I have a strange sense of déjà vu from when Shula was preggers with the uncharming Daniel. During that time, which surely went on for considerably longer than the regulation nine months, my default position was to yell, ‘That’s just TOO MUCH SODDING INFORMATION’ at the radio. I now find myself doing exactly the same, whenever Hell-en pops up to tell us earnestly about the triple-test, the pros and cons of water birth, or the position she fancies giving birth in (I guess she feels she’s owed an interesting position, having missed out on one to conceive the sprog). At least I can shout at the radio or pop outside for a brief sob. Poor Kirsty, Hell-en’s main confidante, has no option but to listen. It’s no wonder something snapped the other day and she came over all sarky and abrasive.
‘I had to talk to the midwife about a birth plan’, simpered Hell-en. ‘Ooh, a plan’, sneered Kirsty, her voice dripping in contempt, ‘Bet you liked that!’
Hell-en laughed uncertainly, then started banging on about tests for Down’s Syndrome.
‘What would you do if the tests showed up positive?’ Kirsty asked, bluntly. ‘It’s very unlikely’, Hell-en blustered. ‘Yes’, insisted newly stroppy Kirsty, ‘But what if it WAS?’ ‘I’d have the baby anyway of course’, smarmed Hell-en.
As this exchange took rather a long time, and seemed to be sign-posted in big purple capital letters, it made me suspect the Hell-en pregnancy storyline will be filled with uncertain test results and all the resulting issues of the day: what if your result is a bit iffy? Should you have an amniocentesis? What are the stats for younger women having babies with Down’s? Will Hell-en be more or less insufferable if her baby has a disability?
Poor us. Poor baby. And poor, poor Kirsty.
Of course, Hell-en’s doubtless completely-healthy-but-what-a-scare-it-gave-us baby isn’t the only foetus in the village. Emma has achieved a fine Ambridge double by getting up the duff from both Brothers Grimm. Good heavens, she just needs to work on Eddie with some feminine wiles and a few pints of cider to achieve an extraordinary Guinness Record shaking hat-trick.
I worked out that her children would not only be siblings, but also first cousins. Then I thought about Will’s reaction to the news and had to lie down with a cold flannel over my eyes. The Emma pregnancy storyline has been mired in complete and utter murky nonsense, to distract us (unsuccessfully) from the image of Emma in bed with both Grundy boys, and probably Eddie in there too, wearing nothing but his Viking helmet. First we had Josh (or Ben? Kids in the Archers are all the same to me), leaving Emma pathetic little presents on her door-step. Then we had the Quest for Artichokes – surely one of the Archer’s most tedious storylines ever, a hotly contested field. Has there ever been anything more pointless or dull in the history of script-writing?
You had to feel for Ed. What had he done to annoy Vanessa Whitburn, I wondered? He normally sounds embarrassed anyway when delivering any line that isn’t ‘Pint of shires please Fallon’, so having to spend his entire time on set talking about effing artichokes must have destroyed him. The whole thing was clearly sponsored by the Artichoke Promotion Society. When Emma finally got her artichokes and was smacking her lips and saying, ‘yummy!’, well honestly. I was yelling at the radio again. Whoever in the world went ‘yummy’ when eating artichokes? No-one, that’s who. And don’t give me that pregnancy craving excuse. Do coal-scoffing pregnant women say yummy? (No.) Did I say ‘yummy’ when Thing One was a bun in the oven and I was guzzling crate-fulls of cheese? (No. Too busy eating.)
Anyway, what with posh vegetables, Cain and Abel rivalry Grundy-style, and Susan imploding with joy when she realises that not only is she now related to Jennifer but she’s going to be a grandmother again, the next few months look super-grim. Add into the mix Hell-en receiving bad test results and I predict I’m going to be shouting at the radio rather a lot.
Posted by Qwerty