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It's all about the money, money, money tonight as Kev has drawn down some cash from the garage to pay for Sophie's medical bills (Eh? Did I miss something? When did Sophie hurt herself? Why didn't she take out travel insurance?). Tyrone comes up with the idea of car valeting but Kev's not interested, more bothered about having a go at Tyrone for "dipping into the petty cash last year for a kid that's not even yours", which leads to Tyrone throwing down the garage keys in disgust. Phelan is still after Andy to pay his debt so Andy steals a bag from the garage in order to get the new pick up truck.

Dev is also after money, namely the £14K that Sharif took. Zeedan doesn't have it, so Rana suggests that she and Zee help out at the gym in Gary's absence (the recipient of said fourteen grand (Alya) doesn't seem to have made any money from the "vintage" range to help pay back the debt). In his other business, Dev's profits are up 12% (no, not the same as fractions) and he gives Chesney and Gemma a free can of Lilt (each) to celebrate.

Beth's off visiting her mum, who has fallen over, although fortunately she had been shoplifting so the stolen items broke her fall. It's Beth and Kirk's wedding anniversary/date she committed bigamy, so Sinead suggests a night on the town, but Chesney is not impressed with the idea of "going mad in a tiki tiki bar" and swaps shifts with Gemma to get out of it, which climaxes in a kebab shop row with Sinead in which he calls her "embarrassing" and gets a faceful of ketchup for his trouble, whilst she gets an admiring glance from Daniel. I wonder when Sinead is going to Do A Katie Armstrong? Chesney, on the other hand, needs to Do A Kirk and go out with an older woman, one who likes staying in and knitting. And kebabs.

The main story of the night is the baby shower, which features (in no particular order), Robert in his country gent outfit confessing his love for Michelle, a baby stripper, baby bottle cocktails (but no eating chocolate out of a nappy, thankfully), much bitching between Toyah and Eva,which culminates in the revelation that Eva knows about Peter and our Toyah. In the ladies, Eva rhetorically asks: "You do know she won't forgive you" - I seem to remember Eva forgave Leanne for reigniting her relationship with Nick just after Eva'd been dumped by him.

Who are you backing in an Eve/Toyah slap-fight, readers? Eva's got the height but Toyah's got the Battersby genes. Eva's also got low cunning - after finding out that the Barlow Bros. claim on the factory could mean curtains for knickers, she uses the info to blackmail Peter. Drop the suit else she'll tell Leanne about his relationship with her sister.

And of course the most momentous event of the ep is not Gemma's big pants but that Michelle feels that something is wrong with the baby and is admitted to hospital after having lost some amniotic fluid. Everything's OK - but for how long?

Rachel Stevenson - personal blog

Hi Glenda

This is my second test post with a link and a pic.

I Don't Like Cricket

When I was a kid, I used to go with my dad to Headingley to see the test match - he wouldn’t take me to the football due to it being the ‘80s. I was there for Botham vs Australia in 1981, although I remember more clearly walking around to the pavilion and Alan Lamb and David Gower sitting on the balcony looking down at us looking up. Anyway, I became a teenager and my dad wouldn’t pay for me to go anymore because it cost too much, although we did take a trip to Lord’s in 2002  to see Yorkshire beat Somerset in the final of the One Day Trophy. Lord’s was pretty different to Headingley, which was quite fearsome for a 10 year old girl surrounded by a lot of drunken men. My dad had managed to wrangle tickets in the members’ stand, which was full of men in blazers, panama hats, and egg and bacon ties and an awed hush. I don’t think anyone spoke the whole day, except for the man next to dad who told us that Lancys hate Yorkies, something I already knew due to growing up in Yorkshire.

Anyway, I asked for tickets to a test match for my birthday and by luck or chance, or my dad doing some machinations again, we got places in the lottery for the first day of the first test at Lord’s. I read through the information with some consternation: No flags, banners, rattles, fireworks allowed in the ground. No fancy dress. The subtext being We’re Not Headingley, You Know. There were even rules about the types of alcohol you could bring in:- 75cl of alcohol between 6 and 18% abv. I half expected them to name acceptable brands  (Dom Perignon – yes, Ernest and Julio Gallo – no). Our bags and bodies were searched on arrival.

It was a gorgeous day; unfortunately our seats were in the Compton stand, under the media centre (“Geoffrey Boycott is above us,” said David. “I don’t mean in heaven”) and in the shade. An ill wind of doom whipped around the ground as England fell to 30-4 by midday. Then came Joe Root. I love Joe Root. I love his beautiful batting style, his beautiful blond hair, his shy grin, his touchy feelyness with his fellow cricketers.

And he did not let us down, making his way to 50 as England got to 100, making his way to 100 as England got to 250. But it was not to be, he was out at 98 and a tsunami of disappointment drenched the ground, apart from the cheering Kiwis behind us, who were lucky they didn’t get a slap. But that’s not cricket. I’ve never been on the receiving end of sexism or mansplaining as I have when attending football matches; you don’t get cricket hooliganism, although to be fair, the average age of a cricket spectator is probably 30 years older than the football fan. Though there was a lot of cheering when a New Zealand fielder fumbled the ball, like when a barman drops a tray of empty glasses in a pub, and more so when Brendon McCullum crashed into the boundary line,

At lunch and tea break we wandered around, sat in the picnic area, got my photos taken with Steven Finn, who is incredibly tall and much more handsome then when he’s knocking over bails (don’t worry Joe! I still love you the best  XOXO) and took full advantage of all the marketing to ABC1s that was going on. I was a little bit snarky about the announcement: “And now it’s the Harrogate spring since 1571 Hydration break”, whenever the twelfth man brought out some drinks, but we shamelessly scarfed as much free gear as we could: from cups and boxes of Yorkshire tea, to a cuddly toy (that I sold my soul for posing for a selfie with), to Bloody Marys and olives, to nectarine and mozzarella salad, to a notepad and pen, and an apron. Truly, I am a freebie whore.

After Buttler fell on the last ball, we wandered through Regent’s Park which very considerately looked beautiful in the pre-twilight.


....I love it.