Anyone fancy a lorry-load of potatoes? Think of it as a lovely present for the man who has everything. Or the poor bastard who has nothing. Rob, who has been getting his tentacles under the table at Bridge Farm, ordered the spuds but Tom, back from Canada, cancelled them. That is drama Ambridge-style.
Such a relief because these days Ambridge has reminded me increasingly of Dallas. You remember dear, dead, addictive, daft old Dallas? The absolutely appalling lack of principle showed by absolutely everybody. The family’s disconcerting habit of reappearing (after sharp words backstage) with entirely different heads. As Helen Archer said recently, on catching sight of her brother Tom with a brand new head: “I don’t believe it! I thought I was seeing things!” “No. It’s definitely me,” said Tom, perhaps a titch defensively. And then there’s the big scene in hospital with one of the stars stretched out insensible, while each member of the family visits in sequence to express regret for former slights.
This month, it is Tony Archer’s turn to fight for life in a forest of exclamation marks. “The bull smashed him straight into the wall!” “I’m the air ambulance doctor! Can I have a grey cannula?” “Tony! Forgive me!” “It’s touch and go!” “Take him to the abattoir!” (No sorry that was the bull who, in my opinion, got pretty rough justice.)
When Tony opens his eyes, he won’t recognise the old place. David Archer has sold the family farm for seven million quid to a ruthless entrepreneur and is high-tailing it to Hadley Haugh (which sounds like something Corporal Jones used to say to German parachutists). The slavering speed with which his siblings – Shula, Kenton and Elizabeth – fell on their share of the spoils would make a pig whistle. “You think you know people!” as their aunt, who was priced out of the auction, said sadly. That is the problem. We do know them. We’ve known them for years. And they are just not like that at all. To change a head is one thing; to change a whole personality suggests brain damage.
Look, I will close my eyes till Christmas and, when I open them, I expect you to have put EVERYTHING BACK THE WAY IT WAS. And we will say no more about it.
A month in Ambridge returns on 7 January.
