Before you all march on The Bull with flaming torches and pitchforks, ready to string up Kenton, I should point out that ‘pavophile’ is a word I coined for a lover of peacocks (if there is another, proper word for it, feel free to write in, but neither the Internet, nor Collins English Dictionary, contains the word in relation to peacocks or peafowl). So, we have Kenton Archer as a fan (no pun intended) of the bird into which the goddess Juno turned the 100-eyed giant Argus when he failed to properly guard the heifer Io from Zeus’s amatory advances.
‘How come?’ I hear you scream, as you recall that Kenton was the person who ran over and killed The Bull’s resident peacock, Errol, not so long ago – how loving is that? Quite correct, but Errol was replaced by a spare fowl from one born at Lower Loxley; Prospero to give him his name. I’m sorry to digress so early, but it’s interesting (to me at least) to note the difference in the names – Errol (or it could be Erroll (I couldn’t be bothered to check back) rings bells for Flynn, the actor, or Brown, of Hot Chocolate fame, while Prospero was the magician and principal character in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Perhaps this illustrates the difference between being brought up in a pub garden and a Stately Home.
I must digress again – if Elizabeth’s peafowl are named after characters in The Tempest, then there are some attractive names, such as Miranda, or Ariel, but we can only assume that the really ugly chick of the clutch had the misfortune to be christened Caliban.
A mere 276 words after starting, we cut to the chase – an appropriate turn of phrase, as Prospero has legged it and is nowhere to be seen. It is two days later that Kenton and Jolene are watching (under strict orders) the streaming of the virtual tour of Harrison and Fallon’s garden, as a trial for the Flower & Produce gardens in Ambridge. This does not go well, as Harrison (who has borrowed some of Prospero’s cast-off feathers as garden decoration) comes into contact with the bird, who perceives the feathers as indicating the presence of a rival male and reacts as any red-blooded peacock would (nobody said they were clever).
Sgt Burns trips over a piece of garden furniture and, later on, is mortified when the clip is all over Social Media, and, on Jolene’s advice, Kenton hot-foots it round to Harrison and Fallon’s place to recapture the bird, cursing the while. However, don’t be puzzled, as evidence of the depth of Kenton’s real fondness for the avian escapee will be revealed in full in the following few paragraphs. Don’t worry – no peacocks were harmed in the rest of this week’s blog.
Susan asks Jolene if she, as a local celebrity, would like to be interviewed on her radio show. Kenton gets the hump over this – surely, as the person who MCs all the local events, he should be on the radio as well? In the end, the pair agree to do it as a joint gig – they can get some publicity for The Bull and plug their latest idea to boost their home delivery business; a character called ‘The Naughty Milkman’, based loosely (very loosely) on the Cadbury Milk Tray man.
Jolene tries to get a plug in early in the interview, but is swept aside by Susan, who is only interested in Prospero’s unscheduled appearance in Harrison’s garden. Kenton plays down the incident, saying that Prospero was being mischievous, but he is interrupted by Susan saying “You say mischievous, I say dangerous” and she bangs on about Sgt Burns’s ‘ordeal’ and wondering whether The Bull’s customers could really feel safe with a mentally-deranged peacock stalking the pub garden. Kenton leaps to Prospero’s defence, saying that nobody would be in any danger from the bird. He tells Susan that she is wrong, but she promptly cuts him off. She does briefly mention the planned milkman campaign, but gets the name wrong, referring to it as ‘The Wicked Milkman’.
Back at The Bull, Kenton and Jolene are stunned (and more than a little pissed off) by Susan’s attitude, although Jolene was touched by the way Kenton defended Prospero. You have to wonder why Radio Borsetshire keeps Susan on – she gets her facts wrong, has an annoying voice and seems to think that she’s the county’s answer to David Frost. You also have to wonder if she has any friends left in the county, the way she stitches them up on air.
But Susan has her own problems – to wit, the mystery of the missing custard creams (of which, more later). But first, there is another mystery to clear up, as sister Tracy tells her about the solicitor’s letter sent to Philip, threatening legal action over the explosion at Grey Gables. Who can the sender be? The two sisters decide that it must be someone either very clever, or very stupid, as the law firm‘s name on the letterhead doesn’t seem to exist. It was probably the phrase ‘very stupid’ that gave Tracy inspiration, as she leaves a message for Susan, saying that she knows who it is. The perpetrator, says Tracy, is her son Brad and, when she accuses him, he goes to pieces. In case you think this is a masterpiece of deduction, the name of the firm comes from a mixture of Brad’s best friend and a teacher, and the phone number on the letterhead is that of Brad’s grandfather’s landline. Zut alors, inspector – they always make one mistake, don’t they?
Susan tells Tracy that she should really go to see Philip or Gavin and apologise, “or grovel is probably more like it.” During a stock take at the Community Shop, Susan notices that they are low on custard creams, plus all the packet soups are gone. There appears to be a shoplifter on the loose! Tracy is sceptical – who would be mean enough to steal from a Community Shop? This is interesting, as I’m sure the older of us can recall when Clive Horrobin (Tracy’s brother, no less) held up the village shop with a shotgun, briefly holding Jack Woolley (and others) hostage. Admittedly, it wasn’t a Community Shop at the time, but that’s not really an excuse, even for a Horrobin.
Only one thing to do – trawl through the CCTV footage. Sadly, this is a rubbish idea, as the camera is so positioned that it doesn’t cover half the shop, although it did pick up Jazzer ogling Tracy’s bum over the top of the greetings cards; something which amused her greatly. The women both have suspects in mind; Tracy thinks it’s Joy Horville, or possibly Shula (this training for the priesthood could be a fantastic bluff), while Susan’s money is on Gavin Moss. The reason? She tried to engage him in conversation, but after two or three questions, he fled from the shop without buying anything. I should think that happens a lot when Susan is behind the counter, and it proves nothing.
Tracy comes up with an idea – when she was admonishing Brad, she confiscated his phone, and still has it. It can be used as a spy camera, so why don’t they leave it hidden in the shop, covering the CCTV camera’s blind spot? Super wheeze – I just fervently hope that, when they go to retrieve it, it has been nicked.
Of course, the reason Susan isn’t in a good mood is that she doesn’t know the reason for the rift between her two children and nobody is saying anything about it. For somebody who loves gossip and busybodying (to coin a verb) as much as Susan, this must be sheer purgatory. She knows that the gulf between them is wide and deep – at the weekend, she and Neil held a BBQ and both her children wanted to know if the other was going, and when Emma and Ed arrived, Chris and Alice got up and left without a word – but no-one will tell her what happened, and it’s driving her demented.
Let us turn now to the ongoing saga of Lynda and Robert. Robert rings up his daughter Leonie and leaves a message asking if he could come to stay for a few days? The atmosphere at home is unbearable and it is patently obvious that Lynda cannot bear to be in the same room as her husband, so some time apart might do them both good, as he can’t bear the atmosphere as it is at the moment.
Of course, Robert is not a cad, and he rings Lilian to explain that he’s going away and would she mind keeping an eye on Lynda? Seeing as how Lilian and Lynda fell out big time last week, when Lynda discovered that Robert had divulged information about their – shall we say – intimate moments, you wonder whether Robert has thought this through, as if Lynda saw Lilian, she’d probably reach for the carving knife. Lilian teases the story out of Robert, about how Lynda found the Viagra and convinced herself that her appearance is so horrific that this is the only way Robert can raise a smile, so to speak.
Lilian is appalled and lays into Robert, saying that he’s giving up on 40-odd years of marriage; is that what he wants? Of course it isn’t. “Then man up” Lilian orders – where is his backbone? He can’t desert Lynda when she needs him most. “She doesn’t want me” Robert replies and puts the phone down.
Despite what we said in the paragraph before last, Lilian does go to see Lynda and tells her some home truths; that she is a hypocrite for playing the victim and doesn’t she realise that she is on the verge of losing her husband? Lynda is distraught and, when Lilian tells her that Robert is going to stay with Leonie and grandson Muppet, Lynda lets out a wail of anguish – of course she doesn’t want Robert to leave. As she leaves, Lilian reminds Lynda that not so long ago she was prepared to chain herself to the new ‘B at Ambridge’ sign in protest – if she was prepared to fight over a silly pub sign, surely she’s prepared to fight for her marriage?
Let’s gloss over the - at first, tentative – scenes of reconciliation between the Snells. Leonie invited them both to stay, but Lynda says that, while she’s dying to see Muppet again, she’d rather they came to Ambridge Hall – and only for the day, which shows signs of intelligence, as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, she and Robert are reunited in harmony and resolve to stop tiptoeing round each other, agreeing that their relationship is back on the road and, as Robert puts it; “We’re heading in the right direction.” And I, for one, say ‘Thank God for that - I don’t think I could have stood it for much longer!’
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