The Golden Ticket

Posted on September 11, 2011 by Myras_Kitchen 2 Comments

So, Hollyoaks.  It’s not real, right?  Course not.  In the real world, you don’t end up living with your dead sister’s husband’s step-brother and looking after your dead sister’s child by her pupil, who had her banged up for paedophilia.  Or married to the guy who shagged the mother of his girlfriend, later the girlfriend of the boy your brother ran off with.  Or having a child by the ex-and-soon-to- be-again hubbie of your cousin who you killed by a direct shot to the chest.  Not unless you’re in Take A Break magazine.  In the real world, it takes more than the arrival of an Irishman with a moustache and pointy shoes to turn you gay.  But then again, it is a pretty potent tache.  And those shoes sure are pointy.

I guess I knew that Hollyoaks was produced from somewhere.  Somewhere secret, away from prying eyes, where strange alchemy could take place.  Somewhere a little bit like the Wonka Factory, with the beating heart of the operation, the place where the everlasting gobstoppers are mixed, not the storyliners’ office, but that holiest of holies: Myra’s Kitchen.  I have seen it on the telly many times.  I have heard tell of it.  I have seen the amazons of the McQueen tribe trollop about in it in their undies, and watched their John Paul get a teary snog off tru luv Bambi in it.  But I never thought I would stand in it.  Until now.

I found a Golden Ticket.  An invite, from no less than Mrs WLH.  Come to Hollyoaks, she said, we’re having a Bloggers’ day, don’t be shy, you know you want to, ah go on go on go on go on go on.  So I did.  And here is what I found.  It was ALL REAL.

My heart was already doing skippety things when I arrived at Lime Street, but I nearly went into full cardiac arrest when I realised who was there to meet us at the station.  A tall thin man in a sky blue shirt, insanely ripped jeans, massive f*ck off shades, and the bushy beard of Trouble, standing at the centre of a little buzz of Bloggers, all aquiver.  Our Willy Wonka for the day, leading us into the magic kingdom.

FUCKING BRENDAN BRADY.  People, I have shaken the hand of Brendan Brady.  Or Emmett J Scanlan, to be precise.  I believe I did the sophisticated thing and grinned like a flunky, while wondering if it was too late to throw myself under a train like Anna Karenina so my life wasn’t all downhill from here.  I can confirm that unlike the big BB, Mr Scanlan is a Charming Man, who gave us a lot of his time, without punching, forehead rapping or growling that I noticed.    He even offered to buy me coffee, well not ME, us, but I’m going to say ME because that’s how it happened in my head, and I was so overcome I said no thanks.  I AM AN IDIOT.  But thanks anyway for the offer Mr S, you are true gent.  He never even slurped his or dipped onion rings in it or anything.  It goes without saying that we were desperate to find out what the Fates had in store for our favourite self-loathing Irish gangster with a soft spot for long-lashed young ratboys, and one in particular.  I wish I could say I whipped out my notebook, fixed him with a steely gaze, and asked a series of penetrating questions, but I think I probably just stood with my mouth open and let him talk Irish at me.  Here is what I managed to find out by this intense journalistic technique:

• Very very exciting stuff coming up on screen for BB.  The beard – and yes, we mean an actual beard, one you can stroke, not an India or a Lynsey – is definitely there for a reason, but we think the iconic tache will be making a comeback.   He admitted to filming scenes with the lovely Jamie Lomas recently, so we definitely have some more of the magic that is Brady and Fox, Gangsters Inc., before we lose Warren again.  *tears up.*
• Will Brendan ever have more than thirty seconds of post-coital happiness with the lovely Stephen, his ratboy prince, before the next disaster, wife, bastard child, vengeful pregnant ex, camp personal trainer, burst pipe, murder, hurricane, breakdown, or biblical plague of toads lands from a clear blue sky?  The man behind BB thought this might be a classic “Sam and Diane” scenario (Cheers, yeah, look it up).  A will-they-won’t-they, where if they will, it won’t work anymore.  Hot dang, will we never just see BB wake up happy one morning and make breakfast for his boy with bed hair while singing to Lady Gaga?  He did say Kieron Richardson (Ste) would love it.  We made an effort to persuade him it is possible to be in love AND remain a mental self-destructive psycho.  We want it all!
• He’s going nowhere as far as he knows, but when the terrible day comes when … whisper it … Brendan leaves … SOB! … it was firmly agreed that he will need a Big Exit.  The Hollyoaks cab to Palookaville will not do for BB.  I am proud that we fed him the idea of a Robert de Niro, Heat-style ending, with searchlights, helicopters, GUNS, and the smell of desperate anti-heroic sacrifice, and I think I can honestly say that the sight of Emmett Scanlan miming pumping shotguns to both sides will stay with me for some time.  Phwoar.
• He likes to improvise.  Cuddly post-shag Brendo asking Ste to Gis a kiss was ad libbed.  So was the rampant phallic finger sucking when Brendan cooked breakfast for Ste and easily-seduced boyfriend Noah.  Ste had to be removed from the set for uncontrollable hysterics.  I stood in the sunshine and watched Brendan Brady give his fingers a good old suck, to show us.  I may have died.   But we must move on.

To the minibuses, following BB!  So much time, so little to do …

Lime.  A Secret Kingdom, hidden behind gates and surrounded by woods that look like the place Silas dumps the bodies.  A strange place where the Police Station is next to the 6th Form College, probably appropriately in Bart’s case.  Or Ruby’s, should she become the international criminal mastermind she is clearly destined to be.

The Student Union, decked out for Halloween, where we were plied with booze, although not unfortunately a Have Mercy cocktail.  A very nice lady called Emma who is THE BOSS showed us exciting promos, to wit:

• SILAS V BRENDAN.  This actually blew my mind.  I lost cells in the excitement.  There will be another stiff, if Ethan’s face is anything to go by.  Spoilt Bieber-ite Declan looks under threat, as is nutjob Lynsey.  Cheryl yells her head off, for reasons unknown.  Nancy is Team Silas and tears our Lyns off a strip for casting aspersions.  He’s a lovely fella, apparently.  She might regret that.  And Brendan does some supreme close talking to Silas: “You think you’re bad?  You’re not bad.  I’m bad.” Ooooooo.  Let me repeat that incisive critique.  Oooooo.
• New Sixth-Formers.  In this promo, a whole raft of beautiful young people threw paint at each other.  Ruby’s admirable breasts had a starring role.  Tilly, Maddie and #Jono are all arriving fresh from Abersoch, though it’s not clear why.  Are they lost?  There will also be Neil, Callum and George.  That’s a whole heap of hormones.  I might take cover for a while.   Like Daisy and Tim climbing the stairs to Amber’s party, I may also need shades.  They’re all so THIN … [gratuitous Spaced reference].
• Freshers.  Wouldn’t be September without a new intake to HCC would it?  Specially as the life expectancy of most HCC students ain’t great.  These guys partied hard in the SU Bar.  At first glance, two heroin chic girls (Annalise and Ash), A Toryboy (Barney), a guy in a shirt (Rob) and a black guy in a woolly hat (Scott).  There was also Will and Doug (DOUG! Yay!), the return of Michaela, and Dodger working the bar (double yay!).  The future of the country is in good hands.
• The Costello-McQueen Nuclear Matrimonial Meltdown.  It looks like everyone is out to try to derail the path of true love/marriage of convenience.  Mitzeee has her narrowed eyes on Carl’s wallet (“Mitzeee: The Final Chapter.  BLACKMAIL”); Warren had a fabtastic line about the Costellos having “A Jeremy Kyle moment” and seems to have turned his blackmaily attentions to Mercy, while multi-tasking and threatening to kill Doug (more Doug, yay!) because he is urging trauma magnet Seth to come clean about Mercy’s less than monogamous leanings.  That’s all I could pick up, but it looks more radioactive than a Japanese nuclear power station – everything it should be.  Poor ole dunderhead Riley.  Who’s the daddy now?

MORE LOVELY CAST: We were awash with teens and students, but special mention for scouse loveliness goes to Alex Fletcher (DIANE!  They let her out!), and Claire Cooper (JACQUI!  My favourite lady after Myra), who told us that Gilly will return, and all will be resolved, and she knows it ALL, but she was saying NOTHING.  Tantalising.   I did hear from a little bird that Father Francis, the official chaplain to the Spa who turned out to be a Las Vegas conman (an easy mistake to make), is coming back.  Carmel better brace herself.

LUNCH.  OK, the cast who were tied up with filming something deeply secret somewhere else started to appear.  MYRA!  In purple.  With a Kate Middleton fascinator.  Now I’m not supposed to know this, so I’ll have to whisper it, but it looked like she’d come from a WEDDING.  Nicole was just lovely.  And she’s bloody younger and more beautiful than me.  She told me Myra’s bra always has to be showing, though how we got onto that I’m not sure.  MICHAELA!  So, you knew Michaela was back, right?  Hollie-Jay Bowes was around, in what looked like fuschia pink bridesmaid mode.  No word on what happened to Zak, so maybe she just wore him out.  ETHAN (Craig Vye), in a suit and deep tan, admitted under interrogation that he was a crap cop and read us a few tantalising lines from his script, the devil.  BRENDAN was also there.  Did I mention that?  Brendan Brady.  Just wandering around, being Irish.  Myself and fellow blogger Mrs EmmettScanlanFans came over rather bold and fangirly, and shoved a Stendan wishlist at him which largely came out of too much time spent on Digital Spy with other obsessives.  For our pains, we both got a kiss on the cheek.  The beard was scratchy but lovely.  MY CHEEK REMAINS UNWASHED.  My corsets were loosened.

TOUR.  Oh my.  OK, details.  Relish has gone, unlamented.  I hated Relish, it was rank, though it was home to some Bradyesque magic when he sat opposite Danny Cockney and found out his lover (little Vinnie, RIP) had been murdered.  *sniff.*  The school has turned into a 6th Form College, complete with jazzy colours and motivational slogans and everything.  How times have changed.  In my 6th form, we did our own murals of Bob Marley.   The student flat has had a makeover in industrial grey.  It looks HM Slade Prison, which let’s face it is what most student flats look like.

A peek behind the scenes: COSTUME.   You know what happened here.  I went in search of Brendan Brady’s shoe box.  I had a furtle and pulled one out.  We had a moment together.  It was long and pointy and soft in the hand.  I considered nicking it and coming back for him later, Cinderella style.  By a supreme effort, I overcame it.  Brendan with one shoe would be sad.  He would have to hop.  Claire Cooper came by, now in her full Jacqui hooker-boots.  She had put on an extra two foot in height.  Terrifying.

And then we were there.  The McQueen house: interior.  OK, maybe the scene outside the back door is just a big old photo.  But in my heart, it’s real.  I have looked at the family snaps in the McQueen living room.  And I have stood in Myra’s Kitchen.  It was surprisingly tidy.  Some washing up needed doing.  I thanked the Jesus statue for my good fortune.  I have found my spiritual home.

THE VILLAGE.  This is even better really.  I peered into the piny delights of Cynergy.  I stood and gazed at Chez Chez, location of murder, passion and general Bradyness, with added Fox.   It is one of the places where the interior set is actually inside the exterior – it is actually there.  IT EXISTS.  It’s just it’s so small that if you had Brendan, Ste, Warren, Cheryl, Mitzeee  and Mitzeee’s chest in it, it’d basically be full.  It had actually sprung a nasty leak (Brendan, you need to get that looked at, love), but I still snuck in downstairs and breathed in the pheremones.  I was sad not to go in the sex office, but you can’t have everything.  I have sat beside the fountain and contemplated my fate.  Looked for Banana Bongo Flakes in Price Slice.  And stared into the murky waters outside the Dog, wondering whether Sarah’s engagement ring is still at the bottom, in the mud, waiting to be discovered, like the One Ring to Rule Them All.

And that was it.  We had a few songs in the SU Bar from house band Daytona Lights, which was heptastic.  I have no idea how it works to sign a band to the cast of the Oaks.  Will they be like the Monkees, and have wacky adventures each week?  Cos there is only one Peter Tork in this girl’s heart.  They are almost as cute, though.

I met some really wonderful people, not least the renowned Mrs WLH herself.  I was given a goodie bag, which included two Hollyoaks condoms.   All I can say is, if that’s what Mercedes, Rae and Theresa were using, I’m sticking with Mates.  I came away feeling a bit dazed, and like I had seriously just lucked out.  It was a heap of fun.  The show isn’t made by oompa loompahs, but the staff we met were lovely.  They are proud of their baby, and rightly so.  This autumn looks amazing.

A last memory.  On our way out, a certain Irishman was getting into his car.  He gave us a wave, and then honked his horn as the minibusses went past.  I felt like I had won the chocolate factory.

EMMETT SCANLAN, SIR, YOU ARE A STAR.

Thank you for reading, and for now, goodnight from Myra’s Kitchen.