 meters?"

"No please, I insist!" Barked an irate Ollie "Your turn! Since you're so intent on interrupting everything I do, what is it? Spit it out!"

"Just agreeing with you, Ollie." Phil said quickly, fearing that laughing in his face was a very bad idea

That seemed to set Ollie off on yet another tirade and he started to pace again. For a while, both Dave and Phil were silent. Then Dave turned to face him

"Y'know what this reminds me of?"

"..."

"My neighbour used to have this chihuahua-"

Neither of them could hold it in, and the torrent of angry yapping from Ollie afterwards was completely worth it

*********************************************

"What do you mean 'not well'? You were perfectly fine yesterday!"

"It caught up to me, Ollie, I told you there was a bug going around. Dave went off with it, you'll probably get it next."

"So help me if either of you give me your disease-"

"We should be alright by tomorrow, we can pick things up then."

It took a little (more like a lot) of convincing, but eventually Ollie caved. As soon as he'd hung up, Phil turned to Dave with a confident smile

"That's him off our case for the rest of the day!"

"He really has no idea what day it is," Dave would've been lying if he said he wasn't a little downhearted by that, but it didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things "and he says he cares."

"He's all talk, no action. Or height."

They both laughed, some jokes never got old

"So," Phil took a neatly wrapped parcel from his bag and handed it to him "the celebrating begins!"

Dave took the package and opened it, and his eyes instantly widened. Never did he thing he would be holding a vintage polaroid camera in his hands

"How did you even find this?"

"You'd be surprised what you find in Camden market."

"You actually managed to fend of Tish to get me a gift?"

"Don't even mention her name," Phil groaned "I wanted to go on my own, but you know what she's like. You mention Camden Market and she follows you like a bloodhound."

"I think it's just you." Dave adopted her voice "I just love you gay guys!"

"Right, I'm taking back the camera." Phil teased as he reached for it, only to be swatted away by a laughing Dave

"Get Tish to go with you!"

Managing to avoid Phil's grasping, he pointed the camera in front of both of them and snapped a selfie

"Dave! Fuck's sake!"

"This is going on my fridge!"

"You better not!"

"It is!"

Once the laughter subsided, Dave looked at the developing photo. It was as if, somehow, he'd managed to capture the chaos and joy and everything he liked in their friendship.

Part of him wished more people remembered his birthday, he wouldn't even have minded Ollie giving him a visit!

"Thanks for this, mate. Means a lot."

"You OK, Davey?"

"Yeah, I just..." He looked at the photo, then back at Phil with a smile "I'm fine."

Phil knew that wasn't true, he gave a firm pat on the knee. A silent assurance that, all teasing aside, he was there for him

"I just feel..." David started to alternate between clenching and unclenching his fists and pressing the pads of his fingers to his thumbs, trying to find the words "... just feel a bit invisible sometimes."

"Invisible?"

"Yeah. I mean, Ollie's the main guy: writer, director, producer... all the stuff. You're Phil Proctor, lead in every performance - which you're great at! But... then there's me. Just... Dave."

Phil hated hearing his mate talk about himself like that, especially when his skills were so obvious to him. He picked up Dave's Polaroid camera and held it up

"You," he said with a smile "are Dave Parkes. Future filmmaker and producer."

"Is this you haggling for a role?"

"Well... maybe!" Phil joked, wrapping an arm around Dave's shoulder "But I know that you're gonna make films that put these plays we're doing to shame."

"That's not hard!"

After that day, Dave started to look forward to his birthday again

*********************************************

Dave had been off all day, and he'd have been lying to himself if he said he didn't know why

It meant a lot, that he was the first person Phil told about his new job opportunity, he was filled with pride to think of his best friend finally escaping Legz Akimbo prison

Even so, there was a tiny part of him that wasn't happy about it at all. At first, he assumed it was jealousy. Phil was free to live his life, while he was trapped doing educational plays for kids that didn't care, with a director that seemed to hate his guts

As he sat in his living room, pressing the pads of his fingers against his thumbs in a self-soothing manner, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone buzzing. He heard a familiar voice at the end:

"Davy!"

"You alright, Phil? How does it feel to have nearly finished your life sentence?"

"Good. Really good, yeah."

Dave knew Phil well enough to know something wasn't right

"Thought you were meant to be a good actor!" He joked "Now tell me what's really going on."

"Alright, you got me." Phil managed a small chuckle "I'm not ungrateful or anything, trust me - I've wanted out of here since day 3!"

"So what's the problem-"

"Is this a bad idea?"

Out of all the things Phil could've said, Dave wasn't expecting that

"You what?"

"I want to get out, I have for ages, but what's gonna happen after I leave? It'll only be you and Ollie left."

"He spoke to you."

No answer. Not that there needed to be one

"Yeah. He did. Usually, I don't listen so much. But he said all this stuff about how I'm such a "bad friend" for leaving you behind. I know he's just saying it to hurt me, probably doesn't even meant it. But you know how I get."

Dave did. Phil had opening up about the pressure he felt to constantly make the right decision. Theatre was a difficult business, one wrong step and you could fall hard. There were many moments where Phil would need that extra bit of reassurance, just a push in the right direction

Not that he'd always ask for it, that was still tricky for him. But, when he did, Dave was there for him

And, even though he'd have loved to keep seeing his best mate every day at rehearsals, keep making him corpse onstage, and ranting about Ollie and all the other things that they did to keep themselves sane, he knew he had to be there for him here too

"Phil, you've earned this! Don't worry about me, I'm a grown up - especially when you see me stood next to Ollie!" He heard Phil laugh on the other end, which was a good sign in his books "This is about you, mate! You'll do great!"

"It'll be nice to work with a director that doesn't keep trying to lob chairs at me."

"Exactly!"

The conversation started to flow into a number of topics: films they watched recently, the most recent episode of their favourite show, their current (Phil's final) future disaster they were part of thanks to Ollie Plimsolls. Phil's departure almost forgotten until the end of the call

"Showtime next week," he said humourlessly "if it wasn't in front of kids, I'd do it tipsy."

"Not very professional, are you?" Dave teased

"No, but I think I deserve it."

A pause. Dave's fists clenched and unclenched and each finger pressed against his thumb again; with show week happening so close and the fact he wouldn't see his closest friend anymore was eating at him. Come the week after, things wouldn't feel the same. Well, they wouldn't be the same

He didn't realise he wasn't talking until Phil did:

"Odds on Ollie blowing a blood vessel tomorrow?"

Despite himself, Dave laughed

"Very probable, I'll send you a video."

"Davey?"

"Yeah mate?"

"I'll call you next week."

"OK."

Another pause

"Let me know when the ad comes out."

"Promise."

That's how the call ended: with Dave Parkes, alone in his living room, trying not to think about the week after next

Because he was used to the late nights, the rehearsal stresses, the tantrums and the bullying

What he wasn't used to was going about it alone

*********************************************

"Why are you doing this, Dave?"

It was the first time he'd seen any sort of genuine care towards him being shown by Ollie. As if this was the moment he realised that Dave was exhausted. As if he finally felt even the slightest bit of sympathy

Dave looked at him. He wondered if, in another life, they could've actually gotten along. Maybe, if things were different, Legz Akimbo could've really been a trio. Three friends working together, collaborating and supporting each other

But that was a universe lightyears away...

"I just can't stand you, Ollie."

... In this lifetime, they were just too far apart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Phil! Wait up!"

Upon hearing his name, he turned around, surprised to see Dave running towards him. Phil's shoulder's were grabbed as his best mate caught his breath

"Dave, what happened?"

"I quit!"

"What?" Phil's eyes widened "I mean, that's great but-"

"Remember what you said ages ago? About me being a filmmaker? Well, you were right. I wrote something months ago and I sent it off to Jed Hunter this morning!"

"What did he say?"

Dave's eyes seemed to light up even brighter, his whole face glowed like a lantern about to be launched into the air

"Phil... I'm gonna be a producer."

For a few seconds, Phil was stunned into silence. Then, his arms opened slightly

"Can I-"

His question was answered by Dave pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. That's where they stayed for what felt like a joyful eternity, a buzzing clump of laughter and freedom

"Phil?"

"Yeah?"

"... Odds on you helping me out?"

Phil pulled away, slightly confused, but wth a glimmer of excitement in his eye

"As long as I'm not playing Joseph the carpenter." He joked

"No, but I did write a role with you in mind. Jed said you'll have to audition... but I'm producing, so my say goes-"

"Why are you doing this, Dave? I mean, it's great but.." why me? Was the unspoken part What makes me worthy?

Dave wrapped an arm around Phil and beamed, as if he could see their successful futures right there and then

The struggles, the little achievements, the pushbacks and the pull forwards

He could see the films he'd create, the roles Phil would go on to play, and the awards they both would eventually win - both seperately and for their collaborations

But, right now, he answered Phil's question with the only thing he knew for sure:

"Because you're my best mate, Phil."

[sweetloleepop]

Synopsis: What happens when a lonely husband is left with an obsessive maid?

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Reader

Tags: 1960's AU, explicit sexual content, maid reader, making out, unprotected sex, masturbation, oral (m receiving), creampie, angry sex, swearing, slight degredation, infidelity

a/n: ⁱ ᵃˡᵐᵒˢᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᵍˢ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵒⁿᵉ'ˢ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ⁱ ˢʷᵉᵃᵃᵃʳ

Wordcount: 1.9k

“Ugh, ahh, Mr. Smith”, moans, grunts, and mumbles are all that I can utter as the guvnor, Erwin Smith, pounded onto me. The speed of his thrusts and the depth of his cock had me seeing stars. “You can’t shy away from calling my name now, can you?” Mr. Smith asked. I was too lost in pleasure to even answer coherently, and Mr. Smith – No – Erwin was quick to bring me back down. He suddenly slowed his pace and once again spoke, “Do you not know how to answer when someone’s talking to you?” , “I-I’m sorry, mister- ah, Erwin”

||

I’m (Y/N) (L/N), I have been working for the Smith household for 5 years now. I’ve watched as my two employers, Mister and Missis Smith, fall deeply in love and fall out of it. Both became too busy with personal businesses, but still, it led the woman feeling neglected. I can’t really blame her though, hours of waiting for him at night just for him to not even remember that today is their wedding anniversary. She felt like she deserved better and so she looked for someone else. As bad as it is, its none other than her husband’s friend, Nile Dok. Erwin knew, he’s not an idiot. He knew the reason as to why his wife is out more than usual, why she goes home later than he does, and as to why she became colder to him yet more friendly with others. But Erwin can’t stop now, he’s worked hard for his company and he is not giving up now.

Yes, his wife probably needs him, but she now has someone else and she still comes back to him so its not that big of a deal. That’s before he knew who she was cheating on him with. They argued for almost an eternity that night, I could hear as vases were broken, as things were thrown, and cusses and names were exchanged. It became really toxic, but somehow, I don’t feel poisoned instead, I felt empowered.

After that night, the Smith residence has become deafeningly quiet. Some times the couple would meet at other parts of the house, they would either not acknowledge each other’s presence or argue a bit then have some wordless sex. I could sometimes hear Mr. Smith confront the missus and after that comes the sounds of moans.

The sounds were loud, loud enough for me to hear the degrading words that Mr. Smith throws at his wife. I wonder what that feels like, to be touched by him, to be held by him… The thoughts of Mr. Smith plagues me at night, I can’t help but creep my hands down and touch myself.

||

Today, Mr. Smith looks more stressed than usual. He hadn’t the time to even exit his home office to get something to eat. Being the responsible maid that I am, I took it upon myself to give him dinner. I knocked gently on his door and I felt excited as I heard his rumbling voice. I entered his room, it was dark, the only source of light was a little lamp placed on his desk. Mr. Smith looked tired, his eyes are heavy and a stubble was evident on his chin. He looks hot. I made my way to his desk and served him his dinner, our hands slightly touched, ah, his hands are a little rough. He thanked me and I’ve exited the room.

A little later, I was called to take his dishes. He was deep within the pile of his paperwork. “Have you enjoyed your dinner, sir?”. “I can’t say I didn’t, the steak was cooked exquisitely”, he replied with his deep voice, how attractive.

||

It was nearing midnight, 11:55pm to be exact. I was lying on my bed, sleep is yet to envelop me. I wonder if he's asleep. I didn’t heard the front door open earlier indicating that Mrs. Smith isn’t home yet. I decided to check on the guvnor, I exited my room and made my way to the master bedroom. I knocked on the door and received no answer. “Mr. Smith?” after a few minutes without his reply, I slowly opened the door. He’s not here.

Its not unusual for the guvnor to stay up late doing his papers, but its almost midnight. I reached his office and once again, I knocked. “Mr. Smith, are you there?” I gently spoke. There’s also no answer, it was getting suspicious and I was getting worried so I opened the door and looked around. There he is, sleeping on his desk, face down on a small pile of paper. He must’ve worked very hard to finish a lot. I walked up to him, I bent myself a little to get closer. I looked into his hair-covered eyes, his eyes are closed and his hair looks soft. He looks peaceful just like this, so alluring.

He shifted a little and finally opened his eyes. I moved backwards, alarmed. “I’m sorry mister Smith, did I wake you up?”, “No, its aright. What time is it?” he asked, his voice gruff. “It’s almost midnight sir, 11:57”.

He stood up and walked around the desk, near where I am standing. The sleepiness probably hasn’t left his system yet and he stumbled. I caught him right before he fell. Mr. Smith is a tall and muscular man, I should’ve known trying to catch him halfway through a fall would’ve brought both of us to the ground. Or did I just ignored that? We both fell, with him below me. I stared right into his eyes, they were wonderful. I could get lost in his eyes forever. I’ve never been this close to him, I’m slowly drowning in desire. I want you, Mister Smith…

I placed my face closer to his and-

“W-what are you doing, (Y/N)?” Erwin asked. “I… I want you mister Smith, please…” I pleaded with desperation. I’ve waited for this to happen for so long – way too long.

He didn’t replied, he just stared. The clock seemed to tick slowly as I waited for him to do something. If he won’t, then I will. Even if it takes force, even if it takes my life, I will.

Mr. Smith stayed still, he looks like he’s contemplating. I took the opportunity to lightly roam my fingers through his chest. He looked into my eyes whilst mine followed my finger. He let out a groan and I looked back at his face. Before I knew it, his lips are on mine. I kissed him back with vigor.

It didn’t take long for our kiss to become so heated, he asked for entrance and I gladly let him in. Our tongues danced together in a lovely tango. Erwin’s lips were so soft, it was so, so sweet. I was busy following his lead that I failed to notice his hands snaking around my waist. In a swift motion, I was beneath him.

Mr. Smith started trailing kisses down my neck. He started sucking near my clavicle which made me shiver. His lips suddenly stopped and mister Smith sat up, removing his dress shirt. I sat up right in front of him and traced my hands through his chiseled jaw. I once again kissed his lips whilst his hands found their way onto my dress’ strap. The soft, cotton fabric slid off of my body so smoothly, leaving me bare, wearing only the lacy pair of panties that I originally bought for this type of scenario.

I slowly made mister Smith lie down and then I straddled his stomach. It’s my turn to trail kisses all over his face, neck, and torso. Upon reaching his muscular but soft pectorals, I gave his right nipple a lick and placed the other one between my thumb and index finger. I took my time ravishing in the salty taste of his body before my kisses went lower. I looked him in the eye, asking for permission. He sat up and helped me remove his pants. I gulped when I saw his cock, he’s huge…

Pushing my intimidated thoughts away, I started giving his tip little licks and sucks. I tried putting the whole thing in but I can’t really help but gag. Mister Smith guided me in enveloping him, making my head bob up and down. Not soon after, he started thrusting into me. I can feel his cock deep in my throat and tears started falling from my eyes, not that I hate what he’s doing.

Not long after, he shot his load inside my mouth which I gladly swallowed, not missing a single drop. I was still catching my breath when Erwin carried me and made his way to his desk, he pushed everything to the side causing some of his papers and quills to fall onto the ground. He placed me on his desk and hurriedly removed my panties.

He rubbed my clit for a few seconds before lining himself in between my thighs. Erwin looked me in the eyes and rubbed himself near my entrance, making me whimper by the lack of a much anticipated friction.

“Mr. Smith, please,” I pleaded with glossy eyes.

“If you insist,”

With all the force he could gather, he slammed his cock into my cunt. The stretch hurt a little but it cannot be compared to the amount of pleasure that it brought. We both released a pleasured sound, a loud moan from me and a groan from him. It feels so good, to finally have this feeling of being full, the feeling of overflowing pleasure, the feeling of him inside me.

“Ugh, ahh, Mr. Smith”, moans, grunts, and mumbles are all that I can utter as the guvnor, Erwin Smith, pounded onto me. The speed of his thrusts and the depth of his cock had me seeing stars. “You can’t shy away from calling my name now, can you?” Mr. Smith asked. I was too lost in pleasure to even answer coherently, and Mr. Smith – No – Erwin was quick to bring me back down. He suddenly slowed his pace and once again spoke, “Do you not know how to answer when someone’s talking to you?” , “I-I’m sorry, mister- ah, Erwin”.

“Are you really?” Erwin asked, still thrusting in an agonizingly slow pace.

I nodded as a response.

“Use your words, slut”

“I am, I’m sorry, Erwin. Please,” I begged for him with teary eyes.

“If you asked so nicely, why wouldn’t I?” Erwin said before picking up a faster pace.

It felt so, so good. Erwin’s thick cock made me feel so full. I was nearing my orgasm when he, once again, stopped.

“Stand up”

I obliged and Erwin spun me around, making me bend over his desk. Fuck. He once again entered me and fucked me hard. I mean, HARD. It was fast, it was deep, it was mind-blowing. I can’t help but moan louder. I’m cumming…

“Erwin- Erwin- fuck I’m close,”

Erwin mumbled a string of curses before rubbing my clit vigorously which made me cum so hard my eyes rolled to the back of my head. Loud moans escaped my lips as Erwin continued to fuck me. Not long after, he came too, shooting hot loads of cum inside me.

I fell limp on his desk and so did he. But after some time, he walked towards his office bathroom to get a towel and clean us up. It was very warm. I was so light headed. After cleaning me for a bit, Erwin carried me to his office couch where we both fell asleep. This I know, would be the very start of many more nights to come…

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Richard Dawkins

Published: Nov 13, 2023

“I say, Jarvis, cluster round.”

“Sir?”

“Close on me – if that’s the right expression?”

“A military phrase, sir, employed by officers requiring the presence of their subordinates.”

“Right, Jarvis. Lend me your ears.”

“Equally appropriate, sir. Mark Antony . . .”

“Never mind Mark Antony, Jarvis. This is important.”

“Very good sir.”

“As you know, Jarvis, when it comes to regions north of the collar stud, B Woofter is not rated highly in the form book. Nevertheless, I do have one great scholastic triumph to my credit. And I bet you don’t know what that was?”

“You have frequently adverted to it sir. You won the prize for Scripture Knowledge at your preparatory academy.”

“Yes, Jarvis, I did, to the ill-concealed surprise of the Rev Aubrey Upcock, proprietor and chief screw at that infamous hell-hole. And ever since then, although not much of a lad for Matins or Evensong, I’ve always had a soft spot for Holy Writ as we experts call it. And now we come to the nub. Orcrux, Jarvis?”

“Very appropriate sir, or ‘nitty gritty’ is these days often heard.”

“The point is, Jarvis, as an aficionado, I have long been especially fond of the book of Genesis. God made the world in six days, am I right, Jarvis?”

“Well sir . . .”

“Beginning with light, God moved swiftly through the gears, making plants and things that creep, scaly things with fins, our feathered friends tootling through the trees, furry brothers and sisters in the undergrowth and finally, rounding into the straight, he created chaps like us, before taking to his hammock for a well-earned siesta on the seventh day. Am I right, Jarvis?”

“Yes sir, if I may say so, a colourfully mixed summary of one of our great origin myths.”

“But now, Jarvis, mark the sequel. A fellow at the Dregs Christmas party was bending my ear last night over the snort that refreshes. Seems there’s a cove called Darwin who says Genesis is all a lot of rot. God’s been oversold on the campus. He didn’t make everything after all. There’s something called evaluation . . .”

“Evolution sir. The theory advanced by Charles Darwin in his great book of 1859, On the Origin of Species.”

“That’s the baby, Jarvis. Evolution. Would you credit it, this Darwin bozo wants me to believe my great great grandfather was some kind of hirsute banana-stuffer, scratching himself with his toes and swinging through the treetops. Now, Jarvis, answer me this. If we’re descended from chimpanzees, why are there chimpanzees still among those present and correct? I saw one only last month at the zoo. Why haven’t they all turned into members of the Dregs Club (or the Athenaeum according to taste)? Try that on your pianola, Jarvis.”

“If I might take the liberty, sir, you appear to be labouring under a misunderstanding. Mr Darwin does not say that we are descended from chimpanzees. Chimpanzees and we are descended from a shared ancestor. Chimpanzees are modern apes, which have been evolving since the time of the shared ancestor, just as we have.”

“Hm, well I think I get your drift, Jarvis. Just as my pestilential cousin Thomas and I are both descended from the same grandfather. But neither of us looks any more like the old reprobate than the other, and neither of us has his side-whiskers.”

“Precisely sir.”

“But hang on, Jarvis. We old lags of the Scripture Knowledge handicap don’t give up that easily. My old man’s guvnor may have been a hairy old gargoyle, but he wasn’t what you’d call a chimpanzee. I distinctly remember. Far from dragging his knuckles over the ground, he carried himself with an upright, military bearing (at least until his later years, and when the port had gone round a few times). And the family portraits in the old ancestral home, Jarvis. We Woofters did our bit at Agincourt, and there were no apes on the strength during that “God for Harry, England and St George” carry-on.”

“I think, sir, you underestimate the time spans involved. Only a few centuries have passed since Agincourt. Our shared ancestor with chimpanzees lived more than five million years ago. If I might venture upon a flight of fancy sir?”

“Certainly you might, Jarvis. Venture away, with the young master’s blessing”

“Suppose you walk back in time one mile, sir, to reach the Battle of Agincourt . . .”

“Sort of like walking from here to the Dregs, Jarvis?”

“Yes sir. On the same scale, to walk back to the ancestor we share with chimpanzees, you’d have to walk all the way from London to Australia.”

“Goodness, Jarvis, all the way to the land of cobbers with corks dangling from their lids. No wonder there are no apes among the family portraits, no low-browed chest-thumpers to be seen once-more-unto-the-breaching at Agincourt.”

“Indeed sir, and to go back to our shared ancestor with fish . . .”

“Wait a minute, Jarvis, hold it there. Are you now telling me I’m descended from something that would feel at home on a slab?”

“We share ancestors with modern fish, sir, which would certainly have been called fish if we could see them. You could safely say that we are descended from fish, sir.”

“Jarvis, sometimes you go too far. Although, when I think of Gussie Hake-Wortle . . .”

“I would not have ventured to make the comparison myself sir. But if I might pursue my fanciful perambulation back through time, sir?  To reach the ancestor that we share with our piscine cousins . . .”

“Let me guess, Jarvis, you’d have to walk right round the whole bally globe and come back to where you started and surprise yourself from behind?”

“A considerable underestimate sir. You’d have to walk to the moon and back, and then set off and do the whole journey again sir.”

“Jarvis, this is too much to spring on a lad with a morning head. Go and mix me one of those pick-me-ups of yours before I can take any more.”

“I have one in readiness sir, prepared when I perceived the lateness of the hour of your return from your club last night.”

“Attaboy, Jarvis. But wait, here’s another thing. This Darwin bird says it all happened by chance. Like spinning the big wheel at Le Touquet. Or like when Bufty Snodgrass scored a hole in one and stood drinks for the whole club for a week.”

“No sir that is incorrect. Natural selection is not a matter of chance. Mutation is a chance process. Natural selection is not.”

“Take a run-up and bowl that one by me again, Jarvis, if you wouldn’t mind. And this time make it your slower ball, with no spin. What is mutation?”

“I beg your pardon sir, I presumed too much. From the Latin mutatio, feminine, ‘a change’, a mutation is a mistake in the copying of a gene.”

“Like a misprint in a book, Jarvis?”

“Yes sir, and, like a misprint in a book, a mutation is not likely to lead to improvement. Just occasionally, however, it does, and then it is more likely to survive and be passed on in consequence. That would be natural selection. Mutation, sir, is random in that it has no bias towards improvement. Selection, by contrast, is automatically biased towards improvement, where improvement means ability to survive. One could almost coin a phrase, sir, and say ‘Mutation proposes, selection disposes.’

“Rather neat that, Jarvis. Your own?”

“No sir, the pleasantry is an anonymous parody of Thomas à Kempis.”

“So, Jarvis, let me see if I’ve got a firm grip on the trouser seat of this problem. We see something that looks like a piece of natty design, like an eye or a heart, and we wonder how it bally well got here.”

“Yes sir.”

“It can’t have got here by pure chance because that would be like Bufty’s hole in one, when we had drinks all round for a week.”

“In some respects it would be even more improbable than the Honourable Mr Snodgrass’s alcoholically celebrated feat with the driver, sir. For all the parts of a human body to come together by sheer chance would be about as improbable as a hole in one if Mr Snodgrass were blindfolded and spun around, so that he had no idea of the whereabouts of the ball on the tee, nor of the direction of the green. Were he to be permitted a single stroke with a wood, sir, his chance of scoring a hole in one would be about as great as the chance of a human body spontaneously coming together if all its parts were shuffled at random.”

“What if Bufty had had a few drinks beforehand, Jarvis? Which, by the way, is pretty likely.”

“The contingency of a hole in one is sufficiently remote, sir, and the calculation sufficiently approximate, that we may neglect the possible effects of alcoholic stimulants. The angle subtended at the tee by the hole . . .”

“That’ll do, Jarvis, remember I have a headache. What I clearly see through the fog is that random chance is a non-starter, a washout, scratched at the off. So how do we get complex things that work, like human bodies?”

“To answer that question, sir, was Mr Darwin’s great achievement. Evolution happens gradually and over a very long time. Each generation is imperceptibly different from the previous one, and the degree of improbability required in any one generation is not prohibitive. But after a sufficiently large number of millions of generations, the end product can be very improbable indeed, and can look very much as though it was designed.”

“But it only looks like the work of some slide-rule toting whizz with a drawing board and a row of biros in his top pocket?”

“Yes sir, the illusion of design results from the accumulation of a large number of small improvements in the same direction, each one small enough to result from a single mutation, but the whole cumulative sequence is prolonged enough to culminate in an end result that could not have come about in a single chance event. The metaphor has been advanced of a slow climb up the gentle slopes of what has somewhat over-dramatically been called ‘Mount Improbable’, sir.”

“Jarvis, that’s a doozra of an idea, and I think I’m beginning to get my eye in for it. But I wasn’t too far wrong, was I, when I called it ‘evaluation’ instead of evolution?”

“No sir. The process somewhat resembles the breeding of racehorses. The fastest horses are evaluated by breeders and the best ones are chosen as progenitors of future generations. Mr Darwin realised that in nature the same principle works without the need for any breeder to do the evaluating. The individuals that run fastest are automatically less likely to be caught by lions.”

“Or tigers, Jarvis. Tigers are very fast, Inky Brahmapur was telling me at the Dregs only last week.”

“Yes sir, tigers too. I can well imagine that his Highness would have had ample opportunity to observe their speed from the back of his elephant. The nub, or crux, is that the fastest individual horses survive to breed and pass on the genes that made them fast, because they are less likely to be eaten by large predators.

“By Jove, Jarvis, that makes a lot of sense. And I suppose the fastest tigers also get to breed because they are the first ones to grab their medium rare with all the trimmings, and so survive to have little tigers that also grow up to be fast.”

“Yes sir.”

“But this is amazing, Jarvis. This really prangs the triple twenty. And the same thing works not just for horses and tigers but for everything else?”

“Precisely sir.”

“But Jarvis, wait a moment. I can see that this bowls Genesis middle stump. But where does it leave God? It sounds from what this Darwin bimbo says, that there’s not a lot left for God to do. I mean to say, Jarvis, I know what it’s like to be underemployed, and underemployed is what God, if you get my drift, would seem to be.”

“Very true sir.”

“So, well, dash it, I mean to say, Jarvis, in that case why do we even believe in God at all?”

“Why indeed sir?”

“Jarvis, this is astounding. Incredulous.”

“Incredible sir.”

“Yes, incredible, Jarvis. I shall see the world through new eyes, no longer through a glass darkly as we biblical scholars say. Don’t bother with that pick-me-up, Jarvis. I find I no longer need it. I feel sort of liberated. Instead, bring me my hat, my stick, and the binoculars Aunt Daphne gave me last Goodwood. I’m going out into the park to admire the trees, the butterflies, the birds and the squirrels, and marvel at everything you have told me. You don’t mind if I do a spot of marvelling at everything you’ve told me, Jarvis?”

“No indeed sir. Marvelling is very much in the proper vein, and other gentlemen have told me that they experience the same sense of liberation on first comprehending such matters. If I might make a further suggestion sir?”

“Suggest away, Jarvis, suggest away, we are always ready to hear suggestions from you.”

“Well sir, if you would care to follow the matter further, I have a small volume here, which you might care to peruse.”

“Doesn’t look very small to me, Jarvis, but anyway, what is it called?”

“It is called The Greatest Show on Earth, sir, and it is by . . .”

“It doesn’t matter who it’s by, Jarvis, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Heave it over and I’ll have a look when I return. Now, the binoculars, the stick and the gents’ bespoke headwear if you please. I have some intensive marvelling to do.”

==

Note: "The Greatest Show on Earth: The Evidence for Evolution" is by Richard Dawkins. It's a little self-referential, tongue-in-cheek joke.

[eyes-onthehorizon]

The Old Guard Provide... Leverage

chapter 1

Four

defective [dɪfektɪv]

Word forms: adjective

If something is defective, there is something wrong with it and it does not work properly.

(“Y’know Tig, there’s just summat wrong wiv ya.”

“That’s not true! You can’t say that!”

“Oh yeah? Says who?”)

Andromache was quickly approaching the point of disliking all people, her younger brothers included. The two of them had been at it for hours, and the banging had reached an unbearable volume.

After another minute of mentally disembowelling them, she hauled herself out of bed and stalked through to the main room.

“If you two don’t cut that out right this very fucking instant I swear to every God I’ve ever known I will pluck your bastard eyeballs out with a shitting cleaver-ended spoon and THEN—”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she caught sight of their guest.

As a rule, Andy tried not to swear in front of children. She achieved this mostly by avoiding them. Unless they were in danger. The mop of red hair toothily grinning at her from atop the mantelpiece was not in danger, but was very much enjoying Andy’s little hangover-fueled tirade. Andy decided she didn’t care. Thoroughly distracted, she missed the amused look that passed between her unnecessarily loud brothers.

“Good evening, Lady A. I got you some lemon-honey tea which is what Bean always has after he’s been out on the lash – I mean, silence is better but these two,” she cocked her head towards Yusuf and Nico, “Got it into their heads that if I’m gonna sleep here then I should have a bed. I told them that really wasn’t necessary, Bean’s got more than enough floorspace to put up the whole of Cheapside should he want to, he’s always off acquiring and gathering spaces, y’know? Anyways Mr Kayson says that if I’m gonna fall asleep here anyways then I should have a bed and I said I don’t need his charity but then he offered me a job, see, so then I guess I should probably be here given I don’t always wake up in the same place when I’m with Bean’s lot and that’s very unreliable for a shop girl, innit? I know lemon-honey is more for sore throat, really you’d want mint or chamomile for the head but that was all I could find. Is that okay?”

The girl paused expectantly. The silence rang in Andy’s ears a little, but at least the hammer and saw were finally resting.

Andy, taken aback and more than a little annoyed at Yusuf’s shit-stirring grin, simply thanked her for the tea.

Tig was small for her age and faster than any child had the right to be. She’d deftly pocketed quite a bit of the coinage they all carried, and savoured the adult’s reactions when she handed it back to them. Mr Kayson had put her to work watching the shop floor and had promised her reading lessons along with her wages.

“I can read just fine,” she’d protested at his first offer, until he handed her an enormous ledger and began talking her through the stock maintenance. He’d rifled through the information and Tig could feel her brain developing holes instead of thoughts. She’d been so disgusted with herself that she’d found her way into the attic, hanging upside down in the rafters until Mr Guvnor had come to join her.

Tig was used to people finding her strange. She didn’t mind too often but being left to your own devices all the time was boring. It wasn’t her fault she could climb and pick and run better than most boys, but the faster she got, the less they liked her. It didn’t matter if she toned it down or shared her loot, they never actually wanted to be friends. It’d taken Bean explaining that she wasn’t likeable for her to understand – there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t her fault; she was just made broken. Like a train line with a faulty track.

Adults, though, they were something else. They never said what they meant, calling her “sweet” or “poor thing” but never actually helping. They never actually talked to her unless she was in trouble, or they wanted something. Even then, they usually talked to Bean or Mac. She’d just nod in the corner.

Mr Kayson was… nice was not the right word. Maybe kind would be better, but who would be kind to an urchin? A thieving urchin, one who had been trespassing for months. And then he’d offered her a job and built her a bed. Not normal behaviour at all, but Tig wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Yet.

Mr Guvnor was more straightforward, she’d thought, except he also turned out different. He was quiet, like she tried to be, and watchful, which she admired. He was also strange like her, which she figured out only when he was hanging upside down beside her.

“What are you doing?” Tig demanded, sounding an awful lot like those stuffy nannies she heard from the stories. “You can’t do that!”

“Come, sole, if you can then so can I, hmm?” He didn’t even look at her. They stayed there for a while, he enjoying her company, she working out how exactly she was going to get down.

“The plan has four phases,” Nico announced over dinner. “Sorella, you will go first and set the scene. I will go after, offering my business services to the estate. Tesoro, you’ll need to coordinate with Bas from here. I have the rest of the strategy, but I need to speak with Miss Jones first.”

“Who’s Miss Jones?” yawned Tig, mopping up the last of her gravy.

“Someone we’re helping.”

Children really shouldn’t look adorable when they’re suspicious, Andy decided.

“Like you’re helping me?” She directed the question at Yusuf, her tone accusatory.

Yusuf sighed, propping his face up with his palm. “Sagir, You are helping me. You are running the shop. I pay you for your work. I don’t see what this has to—”

“And building me a bed from scratch?”

“I like building things.” Yusuf shrugged good-naturedly.

“And the free reading lessons? What about them?”

“Ahh,” he wagged his finger knowingly, “Those are not free.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he crossed his arms and leaned contentedly back in his chair. Well. She’d find out the debt she owed him, and make damn sure she repaid it. At least he wasn’t perfect like she’d feared.

Tig wasn’t disappointed. Not at all.

Phase One was simple enough.

Andy would pose as a Botreaux sister, visiting the Scottish countryside in search of a Northern property and on behalf of the Emporium.

“Patronising a shop in London is exactly the quirky, eccentric, ill-advised thing someone with too much money would do,” Yusuf had argued as they’d put together her story. “It fits perfectly.”

Andy thought it was ridiculous, but she could see his point. Some had spent more on less.

The Botreaux sisters were reclusive even amongst the upper set. While such social reluctance typically bred mystery, they had somehow achieved the impossible: invisibility. At least, until their remaining male relative passed without an heir and the barony fell into abeyance, at which point their story had travelled throughout the country quicker than anyone expected.

None of the sisters had come forward in some time, and no one even knew how many still lived, which suited their job down to the ground.

Bas and Yusuf spent the next month creating a viable replica of Giotto’s bell tower sketch for Florence Cathedral. It auctioned for a very healthy sum, and within the blink of an eye, Andy was kitted out with the fancies and fineries befitting a newly wealthy woman.

It was a cold winter’s morning when Andromeda Botreaux, enigmatic beauty, began her first foray into society. They’d interviewed for and hired a real footman and coachman, but had struggled for a lady’s maid. It wasn’t until Martha had offered to go herself that everything fell into place. All being well, they’d send for Nico within a day, but the journey time meant they’d be stuck outside Aberdeen for at least three more before he arrived.

Andy had packed a spare set of knives for the journey. She flicked open the leather roll, intent on inspecting the condition of each. Martha flinched at the sight of them, recoiling into the corner of the carriage.

“Breathe,” Andy murmured.

The carriage jostled, the movement pulling a shriek from her.

“Martha. I am not going to hurt you. This,” Andy gestured towards the knife, “Is for you. Just in case.” She leaned forward, ever so slowly, tracking the younger woman’s breathing; taking her hand, she could feel her pulse racing. Andy fought the impulse to press a kiss to her wrist. It had been second nature with her—void. Instead, Andy opened Martha’s palm, met her eyes, and pressed the handle of the dagger into her hand.

“Do you know how to use this?”

Martha hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Show me.”

Martha’s knifework was sloppy, but they had three days to work on that. In the meantime, they discussed the least treacherous part of their lives: the future. Martha had big plans for a girl from Cheapside; she was planning to create fashionable waterproofs, scarves in particular. She’d even scouted out the factories she was going to buy from.

“I’m dead handy with a needle,” she said warmly. “Mam said I could make magic from scraps.” Andy did not miss the moment of grief that passed over her face, freshly worn out like an ancestor’s favourite blanket. “But my father couldn’t put food on the table by himself, so I got to work like everyone else. And I was proud of it.”

The silence was full of things unsaid.

“But this shop is going to be your way forward?” Andy prompted. No need to ruminate on the past, on what was lost. That way lies madness, Bas had said in a moment of hashish-inspired clarity. Better to look forward. Forward, forward. The only direction she knew anymore.

Besides, there wasn’t nearly enough whiskey in this carriage to begin to numb the pain.

Martha was looking at her expectantly, so she must have missed whatever was said. Andy rubbed a hand over her face. “Once more, please?”

[harmonyandriley]

Tonight we can reveal the prime suspect in the Royal conspiracy story. . . .

Clifford the Corgi had an inside picture of the Royal household and spun a web of allegations without supporting evidence meaning basically he wasn't up for the Royal gig and he said... I can act a bit you know I was in Suits so I can blag a slot on the Oprah Winfrey show no trouble...

Rather than just saying I ain't happy I will blag it to the world that I wasn't the favourite corgi, and I got the steaming hump, I shall accuse all the other corgi's of bullying me....

That's my ticket to a Netflix contract and making loads of money. I will make myself famous let's hope no-one asks for verifiable evidence. Obviously if I make allegations l will need evidence. Ahem...

I admit everything to channel 4 news.

I can't name names but I'm telling you it happened guvnor...

I was wrong, I should have known not to bother trying to enforce woke-minded agenda and philosophy on free thinking people. I'm going to America, they love a good yarn over there.

It's the Queen I feel sorry for, no more American tourists going to Buckingham Palace to pick up a prince all because of me Clifford The Corgi.

Anyone seen my tin of chappie?

It's ok Meghan you can call me Harry again we've made it to America.

Am I a good actress Harry darling?

Not good enough to fool Piers Morgan sweetheart...

Jon Snow channel 4 news.

Archie please come back we can't go to Buckingham Palace today.

Aaarchie !!!

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 1

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 1: Last night Boris called it, today we’re doing it. I had started working from home (wfh) yesterday as had most people at my work (RCI)..last week I had been preparing laptops as fast as poss for everyone. Even just today, the idea of going into work seems alien and dangerous. Now lockdown (ld) means that it would soon be illegal to do so unless utterly necessary.

Online, FaceBook (fb) especially, is awash with reaction…a lot of calling out people who are out and about in greater numbers than 2, which is against ld rules.

Day 2: Just trying to let work occupy my thoughts and time which is easy enough ‘cos everyone I support (IT engineer) is new to wfh and is having teething problems with all the new laptops. Meanwhile, I keep abreast of comings and goings online…actually socially interacting more than I might otherwise, weirdly

Day 3: Highlight of the day is an online quiz organised by a chap called Jay Flynn on fb…a bunch of us took it as individuals while chatting on Messenger while Jay streamed quiz over fb live and YouTube. It was a good crack and I had two cans of Coors Light which got me pissed!

Day 4: Work is still mad - so many people with IT issues wfh…it’s challenging trying resolve all these probelms remotely but I am rising to it. I actually enjoy it. It satisfies my want for problem-solving.

The ld is in full swing but it’s very early days. The news is dominated, obviously, by Covid-19 and the ever changing stats of infections and deaths. Today, for example, the USA took over, from China, as the country with the most infections. I know there will be an end to all this and I am determined to be there, going out, getting pissed down the pub, gigging, shaking hands with my mates, hugging anyone and everyone who’ll let me - it’ll be a proper party. But I am filled with a dread that it’s going to be a fucking long time coming.

This evening was spent virtually with Foggy, Ham and Andy P…doing a quiz - a rehearsal for Foggy in the hope of doing one to a wider audience next week. It was good fun and great to have a few beers chatting with everyone, Later I video called Fog and we drank ‘til gone midnight, putting the world to rights. I was well pissed.

Day 5: First non-work day of the ld. Housework, daily walk, out for supplies (drop a script order off…queuing outside boots for 15 minues!, bread, baccy and booze). This evening, I’m listening to the next album in NME list of 1985 albums I’m working through - Grace Jones Slave to the Rhythm…fucking pain in the arse ‘cos it’s not on Spotify so I am searching for each song, in order, on YouTube. Plus eating and drinking, of course. Quick video chat with karen and Grace, Dan in the background. I wanted a tin of kidney beans for chilli but Karen hasn’t got one ffs. Burger it is. They are all playing scrabble - I’d love to join in…

Day 6: A quiet day…housework, cooking, daily walk. Highlight was a half hour chinwag with dad who, as I would expect, despite his 84 years, is coping and doing just fine. Most other people with a dad that age would have, on top of their own concerns, something more to worry about during this crisis….for me, it feels like I’ve got someone to turn to, should I need to.

Day 7: Work is starting to feel more routine but it’s a long way off being in the office, which is never routine anyway. That may seem surprising since I do IT support but it’s a varied role, especially at the modern dinosaur of an organisation that is RCI. I try to be as disciplined as possible but I miss not dressing for work, not driving to work, not needing to actually prepare lunch (until lunchtime). I don’t actually need to shower every morning. I don’t think I have to ordinarily but do because I’m mixing with others in the office. I certainly don;t need to now. I only mix with me, so showering becomes a chore but I’m doing it every other morning in the name of the aforementioned discipline. I am worried how long RCI can keep going before laying staff off. I dread being out of work full stop, let alone during this ld, or even thereafter. I think the economies of the world will need time to recover so finding work will be tough à la 2008. I think, if lay-offs were to occur, I’d be in real danger. Last in first out and all that. But, I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it.

Day 8: At work there was a large online meeting whereby the MD told us that RCI are going to furlough some staff. The UK, and Ireland staff will be consulted this coming Thursday and Friday (it’s Tuesday today). I shall be reading up on what the furlough arrangements are in the UK due to Covid-19. I know the government have set aside some money, I need to know what I might get paid and how to claim it. In the past, when I’ve been out of work, I’ve been entitled to jack shit other than JSA, This time around, should I be laid off as I expect, I might not have to eat into my savings, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I have decided to knock up another blog with a photo of myself each day of the ld (from now on) - it’s a sister to this diary.

Day 9: Actually typing this on day 10. Yesterday was a strange day as I contemplate being furloughed (hope for the best, expect the worst)…I’d be paid 80% of my wage according to what the government have said to assist in the Covid-19 crisis…so, were that to be true, I’d be OK money-wise, although still earning way less than I want to prepared for retirement (I am currently still waiting for feedback on a pay increase request I put in at work last year!) I’m more worried about how I would fill my day if I wasn’t working. So, that being said, I flopped and moped about all yesterday evening after my daily walk and, without achieving much at all, didn’t find time to write this entry on the right day…so maybe I can fill my days without much effort!

Day 10: I was furloughed today, starting 5pm tomorrow (Friday 3rd April) and it’s fucked me off. I know it’s not personal but, actually, do I? They’re cutting back the Kettering Desktop team by one, redacted It seems obvious to do this by the ‘last in, first out’ maxim but what about money? others are on more than me (redacted). What about offering it voluntarily - others might go for 80% pay for fuck all - others have family at home to occupy the day  (redacted) . A little bit of me thinks it might be preferable furlough me  (redacted) …others seems to be a favourite and that annoys me. It annoys me because I think I shoot myself in the foot too often. I’m too vocal about some of the (redacted) decisions and practices at work, plus other reasons that I know but can’t be bothered to type. But, my point, is I don’t play the politically correct, corporate game and therefore forget to look out for my own best interests. FUCK.

So, as of tomorrrow evening, I’ve no work to do. The challenge will be to find a way to occupy my day. I’ve already registered to volunteer for the NHS during the ld…let’s see what becomes of that. And I’ve signed up for web development course. I’m going to get fucking pissed this w/e, starting early tomorrow evening.

Day 11: It’s day 12 as I am writing this entry…that might tell any reader, and remind me, that I did as I promised and got pretty drunk. I spent the day geting my work affairs in order i.e. clearing down support tickets assigned to me. I did a good job, nothing left to handover to the remaining team (Jim, Cristina and Mark) and onky one ticket put into the assigned pool. Some nice converstaions were had with associates, many of whom are, too, being furloughed. Nice words were said and Jim and Mark both were supportive in conversations and messages - they both know I don’t wnat this and, I think, they are both relieved it’s not happening to them. 5 pm arrives and I shutdown my work laptop for the last time for at least 12 weeks. After my daily walk, I video chat with Karen, crack open a beer, make Chinese chicken curry (fucking loads, fucking tasty), finish watching The National Theatre stream of One Man, Two Guvnors (really good, see twoinchreview) and the caught up with, and talked bollocks with Andy, Marc and Ham - we tried getting Rog in on it, no dice. I then watched The Heat (I fucking love that film), ate some more, smoked several single-skinners, drank, in total, three cans, seven bottles. I went to bed shortly after 4am. I felt resigned to my furlough and pleasantly wasted.

Day 12: A subdued day…didn’t wake until gone 1:30pm. Jaded but not really suffering. Mooched about, social media, listening to music, watching telly, farting about on the iPad. My daily walk, over the last fews days, has taken a twist…I am trying to run parts of it. Mainly short distances, 80-100m (I estimate) three, maybe four times. It’s fucking knackering me out. I used to run everywhere when I was a teen. Attempting to run now just makes me feel fucking old. Well, I am, so that’s about right.

Day 13: Another day like yesterday except I got up at 10:30 and didn’t feel jaded. The subdued feeling comes from the realsiation that the ld isn’t being treated as seriously as it should be across the board. The news and even posts by locals on FB (Oundle chatter group) suggest groups still meeting up. The weather this w/e has been a factor - 17°c today. I think a total ld will be enforced soon and that would fuck me off. My daily walk is pretty essential for me nowadays not least for the ‘good for your soul’ benefits that dad has always mentioned. Even today’s walk saw a car parked at the gates to the field on the way to Ashton and people on a blanket soaking up the sun, dogs off their leads and people (looked like a family) playing footy on South Road field. Individually they are not presenting any danger, what with the fact they are either living together or far away from others. But they are flaunting the rules and the more that happens the less likely they’ll carry on getting away with it, which will mean total ld for all! I finished the 50 1985 albums today. It mostly confirms to me that I only listened to two albums released that year (Kate Bush, The Waterboys) any other vinyl I spun would have already been in my collection pre-85.

The sausage casserole I made for tea was fucking lush - 4 birdeye chillies. I saw and spoke with Dan and Grace this morning, they were just coming back from a walk. I am pleased to fuck they are together and sorted out the issues they had earlier this year.

Day 14: My first day proper of furlough. Finished my two inch review of the NME 50 albums. Long chat with Rita, quick one with dad. Messaged Sam about Romiley’s present - she’s 10 on the 9th April (Thursday) - ordered some Lego thing from Amazon. Turned the car engine over (reminded myself the driver-side wing mirror is fucked) and moved it to another spot in the Co-op car park - bumped into Matt T. He’s struggling - no work coming in and he can’t claim any of the money on offer ‘cos he’s not being totally honest about his circumstances - made me realise I’m not that bad off…..but I feel depressed about it all, especially with the news that Boris has gone into intensive care.

Day 15: I began a diploma (?) course on web design with Shaw Academy (it was free). They have actual classes (which are recorded) which you schedule yourself. The first one was, I have to say, really interesting - I look forward to continuing. On my walk today, I saw a car parked at the gate to the field at the bottom of Riverside Close; it was branded with Cunninghams Estate Agent with a 01536 number. I am pretty sure I saw the driver walking her dog (unleashed) on the field. I took a photo and rang the number. Yes, I ratted the culprit out…fucking annoys me that I had to. Better than reporting to the police, all round. Hopefully her work will put a stop to her doing it and, the more people that adhere to the rules without the police getting wind of infractions, the more likely we’ll be able to continue to exercise away from home.

Day16: More online learning including checking out other sites (pluralsight) for more learning opportunities. Coded my first web page, basic but mine, in HTML and CSS. A few beers & smokes and watching White Boy Rick in the evening, interspersed with the usual social media / messaging shit, incuding this entry, of course!

Day 17: Typing this on Day 18. After a few beers last night while chatting with Fog (twice - the first chat ended with him ‘having’ to go to bed. Later, I noticed he was commenting on FB, so I video called him…round two of chatting!). I got quite fucking pissed. Bed around 4am.

Day18: Up at 1pm. Long walk today, 7 km. Anything over 40 minutes, I’ve realised, results in a hypo.

Day19: Well, having gone to bed at gone 5am I got up at nearly 1pm feeling far better than I should have. Breakfast followed by a walk, spoke with Karen (mowing her front lawn) and Dan. He and Grace have split up which is sad news but he seems OK. Went shopping (milk and sweets) and ended up with a shit load of booze, the post of which on FB was quite amusing. Homemade burgers for tea (they’re in the fridge as I type) - gonna try and make Five Guys…

Day20: The Five Guys burger attempt didn’t go as well as I wanted. I think less than 5% fat mince just doesn’t bind that well. However, I managed to get something resembling a burger into the bun and, with cheese, hot sauce and jalapeños, it was tasty enough. More of the same when I finish typing this entry. Strange Easter Day today, as I knew it would be. The best thing I saw today was a video Tom posted on FB of him and Molly doing a mashup of Starsailor and George Michael - Tom on guitar singing the former, Molly singing the latter. It was fucking fantatstic.

Day 21: Easter Monday. Surreal…it’s feeling very surreal now, this lockdown.

Two things that bother me right now:

i) The political point scoring on FB. I get it, I really do…people like to bring up ‘obvious’ failings in the party’s mistakes. For example, Marc posting comparisons between UK and Germany’s figures of cases and deaths due to Covid-19. I doesn’t make impressive reading for the government and it should be held accountable. But not fucking now!

ii) Will they introduce rotational furloughing at RCI? It’s only been a week, 11 to go. And, it bothers me that I was furloughed rather than Mark. Pathetic of me, I know! But, should it last the 12 week stretch, I want to go back to work and let someone else have the chance to have fuck all to do all day! That being said, I’m still learning web design through Shaw Academy. Even today, bank holiday, I revised Lesson 2.

Day22: Nice catchup with Dad today - he and Rita seem to be more than OK with lockdown. I actually cannot wait until we can meet up at The Farmers again!

Day 23: While I had a Corvee engineer come to the house today to do a gas safety check (I waited upstairs while he was here, self-isolation and all that), and had the fourth online web design lesson, had a trip to Boots to pick up insulin, got milk from Tesco’s, saw American Rachel and had a chat (while we both queued to get into Tesco’s) and had a very nice walk along a different route from the norm, in the pleasant sunshine and watched Contagion on Netflix - all today - I AM STILL BORED AS FUCK!

Day 24: I had plans for today - revise the last two lessons of Shaw Academy’s web design course, investigate a ethical hacking course, do some washing, clean upstairs (or at least the bathroom) plus all the usual stuff. Then, as a reward, have some beers. Well, guess what. I am not having beers this evening. I managed the laundry. Plus I manged to subtitle my YouTube perfect snabby video (something I have been meaning to do for a while, but, come on!) It took me fucking ages. But it is funny! So, a fucking far from fruitful day. Plus the government announced at least 3 more weeks of lockdown. There’ll be loads more, I reckon. Tomorrow…I promise I’ll be better tomorrow…

Day 25: I did do better! Firstly the Corveee man fucked the boiler which I only noticed late yesterday but still managed to get sorted today. I did some excellent revision and learning of HTML (tags) and CSS. I cleaned the bathroom and hall. And I discovered TikTok (fucking excellent dancing and funny vids) plus discovered a new FaceBook word game (Sam sent me an invite) called WordBlitz and I am pretty good. Having beers now (nearly 11pm).

Day 26: Today I found myself calling 111. I had a pain in my side last night, I thought it might be constipation! That not being the case (!), today I went to 111.nhs.uk and, following their questions, it recommended I seek out a GP straightaway. Once I let the website know that is not possible, it directed me to visit walk in centres. I spoke with Karen thereafter - for advice about whether it’s a good idea to enter such an establishment - I really don’t want to increase me chances of catching the Covid-19 virus. Karen recommended ringing 111 since the website does not take into account my diabetes (so bloody sensible a suggestion!)

After ringing and answering many questions, the lady said she’d get an OOHS GP to call. The doctor called soon after and it seems most likely I have a grumbling appendix (chronic appendicitis) and to ring again (well, 999) if the pain becomes unbearable.

I now have a bag at the ready for hospital which I really hope I don’t have to use. Today, I  have, therefore, done fuck all - not even a walk - but I am having a beer now (midnight) and shall attempt to sleep as well as possible and hope this pain subsides naturally…

It occurs to me that I turn to Karen when things become flumoxing - my excuse, this time, is she works at the surgery but that was mere convenience.

Day 27: My ‘appendicitis pain was the same when I woke up (10:20) but no worse. I managed to change bed clothes and clean my bedroom but didn’t risk a walk (in case something drastic happens when I’m in a fucking field).

People’s responses and questions online have been heartening (Rachel Harris, Susie Grange, Bethan, Jo, Tracey Weber, Debbie De Prisco and, not least Dan). As the day progresses, I feel better but not right. I spoke with Dad about it and, as I told him, I shall ring Oundle GP tomorrow. Meanwhile, I did Sam Clew’s FB Live quiz, which was good, and am now having a beer or two.

Day 28: The pain in my side has definitley diminished. I called the Oundle surgery today to talk about what treatment I should have for ‘grumbling appendicitis’. The reseptionist organised a call back from a GP - Dr. Cash. Basically, he said he didn’t believe the condition existed, that acute appendicitis doesn’t happen after the age of 35, and ‘his gut felling’ is it will all just clear up.

I shall seek a more sensible diagnosis after lockdown and hope it doesn’t flare up again before then.

Day 29: I sent an email to the team at work today (Jim, Mark, Cristina and Sueanne). I hadn’t heard from them and I wanted to check in and, also, make a point that I will be posing the ‘rotational furlough’ question to HR at some point. It was as I wrote the email that I realised it’s only been two weeks and two days of furlough, and that includes Easter! Seems so much fucking longer. Anyway, everyone replied and it was good to hear from them….Mark came off his bike and broke ribs and collarbone! Lesson 5 of the Web Design course with Shaw Academy. It’s becoming apparent that, if you don’t pay for the course ‘toolkit’ it’s all rather patchy! The instructor dives into lines of code (HTML, CSS and Java) with no explanation….I feel like I did on the ifrst lesson of further maths ate Stamford School! I shall soldier on and beef up the missing parts with W3Schools (a great website and learning aid for coding). Two quick points. I am no longer running any part of my daily walk; hurts too much. I am addicted to Wordblitz and TikTok. Day30: I am writing this on day 31, I just forgot yesterday! It was a non eventful day. I did watch Midnight Run (again!) and had a couple of midweek beers though.

[forensicated]

Detailed episode guides for The Bill - Series 1-4

Woodentop

Series 1 Funny Old Business: Cops And Robbers (includes information about series 1 as a whole) A Friend In Need Clutching At Straws Long Odds It’s Not Such A Bad Job After All The Drugs Raid A Dangerous Breed Rough In The Afternoon Burning The Books Death Of A Cracksman The Sweet Smell Of Failure Series 2 Snouts And Red Herrings Suspects Lost Home Beat Hostage This Little Pig Ringer Public And Confidential Loan Shark With Friends Like That Whose Side Are You On? The Chief Super’s Party.

Series 3 The New Order Of Things Some You Win, Some You Lose Brownie Points Missing, Presumed Dead Domestics What Are Little Boys Made Of? Blind Alleys, Clogged Roads Double Trouble Sun Hill Karma Skipper Overnight Stay Not Without Cause Series 4 Light Duties The Three Wise Monkeys Good Will Visit Home Sweet Home All In Good Faith Just Call Me Guvnor Caught Red Handed Homes And Gardens Country Cousin Alarms And Embarrassments Stealing Cars And Nursery Rhymes Hold Fire Bad Faith Requiem Trespasses Save The Last Dance For Me Runaround The Trap Community Relations A Dogs Life Trouble And Strife Running Late They Say We’re Rough Blue For A Boy Chasing The Dragon The Coop

The Quick And The Dead Witness Here We Go Loopy Lou Stop And Search Spook Stuff Evacuation Personal Imports Paper Chase Intruder Conflict Duplicates Snout Old Habits The Silent Gun An Old Fashioned Term Getting Stressed Tigers Guessing Game The Assassins Outmoded Digging Up The Past Taken Into Consideration

Click here for more information and reference guides on The Bill

Link to the page detailing the above episode guides.

(line break in the middle of series 4 is there because there's a post limit per paragraph for Tumblr posts)

[dciburnside]

4.6 Just Call Me Guvnor

[jimcarver]

4.6 Just Call Me Guvnor

[do-what-the-knight-tells-you]

Broadchurch: the short story collections. Part 1

Available over here.

The first book contains four short stories, all of which take place before S2, so if you want to read this, it might be nice before re-watching S2.

1- “The End Is Where it Begins”, Ellie, After S1: how she comes to transfer precints and end up as the traffic cop we see in S02E01.

2- “The Letter”, Maggie, a few days before S2: STruggles with Echo finances, works on a story, thinks about resigning.

3- “Old Friends”, Jocelyn, 10-20 years before S1: insight into her past, her career, her character, Jack Marshall, and what was going on in town around the time Danny and Tom were born.

4- “Over the Side”, Tess, months before S1 (three days into the Sandbrook case): a twenty-four hour window into that case, her perspective on the case, her affair, and Alec’s behavior/character/etc at that time. This is the night Pippa’s body is found, from her perspective.

I’ve included summaries, my notes, excerpts, and other Things Of Interest under the readmore. this book was interesting, short, and very worth the read, for me!

1. Ellie- Between S1 and S2.

“Going back into uniform was Ellie's choice, but it usually means demotion. It’s shorthand for disgrace. As far as Ellie is concerned, the uniform helps. Her collar and cravat help her hold he head up high, and she walks easily in regulation flat shoes. This is a move sideways,  not downward; she’s still a Sergeant. Her salary stays the same, and that’s important. Ellie’s staring down the barrel of single parenthood, paying for the childcare Joe used to do for free. Resigning would mean sacrificing her pension, and with a good fifteen years of service left in her, that’s not an option. “But there’s more to it than the money. It doesn’t feel right to go back into CID until Joe’s been sentenced. She’s never told anyone this, but it feels like that way, she’ll be able to put Danny behind her. But going into uniform, that felt right. Ellie understands now what Hardy meant about atonement. [Look! Thinking about him!] by serving another community, she can atone for what Joe did to her own. Leaving the force, taking a sabbatical, all the other things tat people told her to do: none of these was an option. This move is, above all else, a massive /fuck you/ to Joe.  Fifteen years, Ellie's been on the force. When he took Danny’s life, he took Ellie's best friend, their community, and her eldest son. She will not let him have her career as well.”

And in the car with her new loudmouth partner: “after ten minutes she finds herself yearning for Alec Hardy’s brooding and sulks. At least he was quiet. She wonders where Hardy is now: under a doctor’s observation somewhere, she hopes, contemplating the salvage of his own career from the confines of a hospital bed.”

In general her new partner is a bit of a sexist good-old-boy who thinks the problem with youth today is the welfare state... She thinks the problem is lack of outreach and enrichment. She is struggling to get everything in line in her life.

Tom’s voice breaks while they are separated. And her heart breaks to have missed that.

She successfully overrides her partner, follows her instincts, and saves a family, some kids, from a domestic situ while on the job… and then falls to fucking pieces after. Realizes she doesn’t have the emotional fortitude to handle cases without breaking, right now. Calls in sick, and then transfers to traffic.  “She is bitterly aware of the irony that while she has gained her colleagues’ respect, she now understands that she doesn’t deserve it. It’s either this or leave the force, and then Joe’s won. She is hanging onto her career by her fingernails, marking time until his plea next week. “Ellie has always prided herself on putting people before anything else but life as a black rat is about enforcing the letter of the law, or rather its numbers. She’s reduced to the digits and codes of traffic policing: stopping distances, speed limits, milligrams of alcohol and penalty points. Even her fellow traffic officers, infamous for their pedantry, started calling her robocop after he first shift. “Inside Ellie's locker, there’s a photograph of Tom and Fred before the blast. She marks a tally on the picture’s white border, inky scratches in the gloss, to count down the days until Joe stands in the dock at Wessex County court and says the magic word that will give her back her son.”

Aw hell, Ellie.

2- Maggie- A few days before S2 begins. 

Budget cuts are crippling the Echo. Finally, she is ready to submit her resignation in protest, but a story she runs down locally (to do with land use, and, eventually, marijuana), turns out to be leveragable to do some good in town, force some good change, and she figures that's still worth doing, so she'll hang in a little longer.

No mention of Lil, so, still not sure when they broke up/if they are split... oh, and a passing mention of Jocelyn's home. Just, that it is there.

3- Jocelyn- Her story is set farther back, but is fascinating. It's set partially at least twenty, twenty five years pre-S1, and then partially right around the time that Danny Latimer was born. 

It's a little window into who Jocelyn was at that time and what she did. Talks about her outlook on her career, her relationship with her mother, her habit of spending no more than four bank holidays a year in Broadchurch, and staying in London, her preference, her work, the rest of the time.

Also, it turns out she represented Jack Marshall and convinced him to plead guilty so that he would get a shorter jail sentence and get back to the Rowena faster, which he did, and then married her.

Jocelyn was quite reserved even then, but they kept in touch and Jack confided in her after the accident that took his son's life and caused their split, that he needed a new place to go... She suggested Broadchurch because she knew the newsstand was up for sale.

The last scene of the short story is her visiting him at the newsstand. She's noticed her vision is starting to go, she's watching the Latimers with their three-day-old baby boy walk along the beach.

There are references to lots of things and folks there in town, throughout the story, the sea brigade, Oliver, the fact that she's lost touch with Maggie long since and she's a bit grateful for that because otherwise Maggie would surely have sniffed out her connection to Jack and outed Jack's past to everyone. Oh, and Ellie is 10 days overdue and fit to burst with Tom and so Beth (Beth and Ellie had become friends in their pre/antenatal classes) had been dropping by with Danny over there, hoping that holding Danny would maybe induce labor.

... and finally.

4- Tess- Day 3 of the Sandbrook case, well before S1

I didn't look ahead, I totally had no idea that this was coming. But this is Tess' side of a 24-hour period from the Sandbrook case. I'm going to sum some of it, and then I'm probably just going to end up posting big chunks of it. Or you can go read it yourself. That's good too. XD

It's April 2012, day 3 after the Sandbrook girls disappear. She and the other DS she's cheating with were getting it on, for what was clearly not the first time, in the backseat of his car. Made a comment about the fact it next time they would take it back to the hotel, doing it in the car was foolish and uncomfortable. Which also seems to imply that this is a regular thing. Tess thinks a bit on the fact that Dave is present with her in a way Alec isn't, though she feels guilty about all of it.

The cheating is a release for her, like other people might smoke a cigarette or go for a run. She knows Alec is really struggling with how close in age Pippa is to Daisy. 

"Alec works sixteen-hour days, forgets to eat, and gets angry. She hasn’t seen him since they got the shout two days ago. He’s sleeping on the sofa in his office, if he’s sleeping at all. At least Tess got four hours in her own bed last night and a shower in her own bathroom. Daisy was staying with a friend; Tess and Alec rely a lot on the generosity of friends’ parents in the first few chaotic days of a case. The house was too quiet this morning. It’s strange; Alec can stay away for days and Tess feels nothing but relief, but Daisy sleeping somewhere else feels wrong."

Tess knows what Alec is like on these cases. Her affair with what's-his-face went on much longer than the case itself. I’d guess months, at least, prior to this story.

"She hasn’t seen Alec since last night. Tess hopes he’s not in the office. The chances are small; as Senior Investigating Officer, he likes to work the field as much as possible. They used to work so well together – professionally, at least, she’s never been more compatible with another officer, and that includes Dave – but at the moment she can’t concentrate if Alec’s even in the same building. Dave sits opposite her at work, and Alec’s got the corner office just behind them. Every time he walks past, she shrivels with guilt and with contempt for her husband. Guilt over the adultery, contempt that Alec can’t see it.

[Lends more weight to Hardy’s perception of the affair, as we saw it in the S1 novelization-- namely that it was shameful, that he felt ashamed to have been cheated on. I bet she says/said something nasty, along these lines, and he internalizes it]

“If she and Dave so much as brushed past each other at a crime scene, he’d notice. That’s the problem in a nutshell: the tunnel vision that makes him a brilliant detective means he hasn’t seen Tess – really seen her – in years."

[Oh God, I see where this is going. This is the night he finds Pippa, isn't it?]

‘Where’s Alec?’ Tess asks Chrissie, a fellow DS who’s already got three empty mugs on her desk. Chrissie creases her brow. As always, whenever Tess refers to her husband by his first name, it takes her colleague a few seconds to get who she means. But what else can she call him? She can’t call him Hardy and she’s damned if she’ll call him the boss or the guvnor.

[”Guvnor”? is this a British thing, or personal nickname? if the latter, Ellie would laugh herself sick over it, if she ever found out.]

“Chrissie checks a memo on her screen. 

“‘He’s overseeing a fingertip search of the river Sandbrook.’ 

“‘The Sandbrook?’ echoes Tess. It’s right on the edge of their patch, a slow-flowing river with great stretches straying miles from the nearest road and barely accessible on foot. ‘On what basis?’ 

“‘On the basis of it’s the only open space left on our ground that we haven’t covered, and there’s still no trace of either girl,’ says Chrissie grimly, her eyes travelling to the clock. Tess flinches at the reminder of how far behind they are, and boots up her computer, not wanting to waste another minute. When Dave comes in, she looks up with a cool hello...”

She thinks about potential leads in the case, she interacts with Dave a little bit, mostly through facial expressions. And then

“Tess is giving Dave one more warning look when his phone rings. His face loses its colour as he listens; Tess pulls out her earplugs but the call is already over. 

“‘That was the boss,’ says Dave, pushing his chair away from his desk, car keys in hand. ‘They’ve found the body of a young girl in the Sandbrook.’ 

“South Mercia University Hospital is across the dual carriageway from the police station, eight storeys of white concrete and foggy windows. 

“‘I knew it’d be murder,’ says Dave, as they get into a lift marked STAFF ONLY. ‘I knew from the first shout, but it doesn’t stop you hoping, does it?’

“‘You always hope,’ says Tess. ‘But I can’t remember hoping like this for a long time.’ Dave reaches for her hand and circles his thumb on her palm. 

“‘You OK, babe?’ His tenderness melts her, but she can only squeeze his fingers in reply. She can’t afford to soften now. The lift spits them out two floors underground and Tess and Dave walk through a dingy yellow corridor lit with flickering strip lights. It is maybe ten degrees colder here than in the station. This is not the way to the viewing room, where victims’ families see their loved ones still beneath a white sheet. This long walk is for the professionals, the dealers in death. There is nothing beautiful down here: a few laundry bags piled in a trolley, a mop and bucket and a yellow CLEANING IN PROGRESS sign. Tess tries very hard not to think about what gets mopped up down here. 

“‘I don’t understand why it’s just the one body,’ she says. ‘Nothing about this case makes sense.’ 

“‘Just the one body so far,’ Dave corrects her. There’s another fire door ahead; he lengthens his stride to open it for her. Tess isn’t used to these little chivalrous touches. She is astonished to find that she quite likes them. 

“‘Did Alec say if he was staying to continue the search?’ 

“‘He pretty much hung up.’ Dave bites his lip. ‘I’m sure he knows, sometimes, the way he talks to me.’ Tess shakes her head. 

“‘That’s how he talks to everyone.’ But she shakes her shoulders, as though to recalibrate her body language, and by the time they get to the end of the corridor, there’s a big space between her and Dave. When – if – they go public, it must be a long, long time after this case has been put to bed. A technician in mint scrubs is waiting behind a glass door; she punches a number into the keypad to let them in. 

“‘Five minutes,’ says the technician. Her voice is steady but she looks like she’s been crying. ‘Dr Kendall’s just preparing her now. You can wait up here.’ 

“Tess and Dave follow the technician on tiptoe up a short flight of stairs. In the viewing gallery, there’s a row of seats, almost like in a cinema, and the blind is down on the panoramic window so it looks like a blank blue screen. There are a handful of flattened paper bags on the table. Waiting for them is Sanjeev, a newish DC. He’s not long out of uniform so he won’t have worked a case like this before. Tess hasn’t spent much time with him, but she knows Alec really rates him. There’s a weird, stale, boggy smell and for a moment Tess retches, thinking it’s the dead-body-rotting smell she dreads so much. It takes her a few seconds to recognise the smell of stagnant river water, and that it’s coming from Sanj. 

“‘Sarge,’ says Sanj to Tess. ‘How comes you’re not upstairs with the boss?’ Tess doesn’t bother to hide her confusion. 

“‘What’s he doing upstairs?’ 

“‘Don’t panic,’ says Sanj. Immediately Tess starts to panic. ‘It’s just a precaution. He got into difficulties in the water.’

“Tess is bewildered. ‘What was he even doing in the water?’ 

“‘He found her,’ says Sanj, dipping his head. ‘Pippa’s body. He carried her out. You know what he’s like, he stalks off on his own, all impatient, no one can ever work fast enough for him. We didn’t even know he’d gone until he’d got her out. He reckons he went under a few times. He took in a lot of water and they’ve got to be careful about it being in his lungs, or Weil’s disease or something.’ Sanj looks down at his feet; he flexes them, and his shoes squelch. Tess is rooted to the spot, horrified at what Alec must have been through today. She is torn. Instinct urges her to go and check on him; after fourteen years of marriage, you can’t just turn off the concern like a tap. But he’ll be in good hands. He probably won’t even want her, he hates being fussed over. And with him indisposed, she’s the senior officer. 

“She’s still debating with herself when the blinds go up and the theatre is revealed in all its spot-lit, chrome glory, and there, splayed on the slab is— Tess’s vision blurs. There’s a whole team of people, but the pathologist and his team, in their scrubs, are reduced to green blobs. Tess can’t look at anything but Pippa Gillespie’s body. It doesn’t look human. It has been completely bloated by the water; her face is swollen and grey, her limbs pasty and distended. Water has matted her hair and dirt outlines her nails. Tess thinks of the picture they have on the board, that perfect little girl, playing tennis, golden skin, long brown hair, and it is all that she can do to stand. She’s seen bodies destroyed by water before, but never one this young. Tears try to push their way out of her eyes but Tess pushes back harder. She’ll cry later, in front of Dave, but she won’t fall apart in public. She gives silent thanks that Pippa can be identified forensically. Her mother will never have to see her like this. 

“She steps up to the microphone, forcing her voice to hold steady. 

“‘DS Tess Henchard,’ she says. ‘Is there anything you can tell us just by looking at her?’ Dr Kendall looks up to the gallery and nods hello. 

“‘Only that she’s been in the water for at least two days.’ There’s a tenderness in his voice at odds with the gleaming surgical instruments in the tray behind him. ‘So that narrows down your time of death, I suppose. As for the cause … I’ll be frank with you, Sergeant. There’s no obvious wound. Water covers death’s tracks. It gets into the body through the orifices and starts decomposing from the inside as well as out. It affects the tox report. We will work quickly, and to the highest standard, but I can’t guarantee that we’ll find the cause of death. Let’s talk in the morning.’ 

“‘Christ.’ She pushes the heels of her hands onto closed eyes, but the image of Pippa’s face is imprinted on the back of her eyelids. She looks to the door; she ought to check on Alec, for form’s sake as much as anything. Dave doesn’t need to be told what she’s thinking. 

“‘I’ve got this,’ he says. ‘You go to him.’ It is possibly the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for her. He places a hand on her arm, a light gesture but it’s not lost on Sanj. Tess notes his double take, then watches as the horror below wipes the suspicion from his mind, for now at least. She leaves Dave and Sanj to watch the post-mortem. 

“In the lift, her legs go. She has pulled herself to her feet by the time she gets to the front desk. The receptionist points her towards Accident and Emergency. Tess concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, reading the signs, breathing through her mouth, and trying to close her mind’s eye to the sight of Pippa Gillespie’s body, but the image is imprinted on her for ever. Her badge helps her to jump the queue – she can’t help thinking she gets more respect from the triage receptionist as a Detective Sergeant than she would as a wife – but it still takes her the best part of an hour to find out that Alec has discharged himself. She boils with rage – if he’s gone back to the scene with his health in tatters, she’ll kill him. She asks to see the registrar who treated him; another half-hour wait. 

“She calls Daisy, who’s still at Molly’s. They’re lucky she’s popular. If she has dinner with a different friend every night, that can take them ten days into a case. After that, repeat requests usually get awkward. This time, though, everyone knows the case they’re working on. Friends are falling over themselves to have Daisy for the evening, offering sleepovers, weekend shifts, school pickups. ‘Whatever helps you find those girls’ is the phrase they hear again and again. Tess hopes the goodwill continues into the murder inquiry. Lately, she’s been wondering if the hospitality would extend to a single mother trying to juggle shifts around work and a new relationship. 

“‘It’ll be a little while yet,’ says Tess. ‘Home in time to see you to bed, though.’ ‘Have you found her?’ says Daisy. She has become fixated on Pippa Gillespie; she knows they’re the same age, and she can see what the case is already doing to her parents, three days in. Tess feels a pang for the innocent days when Daisy thought that all they did was direct traffic. Tess and Alec naturally never tell Daisy anything before it’s released to the media. ‘Not yet, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Be good for Molly’s mum.’ 

“Eventually, the registrar comes in, a young man smelling of coffee and sweat. There’s a comet of blood on his white coat. ‘Mr Hardy discharged himself against my recommendation,’ he says. ‘I’m telling you because I’m concerned for his health. Physically, he was fine. I mean, the water doesn’t seem to have done any lasting damage. But he’s suffering from acute stress, and there are more tests we’d like to run. With anyone else I’d recommend that he take time off work, but …’ He spreads his hands. Tess doesn’t know whether he’s implying that the case is more important than one man’s health, or whether he’s simply got the measure of Alec already and knows his advice would fall on deaf ears. 

“There’s a voicemail on her phone from Alec’s second in command, DS Beauman, wishing the boss well and telling him that they’ve got SOCO in now. Alec hasn’t gone back to the crime scene. So where is he? Alec is not at home and he’s not answering his phone. Tess sees Daisy off to bed and opens a bottle of red. She searches Google maps on her iPad, scrolling up and down the length of the Sandbrook looking for patterns, clues, inspiration, until she feels dizzy. 

“She calls the incident room; Sanj answers and immediately asks after Alec. So he’s not there. Dave’s working the scene at the Sandbrook; she texts him to see if Alec’s turned up, then again to see if they’ve found anything new. Both questions come back negative. She deletes the message thread out of habit even though this time there’s nothing incriminating. 

“She’s really starting to worry now. This disappearance is completely unprecedented. She pictures him collapsed behind the wheel somewhere en route to the Sandbrook, and she works herself up into a fury. For all his dedication to his job, he neglects what ought to be his number one priority: making sure he’s in good enough health to do it. There’s real fear under her concern, though, and she’s about to call the hospital when she hears his car on the driveway. It’s 10 p.m. 

“As his key turns in the door, she’s waiting for him in the hall. The sight of him makes her stagger. He’s wearing a grey tracksuit, the police-station-issue kind they give to people whose clothes have been seized as evidence. The trousers are too short and his ankles are exposed, making him look ridiculous. His hair is plastered down.

“She stopped touching Alec a while ago--”

[Oh god, I remember that comment in the first novelization, that Miller is the first person to take his hand in so long he couldn’t remember...]

“-- it started to feel like betraying Dave-- and he doesn’t seem to have noticed, or to miss it.”

[Oh God.]

“She hesitates before going to hug him, and when she opens her arms, Alec folds his and shakes his head. Dave wouldn’t do this, is her first reflex thought. 

“‘Where’ve you been? she asks. It was supposed to come out concerned but it sounds derogatory.

“Alec pinches the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes nd lets them stay that way. ‘Driving.’

“It’s five hours since he discharged himself from hospital. The thought of him going round and around the ring road in these clothes tugs at the leftovers of her love.

“‘Oh, Alec. What about your clothes?’

“He nods to a clear plastic bag on the doorstep. INside, weeds are wrapped around clothes so muddied that Tess has to think back to what he was wearing when he left for work this morning. His new blue suit. They’ll have to throw it out. Even if the can get it clean, she knows he’ll never be able to wear it again.

“When he pushes past her into the house, Tess can smell the soap from the police station showers on him.

“‘D’you wan to talk about it?’ She pours Alec the last of the wine. He looks into its dark red surface like he’s seeing through it into something else. 

“’I saw her in the mortuary,’ says Tess, ‘It must have been awful for you.’ Alec doesn’t even blink. Dave or no Dave, Tess recognises a man who needs human touch. She puts her hands on his shoulders. When they first got together, she used to massage his shoulder blades at the end of every day, feeling the knots unravel under her fingers.

[An interesting detail.]

“He used to say she had the magic touch, that no one else could relax him like she did. Now, he shrugs her off.

“‘ I’m going to check on Daisy.’

“Tess follows him upstairs and they stand at Daisy’s open bedroom door for a while. She is asleep under a garland of IKEA fairy lights, watched over by a peeling Taylor Swift poster. The tweenage sneer she wears all day has vanished. Her lips are an open rose; her brow is smooth. The difference between their perfect sleeping daughter and the deformed corpse of Pippa Gillespie hits Tess in the guts.

“‘Is she breathing?’ Alec asks suddenly, an octave higher than his usual register. ‘I can’t see her moving.’ Before Tess understands what’s happening, he’s kneeling at Daisy’s bedside. He used to do this when she was a baby, leap out of bed to check she was still alive. Tess had completely forgotten about it until now.

[That’s interesting, does he have past trauma with stuff like that? seems like he already had dead-kid PTSD BEFORE he went into the river after Pippa Gillespie. poor sucker...]

“’She’s not moving!’ He puts his hands on Daisy’s shoulders.

“’Alec, stop it!’ Tess keeps her voice to a whisper even though his was a shout, but it’s too late, he’s already shaking her awake. Daisy’s body flops, but her eyes snap wide.

“‘Daddy, what are you doing?’ She says, as Alec pulls her into a clumsy embrace and buries his face in her nightie.Tess doesn’t have enough hands as she tries to pull him off and calm Daisy at the same time. 

[LET THE MAN HUG HIS DAUGHTER]

“In the end, she has to tug at the collar of his tracksuit top. The pressure on his windpipe seems to knock the panic out of him, and he lets Daisy go.

“‘Out,’ snarls Tess.

“‘I’m sorry, darling.’ Alec walks backwards towards the door. ‘I just needed to make sure you were OK.’

“It only takes Tess a couple of minutes to soothe Daisy back to sleep; she’s confused rather than frightened, still young enough that a few soft words from her mother can chase the monsters away, and Tess hopes that in the morning they’ll be able to dismiss it as a bad dream. She waits until Daisy’s breathing regulates, tucks a stray lock of hair behind her daughter’s ear, and tiptoes out onto the landing.

“Alec sits in the half-dark like a little boy, his knees pulled up to his chest, leaning against the wall as if he has slid down it. Tess kneels next to him on the carpet. His eyes glitter.

“‘I can still see her face,’ he says. He holds out his arms in front if him, palms upwards, elbows bent. ‘I can still feel the weight of her.’ Tess pulls him against her shoulder; he resists for a moment, then collapses and weeps into her neck. This time when she reaches around and starts to work on the muscles in his shoulders, he lets her. His back feels like a sheet of metal; she keeps going until her fingers ache and she starts to feel bone and sinew under his sweatshirt. 

[How is this man constantly portrayed/described as looking like he is shit warmed over, and yet he is one of the most compelling/interesting/attractive characters Tennant has ever played???]

“When Tess shifts position, Alec seems to gather himself, like he’s let out exactly the amount of emotion that was clouding his judgement, and not a drop more. He doesn’t move his head from her breast, but there’s an edge to his voice that almost thrills her.

“‘We’re no longer dealing with a missing persons inquiry. We know where we stand now. We’ll get this.’ Without warning, he leaps to his feet. ‘We know who we’re dealing with now. A monster, someone who can leave a child to rot in a river.’ He starts to pace, his ridiculous bare ankles going backwards and forwards in Tess’s eyeline. ‘This is what we trained for, isn’t it? to get justice for families like this.’

“His new confidence is infectious. Tess often forgets, in all the frustration of living with Alec, what a brilliant detective he is. Or rather, she forgets why he’s so good at his job. It’s the quality that first attracted her to him, that pure, almost old-fashioned belief that good can vanquish evil.

“He is a good detective because, underneath it all, he is a good man.

“It’s going to make leaving him so much harder.”

...

Ouch.

See you next time!

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Fighting With My Family

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but my movie card that allows me to see all these films for free is the greatest gift I have ever received - greater even than the gift of life. The best, most exciting consequence of this gift is the ability to see movies I have little to no interest in and end up falling in love with. Case in point: an independent British comedy about a family of wrestlers, one of whom goes on to wrestle in America’s biggest professional wrestling league, the WWE. Now if you know me at all, you know that I’m a huge fan of - well, a lot of shit, but I have never watched a single wrestling match in my life. I’m all for the athleticism and theatricality, but somehow I just never got hooked into it. Now comes this silly little indie biopic written and directed by Stephen Merchant (of the UK Office fame) about Paige, the WWE’s youngest, prettiest, gothiest female wrestler (played with aplomb by Florence Pugh). And that is definitely the weirdest fucking recipe for a movie I’ve heard of this year. Was the result a Star Baker-winning Showstopper? Or Rachel Green’s trifle? Well...

I could never have predicted it, but this was one of the sweetest, most charming, most heartfelt and emotionally rich movies I’ve seen all year. It transported me to a world just as foreign to me as Middle Earth or Tattooine, and it never veered into cartoonish stereotypes to make its point. Dreams don’t always look like what you think - neither does family. Both are worth sticking it out for, through good and bad. 

Some thoughts:

It’s so nice to see Lena Headey (playing Paige’s mom, Julia) having fun! With her fake tattoos and piercings and ‘ello guvnor accent she’s having a BALL and I love it. It helps that she has a true comedy king in the form of Nick Frost to play her husband. I would watch a whole movie that’s just the two of them doing semi-criminal dealings and being so in love.

One of the things that struck me most was my own preconceived biases about what a “wrestling family” would be like. It’s honestly really cool to see this whole subculture that’s supportive and passionate and positive - plus there’s the whole “misfit found family” thing which you know I’m a fucking sucker for.

ALERT: There is a very cute dog, and he is excellent throughout the whole movie.

Also super important - this was so much funnier than I was expecting it to be! Like, multiple laugh out loud, belly laughs. A real delight.

I appreciate that the bond between these siblings is fantastic. Jack Lowden gives a fantastic performance as Zak, and you see every moment of the heartbreaking struggle he faces as he’s told over and over again to give up on his own dream and support his sister, who doesn’t seem that excited about getting everything HE’S ever wanted. The dynamic between Lowden and Pugh is loving while also full of resentment and petty anger and enormous pride. It’s a tough note to hit right, especially because sometimes young, attractive siblings in movies look like they just wanna fuck each other (actors can’t help their natural chemistry), but these two strike a really, really great balance.

I have never loved The Rock more, literally.

Did I Cry? Yes, at the end of The Rock’s speech. And at the airport. And during The Rock’s phone call. And during the speech in the WWE ring. This held the record for the most I’ve cried at a movie this year so far for a whole month, but then, you know...Endgame.

I know nothing about wrestling, but I definitely am in awe of the physicality and athleticism on display here. It’s so impressive what these wrestlers do with their bodies, like incredible dancers. 

I call fucking bullshit that you could go from black hair to bleach blonde in ONE NIGHT from a BOX doing it BY YOURSELF. 

My one complaint might be about the pacing. The film feels a little overly long, and tbh, Paige has a pretty shitty attitude the entire time during training, and it’s frankly shocking she got as far as she did. It makes her final triumphs feel more earned when she does turn it around, but that middle section of struggle goes on for just a touch too long.

Funny how women supporting women works better for everyone. Oh, and this movie passes the Bechdel test like a motherfucker. 

Overall this was a surprise and a delight and I CANNOT recommend it highly enough. Even if you have no interest in wrestling, there is such an excellent story at the heart of this film and heartfelt, hilarious performances from every core cast member. 

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[tremendousyouthdonut]

MORNING....

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There is a boxer out there known as one of the toughest boxers ever to set foot in a boxing ring..

Not just in the UK but internationally

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Now I've been asking on Norman Bucklans group for a long time about his book and he's finally got it finished...

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Contact Norman on Facebook, go add, love, n like and get to talk to one of the hardest boxers we.ve ever known....and one of the morning at connected gangsters...

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When u going to get yours?

One love n respect to the game changers

In life like Norman...

A one in a million...

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