Tag Archives: Chelsee Healey

Casualty: There’s detached and there’s too detached

connie holby(Series 29, ep.7) There’s a huge, Jeff-shaped hole in the department, and everybody is feeling it. Dixie can’t sleep, but work isn’t really doing it for her either: “He’s at home, he’s here… there’s nowhere I can go to get away from Jeffrey Collier.” So she spends her time trying to take every shout, and back at base clutching Jeff’s own personal coffee mug to her heart and glaring at Ash. If only Ash hadn’t gone and got his leg carelessly impaled, none of this would have happened, etc.

Everybody else is suffering too. Robyn is emotional; Big Mac talks to Invisible Jeff when he’s alone. What’s needed is sensitive and kindly leadership. What they have is Connie Beauchamp.   Continue reading

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Casualty: Our hero

charlie casualty(Series 29, ep.6) To throw the loss of Jeff into terrible and heart-breaking perspective, his beautiful teeth were front and centre in many of the scenes in this episode. Not just his teeth, obviously – that would be very macabre indeed. And a bit sick. But the many photographs of him at the funeral, in lockers, at the wake etc, all showcased the former nicest pearly whites in the NHS.

The funeral itself was genuinely moving. For once there wasn’t the usual scene where someone tries to give a eulogy, gets overcome with tears and the eulogy has to be finished by someone else. Jamie (who’d jetted in from Australia) and Dixie (who’d come direct from answering a shout to a rubbish dump) gave lovely speeches, and then all the paramedics held up their radios so someone in the control room could add one last call to Paramedic Collier before signing him off for the last time. There was even a faithful dog to watch the coffin make its final journey.   Continue reading

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Waterloo Road: Our Josh’s descent into A level Media Studies

(Series 7, Ep.27) Poor Josh. He took some illegal medications and they rather upset him mentally, so he took some prescription medications and that helped for a while, but now he’s stopped taking them and he’s really, really upset. What you don’t want when you’re feeling frgaile is to become darkly obsessed with the Plague – who knew it had had such an impact on Rochdale? – via the medium of the film you’re making for A level Media studies.  Making a no-budget Hammer horror film – slash – historical documentary in the school basement wasn’t a good idea, either, as people generally only go there to have a breakdown. Poor Josh. It all led to him thinking he had the plague and scratching his arm to shreds during an exam. An ambulance was called, but to compound Josh’s trouble he was unlucky enough to have non-speaking extras as paramedics, so they  weren’t much help.

Meanwhile, it was Janeece’s wedding. Chalky had laid on a pink stretch limo for her, and practically the entire school (15 speaking pupils and a handful of silent extras) managed to hide behind it to spring out and surprise her. I was surprised that she didn’t want Our Cheryl at the wedding. It’s not like Janeece to miss an opportunity to deck her child out in something from the Katie Price Budget Bridesmaid Range. I was less surprised that the groom failed to show, because it was obvious from his very first appearance that that man was up to no good. It was doubly obvious last week when he kept telling her he wasn’t bothered about money. To place that much emphasis on not being bothered about money can only mean you’re really bothered about money.  So while poor Janeece was at the registry office waiting for him, he was busy packing all her worldly goods into a big van. The cad. She really needs to fall for Chalky. I know he’s not much to look at, but he can play the guitar, ride a bike (sort of) and he’ll never pack all her worldly goods into a big van and drive them away. Quite a catch, in other words. The reception went ahead at the school, and we discovered that Janeece has no friends or relatives of her own, because there was no-one at the wedding apart from school staff and pupils.

Meanwhile, can I just say that Jack McMullen is a bloody brilliant actor? When Trudi miscarried the baby, Finn finally got to find out about the pregnancy. In times of dire need, Finn can be the most fabulous boyfriend. He was lovely with Sam and he was lovely with Trudi. And when he was on his own, he broke his heart. Bless him. In what was not Finn’s happiest ever week, his new car got smashed up by Tariq and Kyle Stack, and this led Finn to a decision that he probably already regrets. He decided to join a rival gang. When we last saw him he was being beaten up in an attempt to prove his gang-worthiness. Oh, Finn. You’re so much better than that.

And Jez was told he can come back to work, but he has to “Steer clear of Mercedes” (the pupil, not the cars). This will not be difficult, as she was only Guest Pupil for one week and has now vanished again.

Next time: Someone called Shelby (Guest Pupil of next week) has a problem with alcohol and Kyle Stack is in trouble for an illegal vodka scam. Thank goodness Our Josh is safely sedated in a hospital somewhere. Dodgy vodka is the last thing he needs.

Posted by PLA (see more Waterloo Road posts)

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Strictly Come Dancing: Comfort And Joy

Well, hullo. I really didn’t expect to be back here after last time. Me and Strictly were finished. The love had died, it was trying too hard and I discovered a new Saturday Night Chippy (The Blue Dolphin in Hastings, in case you’re interested – half-price gherkins if you mention PLA. Probably)

Anyway, thanks to The Quirks of Fate*(*The Blogging Rota) here I am for The Final! So, Strictly, can you win my love back? You feelin’ lucky?

Following the handy rundown of previous weeks and their themes – Broadway = Good, Halloween = Bad, Wembley = Ugly and Movies = Yawn – we now find ourselves at The Final in BLACKPOOL! It’s just like Old BLACKPOOL Times! After the Wembley Dancing Disaster 2011 (for all you Bee Gees fans out there),Blackpool actually works brilliantly for the final. It’s exciting, atmospheric, spacious yet doesn’t have that Bloody Awful Echo (…Bloody Awful Echo) (Sorry).

I Saw Three Chariots Come Strutting By

And the Opening Number. Oh My God. The dancers come out dressed as Gladiators to LIVING ON A PRAYER. Despite the fact that Artem really does still look far too nice to leave anybody off his Christmas Card list never mind kill them, they do damn well. And just when you think it can’t get any better: a) there is That Key Change (still The Greatest Moment In Rock in my opinion) and b) At the key change the finalists come in on giant foam Chariots! Bonus points to Chelsee Healey for belting the song out like she’s on a Hen Night. It’s camp, hysterical, entirely unnecessary and possibly the best thing I’ve seen on telly all year (take that, jumper-toting Swedish lady!).  Continue reading

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Strictly Come Dancing: Dear Strictly

It’s more than 12 hours after my once-beloved SCD finished last night. I am still in shock. So much so that this blog is going to be a different kettle of fish to previous missives on the subject. You’ll have to forgive me, dear reader – it has, as they say, Been Emotional.

Dear Strictly,

We’ve had some wonderful times, you and me. When we first met, I hated Saturday Night Telly, with its mix of gaudy gameshows, Dad’s Army, dry documentaries about Cholera and Noel Bloody Edmonds. I knew nothing about dancing and you were much derided for being a throw-back to a dying era. People (hi Mum!) said we would never work.

You came, with your random mix of people off the telly, off the Olympics and quite often off their heads. Your sequins sparkled. Your judges were daring but fair, caring only about the dancing and not about themselves. You had a slightly-neglected old-school host whom everyone was delighted to see again, who was merely grateful to regain his rightful place on primetime telly. More than anything else, you were characterized by your good humour. Sure, people were called “contestants”, but they were participants rather than competitors. They were encouraged to do well and by and large did so, or at least had a ball. Who knew that woman who got bashed about by Phil Mitchell on Eastenders would be so good? That Julian Clary would be so bad? Who even knew who Kara Tointon was?

I loved you, Strictly. But more to the point, everybody loved you. Which meant everybody wanted a piece of you and everybody wanted to be like you. ITV looked longingly at your ratings success as you tore up Saturday Nights. They came up with this thing called X Factor. It was just a tired old rehash of its previous entries into the class that I like to handily term Pop Factory Crap. How could it ever trouble you, Strictly? You were a class apart, you didn’t need all that. You had series after series of Feelgood Glory, where it was simply about the Dancing rather than the ridiculous sideshows.

But tragically, people lapped up the Pop Factory Crap in their millions. And you got scared, Strictly, You thought that every person that watched that wouldn’t want you anymore and that THIS was the future.

So you changed, Strictly. Firstly, you ditched one of your original judges for being Too Old. She was in fact younger than the oldest judge who was a man, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter to you.

BLACKPOOL!

Despite this, we were ok for a while. You still had lots of good dancers and did laudable things like going to Blackpool (BLACKPOOL!). It wasn’t quite like the olden days, but it looked like you were going to get your spark back. 

Where It All Started Going Wrong

Then you got a gift, Strictly. Ann Widdecombe. She couldn’t dance and didn’t care. People were split in their Marmite-style camps. But it was impossible not to have an opinion, so everyone did. Everybody was talking about you, writing about you, watching you again. It felt GOOD.

But it went to your head, Strictly. And look at you now. Bloated and self-satisfied. 100 minutes long! Even my patience is exhausted by the end, so it’s no wonder even the participants have apparently well and truly had enough. Sitting through endless smug jokes by Sir Brucie, who continues to think people watch the show simply for his grandstanding, tired old nonsense. Through puerile VTs prior to each dance designed simply to fill time with stupid, children’s tv-style antics? Through look-at-me use of props that add nothing to the dancing (except for Artem and Holly’s number, which was clever and beautifully choreographed)? Continue reading

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Waterloo Road: The Jeremy Kyle holding pen

(Series 7, Ep.16) Finn Sharkey has managed to put his heartbreak over losing Sam to one side. After a short wobble when grief made him steal cars and drive them round the playground, he’s back on the dating scene with a spring in his step. Sadly his choice of new girlfriend is Trudi Siddiqui. While it’s true she’s beautiful and smart, she has one big drawback. Her brother is a nutter. He’s also the only prefect in the school, but that’s Michael Byrne’s idea of giving the lad responsibility. Does this make Tariq Siddiqui the head boy by default?

For a while, a nice little bromance was brewing between Tariq and Finn, but this only held for as long as Tariq remained blissfully ignorant about Finn’s designs on his sister. They even went out together to do a spot of revenge beating up of some lads who’d stolen Madi Diamond’s phone. En route to the beating up (Tariq knows jiu jitsu, you know. Like Keanu Reeves in The Matrix, only Keanu didn’t learn it in a Young Offenders Institute) Tariq admitted that Her Majesty’s Pleasure hadn’t been all that pleasurable. Finn already knew this, as Trudi had told him Tariq spent most of his sentence crying down the phone to his mum.   Continue reading

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Strictly Come Dancing – It’s time to meet the Muppets…

Look, Strictly started it with Craig and Len doing their Statler and Waldorf impersonations. If they don’t want to draw our attention to the performers who are all startled expressions, fluff and jerky performances they shouldn’t lampshade them.

I’ll admit my heart sank at the concept of Broadway night. For one thing every night is pantomime night on the Strictly dancefloor, especially when it comes to the judges. Unlike the hair-trigger audience who appear to have been stuffed full of ’70s orange squash and pre-health and safety Smarties, my favourite of the judges is resident ‘villain’ Craig. He seems to me to be the only one judging dancing as opposed to national treasure status. And the day he finally loses it and punches Bruce on the nose for one of his homophobic comments will be Fab-u-lous.

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