Oops, Adam’s having second thoughts about his marriage. It’s a bit late now sunshine; you did it, married Angela – remember? To be fair, the reason is uncharacteristically unselfish: he wants to stay for his son Matthew’s sake. Maybe he has also realised that Manchester is a much better place to live than Singapore. Having been to both, I can understand.
Oh, and Matthew is probably gay, Adam decides. Well, he’s unhappy, and he doesn’t like football, both classic signs. Not that it’s a problem.
“They did a bad bad thing,” sings Chris Isaak. Classic Cold Feet.
Angela’s cross, understandably, and maybe she’s not seeing beyond Manchester’s not-so-glamorous surface. Adam is talking things through with his hot Airbnb lady. Oh, but Angela has changed her mind, seen sense, and she will be swapping the Far East for the North West after all. Marriage back on.
But Matthew’s going to stop at Karen’s, in Josh’s room. There’s a stash of porn behind the radiator, says Ellie. Really, a stash? I don’t know much about young people today, or porn, but does it really come in stashes?
David – stuck in his miserable, loveless marriage – is sucking up to Angela’s dad (Art Malik!) with a proposal for some low-level tax avoidance (the Manchester Papers, perhaps? There is a ship canal after all, just like in Panama). And Jenny is trying to rekindle some ember of something with Pete, out of the bedroom, in the bedroom, a bit of role play, perhaps. “The maid, eh, you liked her, or the mill owner?” she suggests. The mill owner! Ha! No one plays the mill owner in Singabloodypore.
But Pete’s not interested – in sex, or being with people, or anything much. He’s low, tearful, unmotivated, uninterested, can’t face people, or the world. Pete must be – issue alert! – DEPRESSED. The soundtrack for Pete’s depression? Kings of Convenience. Sounds about right.
Oddly, it isn’t Jenny, who’s sensitive and sees Pete all the time, who realises, but Adam, who’s not and doesn’t. Anyway, the ISSUE is there now, and can be explored with characteristic Cold Feet warmth and wit … actually, not so much wit or even warmth in this one; middle age really doesn’t look like a barrel of laughs, does it? As someone experiencing it myself, I can confirm that that’s about right. Life begins at 50? Does it bollocks.
