Heather Moulson

Hamish had really got his feet under the table (or Lavinia’s bed really).  The young Scotsman cackled smugly:

 “Snaffle!  Snaffle!  Och!  I’ve really landed on me feet here!  Lovely young bride, Go-er for a ma-in-law, nice hoose!  Nae money but never mind, this will do until something better turns up…”  

 Unfortunately for the young scoundrel, Lord Posh heard every word…….

Immediately, he runs and tells the young Lavinia the Caledonian’s awful words:

 The young nymph laughs:  “Why, Poshie!  You’re not jealous, are you?  (titter)”
“‘pon my soul, you young filly!  Of course not! But you must heed my warning about that so-called fiancee of yours!”

His patience at an ebb with the young doe, he seeks out Mary for consolation (and tells her not to put the cake in the washing machine!)

 Despite her mocking of the old family friend’s warnings, Lavinia starts to have serious doubts about Hamish.  How come he’s moved into her bed – without her?  How come he spends so much time with Mama?

 Meanwhile, at Marjorie’s piano recital that evening, Lord Posh brings his new filly, Krista.  A corker of a girl from Sweden.

Marjorie leaves the room to “tuck Hamish in bed”, at least that’s what I thought she said.

And Lord Posh excused himself for a “drink of water” in the spare room with Mary.  He’d be gone for hours.  

 My God, that man was a machine!

One now has wallpaper….

 …but I mean, look at the state of it!  Who was this workman?

 Meanwhile, Mary is finding the new power shower hard to come to terms with.  I suppose it’s understandable after growing up with a pail of water in a freezing scullery. 
I’ve a suspicion she hankers after it still.  

And there are still things in the state-of-the-art kitchen the girl just cannot get to grips with.

Meanwhile, I was ignoring Lavinia’s bible-bashing boyfriend, Hamish, (the actor unfortunately had to be re-cast).  

 

who appeared to be oggling my wife’s legs, in the last series

“Crivens, Hen!”, exclaimed Hamish (for he is Scottish), “What‘s wrang with your auld Pa?!”

 “Oh, not sure if he’s gay or not.  That sort of thing.”, Lavinia yawned.

 “Jings!  Me auld man wis jest the same!  Until Ma beat it out of him, you ken?”

“Mind you”, Hamish added, “I can’t see your auld lady doing that!”

“Only if he took her Gin away”, Lav giggled,

“Now come to bed”
“Naw, lassie.  I’m away to me bible”
And he gently closed the door.

Meanwhile, I explained my misgivings to Lord Posh

   About my suspicions with this bible chap and Marjorie.
He was quite unhelpful.  Didn’t all wives sleep with other people then?  His did.  Anyway, he had his mind on other things, mainly, Mary over our new kitchen sink. 

  Impatient to give Mary a good seeing-to, he tossed me his toasting fork to “give the blighter what for!”
I don’t know why I bothered! 

 Then the next morning, there appeared to be the most extraordinary animal noises coming from upstairs.  Our bedroom, in fact!

I bounded up those stairs, determined to confront them once and for all!

 “What the blazes is going on
here?!”, I demanded throwing our new door open

 

 It seems one now has a bath – and lighting, such as it is

I can’t see the Devil of the point of the thing:

  

 And as for that shower chappie over there.  

 It seems old Lav is the only one who can get in there

 Marjorie finally agreed to the sitting room cum parlour be moved to the ground floor.  
Meaning our bedroom relocating to it’s rightful place, instead of being stuck up in that attic

 Poor Mary is intimidated by our state-of-the-art Aga.  £800 that cost, and she won’t go near the thing

 
In fact, Mary’s baffled by her new kitchen altogether!

 She yearns for the dodgy gas oven and ramshackle cupboards of our old dwelling.  

And now, the cracks are really beginning to show:

 Quite literally.  I mean look at this am-dram workmanship!

But there are other things too.  I mean, Marjorie’s horrified that we have the dining table in the parlour (until we get the conservatory).  But I seem to be the only one that eats at it!

  And even then, it‘s only fucking cake!

 Marjorie has her meals brought up to her (in a glass)

 And although Lavinia uses the excuse that she is between eating disorders at present:

 I know full well she sneaks out at night and get bloody burger and chips!

 The greedy little mare!     She could offer me some!

That‘s when she’s not hours on the telephone to that wretched I’ve-swallowed-a-bible boyfriend (who I now don’t like!)

 And Marjorie, who relocated her music room up in the attic, has got to stop necking bottles and think about getting some new pupils in!  Holidays are ending soon!

Am I the only one pulling my weight around this house?  

I’m sorry to sound so seedy today, but I’ve stopped watching television and having relations with blokes next door.  I work my arse off doing Stand-up in poxy Sydenham Green or wherever!  You‘d just think I’d get a bit of support!!!

  
” I’m off up the pub!  Last one to get a round in is a poof!  Whoops!”

Is Plastic Paul having a meltdown?  
(Get it?  Plastic?  Melt?  Oh please yourselves!)  Will he get in the last round?  


Tune in.  Same time.  Same channel!
    
for indepth interviews with the stars of Amanda Ann – click here 

One has moved house:

Lord Posh managing to wangle some money from our lost country estate and all that.
 

 Unfortunately, Marjorie finds the house so common, she won’t even sit in the room. 

I actually wanted this room to be our bedroom.  Hence the pink.  A kind of a love palace, if you will.  Me not being gay and everything…


But the awkward mare wanted it as a first floor sitting room.  Sigh!

Also making the original lounge into a cold and loveless room.  A bit like our new bedroom in the attic actually……

I also tried to put it over to Marjorie that Mary would have a devil of a struggle getting her gin up the stairs…..  

 The poor girl is already grappling with the new state-of-the-art kitchen.  That reminds me, I must sort out some sleeping quarters for Mary…

Lavinia also does not take kindly to her new abode:

 But, on our first night, once I’d finally persuaded Marjorie to climb the weary stairs….

 There was someone in our bed. And Lavinia became our little girl again…

 So Marjorie made her bed for the night in our Daughter’s room

 And I tried to get forty winks on an old chaise lounge – bit like old times really……

 And I really wonder whether we‘ve done the right thing!  

Series Three happening very soon.  Don’t touch that dial…….

Sadly, the trauma of Ken’s insensitive intrusion, and Lord Posh’s knockback meant Marjorie moving out of the family home:

 Lord Posh offered her his pied-a-terre in London.  Great location, if somewhat bijou.

 Begged her not to go, natch.  But Marjorie was determined.

  I know there are things in life called fresh starts, and sham marriages, but you have to understand how it is with my wife and I.

We belong together, you see.  We always did.  From infanthood, we were betrothed by our neighbouring family estates:

And then there was the birth of our beautiful daughter:

  
We’re a part of each other.

Luckily, Marjorie found her old crowd dull and shallow and er- old.

And so, she returned to the Fold.  I awoke to find Marjorie watching breakfast television, back where she belonged.

 Jolly good timing too.  It was nice for Marjorie see her daughter really buckling down and studying (without supervision), (and the tag). 

Even got herself a new boyfriend.  Decent chap, from the local vicar college.

 Very upright young man. Impeccably mannered, and full of bible quotes, that sort of thing.

And according to Mary’s and Mrs Slagg’s gossip, Lavinia, blinded by love, offered herself to him.

 But being a pious sort of a bloke, he held off, claiming that he wanted to wait for the sanctity of their wedding night. Then they could go at it like the clappers!

He didn’t even mind about our illegitimate grandchild.  He merely pronounced that Lavinia had been sinned against.  

However, just when we thought Lavinia would make a good marriage after all, I noticed something amiss after supper one night:

  If he was such a Man of God, why was he looking at my wife’s legs?

 Sadly, that is all we’ve got time for this series.

You’ll have to tune in at a later date to find out if that really was a bible Lavinia’s boyfriend held.
Or if Marjorie and he are tempted by forbidden fruit.  Or am I?

Tune in, same time, same channel – er- very soon.  

Thank you and Goodnight. 

For more fun, click this link to the Amanda Ann homepage! Interviews with the stars, problem pages etc…..

Meanwhile, Lavinia did not take Alistair’s ill-timed flight very well….

 “Goodbye, Cruel World!”, she sobs

Fortunately, Mary made a timely entry:

 “Oh Miss Lav!  Please don’t!  Get up at once!  He’s not worth it!  Besides, that thing hasn’t been connected for years!”

Lavinia, despite her sleepy state, acknowledged that that was why the maid’s cakes were so dodgy!  

   The two young women took solace in each other’s loss, and wept:

“What about his promise to me, Miss Lav?!”

Then Mary realised there never was one, bringing fresh tears.

As a goodwill gesture, Alistair and the young maid had Mary’s kids as bridesmaids and guests included Mrs Slagg and myself.  The remaining women of the house staying tactfully away.  

 
Then it was back to their charming, if somewhat bijou, studio in Lord Posh’s grounds.  We sort of couldn’t fit in for drinkies, so we toasted them as Alistair carried his beautiful young virginal (but not for long) bride over the threshold.  He was eager to get to bed anyway.  

 Mary, now fully recovered and lost of an evening, did a bit of moonlighting at Lord Posh’s gaff one night a week.  

 
 Inevitably, once the last guest had been shown out, Mary ended up on the long dining table with the host himself.  

 “Oooh, your honour, Sir!”, Mary would giggle with delight.

“Hang it all, Mary!”, Lord Posh would command, “I told you, when no-one else is present, you can merely address me as “Sir“!”
And Mary sighed contentedly.  
Lord Posh didn’t care how many children Mary bore him.  Half of Berkshire was full of his brats born the other side of the duvet.

  She planned her next pregnancy accordingly 
   

On a non-Mary night, Lord Posh and I would spend many an evening together, us becoming chums of sorts.  And one night, I took him along to a gig I was doing in Weighbridge.

 My!  They were a rough crowd!

After the show, I introduced old Posh to my agent (and his twin brother)

 
Both of them signing him up immediately!

 They’ve started him off in small gigs, but he’s got a long way to go yet….

They told him to just be himself – like they did Me actually!

 “Oooh, I say!  Just look at that bouncer!!”

“No, I’m not gay.  I’m really 
not!!!”

Will Paul continue to live a lie?  Will he carry on in his sham of a marriage?  Will he ever get on “Mock The Week”?

Tune in, same time, same channel for the concluding episode Eight (of Series Two)

Don’t touch that dial!! 

That night, while our household slept fitfully, there was a menacing shadow across our happy home.  

 Mary, aroused from her sick bed, began to fear the worst. Cold and alone, (Alistair tactfully moving out),  she bravely crept up to our sleeping chamber:

  
“Master Paul!  I beg you to wake!”

“Now Mary”, I said groggily, “We don’t really do that sort of thing anymore.  I mean, I’m sorry about Alistair tearing off with that blonde girl but…”

“No!  Sir!  I fear there is an intruder!”

“Oh Thank God for that!  I thought that me and you….”

“Please Sir!  I urge you to do something…”

     I sent Mary out to the Police station while I worked on my new act.  

Marjorie had gone to the bathroom when suddenly….

  
the intruder enters (Ken from next door):
“He’s mine, you know!  He’s not yours!”

Marjorie screams

 

“You can have him!  Now just 
Fuck off!”

“But you tried to take him away
from me – Bitch!”

 

Marjorie quaked with terror.  There was no reasoning with this madman.

He raised his spatula 
menacingly.  Marjorie
truly thought her number was up.

Only it wasn’t:

I burst in just at the right time, and managed to overpower the tiresome bugger!  (You didn’t really think I’d be working on my act, did you?).  

Soon he was led away by a law-abiding caped crusader :

“Bah!”, Ken spat menacingly, “I would have got away with it too!  If it hadn’t been for that pesky Paul!”

 Once the nightmare was over, I said to my wife: 
“You see, Marjorie, things could be so much worse.”

“Yes, Paul”, she sighed.  

We wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night.

Does Marjorie really think things could be so much worse?  Or is she just keeping up appearances?  

Don’t miss Episode Seven, same time, same channel
  

 
 Sadly, Mary’s worst fears were 
 confirmed, and she was confined to bed

 And so, not only did Alistair have to diagnose Mary and break the sad news to her, 

he also had to explain about his hasty engagement with the fresh, young, one-armed milkmaiden downstairs in Mary’s kitchen! 

One that he didn’t even have to marry!  That part Mary found hardest to understand.  But she lay there, listless and dry-eyed.

 Mrs Slagg (Mary’s true mother), took a much dimmer view of the situation:
“You’ve got six kids!  What did you want another one for?  It’s time you stopped trying to force men’s hands!  Your true love will come along soon enough!”
“Bollocks, you old bag!”, thought Mary, but said nothing.  

So that was two bloody women bedridden in this house.  But Marjorie’s self-inflicted confinment had to end.  Half term was drawing to a close and there would be paying students at the door for piano lessons. 

The trouble with Marjorie is that she still hankers for the bright lights:

And her former smart friends:

  
 But if Marjorie really used her head, she could acknowledge that those days were behind her, and she could rule this town:

 Twickenham could be Her‘s, if she wanted it.

 Especially with the Chair of the PTA being run out of town.

Sadly, although I share the marital bed these days, our physical relationship is as frigid as ever.
Sometimes, at dawn, I long for Ken.

However, that night, there is an intruder:

   
   Are the Amanda Ann Family in real danger this time?  What will their fate be?

Tune in same time, same channel for the gripping Episode Six!  Don’t touch that dial!  

Needless to say, Lavinia turned up her nose at Lord Posh’s proposal.  She had no desire to go childrearing in some draughty estate in the middle of nowhere.  

The old boy took it right on the chin, being a decent sort and that.  But despite his gusto, I could see his loneliness, so I invited him to drop round anytime.  Quite liked him in a way.  His principles stopping him dead at taking another man’s wife.
 

  Something Marjorie found hard to take.  Hence her staying in bed for three days.

But I had bigger fish to fry:

I had the very unpleasant task of terminating my illicit relationship with Gay Ken next door:

 There were tears and pleadings but I kept to my guns that I wanted to make my marriage work.  The truth was he was becoming too intense. And my agent advised me to give Ken the old “heave-ho”

The meeting did not end well.  
“If you won’t be mine, you won’t be anyone’s!”
He flounced out menacingly. 

Well, sod him. 

 Meanwhile, below stairs, Alastair was having a busy time at the surgery, when Lord Posh entered the room.  (Him being accustomed to wander round other people’s homes at will).

 “Bally hell!” Lord Posh exclaimed, “You look a damn fine vet!  I need someone over at my estate, bloody sheep dropping like flies!  Fancy a couple of days a week in Berkshire?  Rolls pick you up and all that sort of thing!”

 Alastair agreed readily.

 “And by the way, wondered if you wanted to take on this young filly I brought with me as a wedding present.  Damned girl turned me down, what!”
He laughed, despite himself.  

Alastair looked at the lovely young girl, and was struck dumb.  Never had a thunderbolt hit him so hard.  It made his infactuation with Marjorie, his opportunism with Lavinia, and his sordid hasty union with Mary pale into significance.  This was real love.  Love at first sight, he had only ever heard about this phenonemon.  

   
   “Damn girl lost her arm in a tragic milking accident!  Made her blasted barren too!”

“Will send the car round tomorrow!  Bright and early!”

 With that, he flounced out to Soho, nursing his broken heart.

Intense and hungry, and emotions flying everywhere, he grabbed this pretty maid, desperate to touch her, kiss her, love her.
But she pulled away from his grasp:

 “Now, Master Alastair, sir, you are too fast!”, the young girl chided him.  “I am not that sort of girl.  Why do you think Lord Posh gave me the old chuck?  The man that takes me to bed is the man who puts a ring on my finger!”

 “Oh yes, my sweet maid, yes!  I will be that man!  Marry me, please!”

“You do know, Sir, that I am unable to give you a child.  The milking incident robbed me of this natural function”

“Thank God for that!” Alastair exclaimed.  He had had enough of Mary’s kids to last him a lifetime, and puppies and kittens were so much cuter.  
He couldn’t believe his luck.  

Meanwhile, Mary feels faint and unwell in the bathroom:

   Could this be nature being such a cruel mistress?  Will the two things that mean so much to her be snatched away so brutally? 

Or will Mary keep her (seventh) child?

Tune in same time, same channel for Episode Five.  Don’t touch that dial! 

Please excuse me talking to you from my dressing-room.  Playing at some wretched venue in Greenwich.  Nothing but bookings at the moment.  The 02 beckons, what!

 
Excuse Fang, my new dog by the way, he’s just there in case some of those fans get a bit close!

 Meanwhile, Marjorie did not know whether to be amused or embarassed at Lord Posh’s abysmal piano skills:
 

 Often, he would bang the lid down:
“Oh dash it all!  Let’s have some tea!”

 

And they would share a delightful afternoon over some Earl Grey tea and aWagon Wheel

 

 Occasionally Lavinia would join them when she got home after school, but she was impervious to his charms.  Unlike my wife.

Lord Posh, unusual for an English Toff, opened up a lot, and told them about his last wife.  A showgirl from Las Vegas, who got one of his stately homes in the divorce settlement:
“Never liked the damn place anyway!”
  

 Mary, clocking up the importance of their new guest, bitchily let it slip one afternoon:
“Begging your pardon, Sir, but Miss Lavinia has been in a detention centre, and several gang fights, your honour!”

 “Mary!  You Mare!  Get out of here at once!  One day I’ll throw you and those brats of yours out on the streets!”
 

 Lord Posh, who had barely been listening, simply imagining Mary on all fours after she’d served dinner, merely said he admired a girl with pluck!  And did these fillies all get undressed together in the dorm?  What about the baths?

Lavinia did not answer him, and Marjorie breathed a sigh of relief that Mary did not reveal her grandchild down in the kitchen.
 

Then when Marjorie entered the room, unwittingly blowing her hopes apart, I told her what Lord Posh had come to say:
“My dear.  Lord Posh has asked permission to marry Lavinia when she is 16 (and after her GCSE’s).  I don’t think she’ll be too keen though.”
  

 Marjorie‘s expression became stony-faced.  Had she hoped LP was asking me to release her from our sham of a marriage?  Did she really think anyone would do that?  Ask a husband like that?
I think she did.  

“Damned fine filly”, Lord Posh exclaimed to my wife, “Ripe for childrearing, eh?  Tried to bring it up at dinner, m’dear.  But felt the old man should know first, eh?”

“Ratscocks!”

  

 Will Marjorie ever recover from this bitter blow?
Will Lavinia actually do her GCSE’s?  
And will Paul get to West Dulwich?

Tune in same time, same channel for Episode Four!