Brendan watch: Broxy – animal attraction

Posted on December 4, 2011 by Myras_Kitchen 4 Comments

There are things that you wait for for ages, and when they finally get here, they’re a bit disappointing.   I dunno, like that last bit of Harry Potter.  Or the World Cup final.  Or the Christmas special of Dr Who.  And then there are things you wait for, your appetite sharpened with every passing second, your sense of anticipation humming, that never let you down.  Like a piece of marmite toast.  Or an episode of the IT Crowd.  Or Dennis Taylor beating Steve Davies in the snooker on the final black.  Or the return of Brendan to Hollyoaks.  And the resurrection of the hate/love affair that is: Broxy.

Warren hadn’t been having the best week, all things considered.  Not only had he been comprehensively dumped by Mitzeee, but it turns out that Joel was his son after all.  Marie Fielding, 1993, apparently.   You didn’t need a DNA test to work this out.  They’d taken to wearing almost identical leather/denim combos and sucking mints in a similarly disconcerting manner.  But as Wazza stared with resignation at the scientific proof that he had spawned a Mini-Me, he decided on a grim lonely celebration, and popped a cork in a way that he probably should have thought twice about 18 years ago.  And then THIS happened.

A voice: “Champagne, Foxy? … you shouldn’t have.”

Husky?  Yes.  Dark?  Yes.  Oirish?  YES.  Oh yes.  People, Brendan Brady is BACK.

It’s hard to describe Brendan’s voice.  It’s a bit like having a bottle of 30-year old Irish whiskey mixed with cream and injected directly into your veins.  It basically paralyses you.  But in a really sexy way.  Like a gold bullet, wrapped in a warm dark chocolate sauce.  It’s a powerful weapon, and like most of his weapons – the hooded gaze, to hypnotize; the finger waggle, to raise the heart rate; and the face stroke, to lull into submission – it is 3 parts seduction, 2 parts aggression, and 1 part plain hunger, with a sprinkling of humour to garnish.  You can never be too sure if Brendan wants to shag you, kill you or eat you, and we suspect there’s not much difference, although there’s only one person so far who’s survived to tell the tale, and he’s not saying (go on Ste, what’s he like?  Spill).  You’re probably going to die, basically, but you’ll die with a smile on your face.

Most people, once under the influence of Brendan’s weapon of choice, only require the simple door-opening double-finger-push to the solar plexus, and they’re on their backs.  But there’s one person who seems stubbornly impermeable to Brendan’s arsenal.  He’s the immovable object to Brendan’s irresistible force.  Warren Fox don’t give it up easy.  And as a quick reminder of the state of this romance, Warren’s spent the last couple of months wooing Brendan with nightly visitations in jail, but of the thuggish goon rather than the angelic ratboy variety – more declaration of war than love letter, really.  Now, Brendan’s back to thank him.  And then to kill him, most probably.

We should make clear that the Brendan who has come back is clearly a man still in the wilderness, ie, he is bonkers.  Even more bonkers than before.  He is also even hairier than before, the trademark tache submerged in a secret garden of shaggy fuzz that we would dearly love (Ste) to stroke.  The scar on his cheekbone is nothing to the scars on his demented psyche.  His all-black winter wardrobe (oh, we approve) mirrors the darkness of his heart.  Deep this, innit?

Anyway, there was no messing about in the renewed Broxy dance of courtship.  We were straight back into macho eyeballing and close talking.  In fact, you had to get close to the TV to hear most of it, because it seemed like Brendan was determined to take on the Whispering One on his own husky terms.

“So, do we need to get down to business?”  Warren started, getting in the first move.

Brendan laughed, part coy, part insane. “Wha’, no foreplay?  You really did miss me, didn’t you?  Huh huh.”

Less of the gay sub-text then, and more of the glaringly obvious desire to shag and/or murder each other.  Wow.  Shit just got real (in our heads, right?).  There was some other stuff about Brendan wanting to tell Foxy a story about a scorpion and a frog, which clearly indicated either he really was nuts, or he’d been reading Aesop’s fables inside, or both, but they were rudely interrupted by an extra complication, so we had to wait for the climax.

See, the Broxy dynamic has gained and new and rather delicious dimension, in the shape of Foxy Jr, Joel.  No sooner had the Bay City Roller appeared, bounding narrow-hipped and leather-jacketed up the Chez Chez stairs, than Brendan’s mouth starting visibly watering at the thought of his neeps and tatties.    Watching Joel with Daddy Fox from behind the bar, BB whipped off his jacket to reveal his intentions, a lovely rack of prison muscles, and the gayest cap-sleeved T shirt in the history of the universe.  “So that’s Warren’s son?” he asked Cheryl, purring.  “How long was oi in fer?”  Oh, Brendan.  Too long, baby.  Too long.  But not that long.

He quickly took to hunting down his prey like a hungry lion stalking a tender young buck separated from the herd, the twinkish Joel caught in the crosshairs of his predatory gaze.  In fact we hadn’t seen a look on his face quite that keen since he first started chasing Ste down to the cellar for stock-taking.  We’re thinking Ste might not be too impressed by this latest development, actually, but then he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the conjugal visits, and to use one of Brendan’s animal metaphors, a ratboy in the hand is worth two in the bush, wha’?

“Have you told him the ways of the birds and the bees, the old *whistle whistle*?” Brendan asked Pa Foxy, later, leaning in intimately.  “Cos I’m sure you’d hate to see him get … stung.” *chuckles obscenely.*

Warren, looking increasingly bilious, did his futile best to warn Brendan off.

“Now that you’re back, feel free to stand around and do nothing,” he said, reverting to the passive aggression that we’ve come to expect of them.  Brendan simply unleashed an unsafe amount of pheromone, and his tongue – usually one of his phase 2 weapons.  It was hard not to believe that Joel wouldn’t be stuck to the end of that tongue and thoroughly consumed by the end of the episode, but no.  If Brendan has learned nothing else from eight weeks in jail, and from the fine arts of seduction, it’s that it is usually worth biding your time.  It all adds to the enjoyment.

So it was Brendo and Foxy Senior who inevitably ended up in the Gents together, to close the deal.  Brendan, insanely admiring his broken but still beautiful face in the mirror (“Oh hey, good-lookin’”), inhaled deeply, eyes closed, as he caught the scent of approaching Fox, probably a mixture of Blue Stratos, pork pie, and extra strong mints.  Anyway, this is how it went down:

Brendan (in a trance, not even bothering to look round): “Foxy … I was wonderin’ how long you’d be.”

Foxy (practical, as ever): “This ain’t gonna work, is it?”

Brendan: “And whoi is that?”

Foxy (looking bullish): “Oh, we can go toe to toe if you want … but we both know when the lights go up, there’s only one of us goin’ ome.” [Oooo.  Fightin’ talk].

Brendan (wearily): “Whoi can’t we just leave the pahst behoind us?”

Foxy: “An’ why would I believe yer?”

Brendan (in own bonkers world, turning round):  “You see, the scorpion, he wanted to get to the other soide of the river.  The frog offers him a lift.  Half way across the river, the scorpion stings the frog, and they both drown.  Do you wanna know why?”

Foxy (unimpressed): “Because … it’s less painful than ‘earin the rest of this storeh?” [BOOM.  Everyone’s a comedian].

Brendan (unstoppable): “You’re the scorpion.  He can’t change no matter what he does, even if that means the death of im.  Oi used ter be loike tha’.  But now [insane beatific smile], now oi’m the frog.  One of loife’s … [spitting it venomously] optimists, dreamin’ of hoppin’ on over to the other soide.”  [OK, has he lost it?]

Foxy (sceptical, as well he might be): “That’s great.  So where does that leave us?”

Brendan (in Zen mode): “Oi’m toired of foightin’ Foxy.  Oi’m toired of foigtin’ an the people oi care about getting’ hurt.  [Gets up in Foxy’s face].  Help me, help you [extends hand of peace like the ultimate weapon] to get to the other soide.”

Foxy looks at hand as if radioactive.  Gurns.  Grips it.  They are still going to kill each other, right?

Brendan [leans in, confidentially]: “Bet ye’re glad oi washed moi hands, eh?” [laughs, insanely.  Breaks off.]  “See yer.”  [Wanders off].

Yes, people, we give you … the over-extended use of the animal metaphor.  Foxes, scorpions, frogs, big cats, birds, bees, and goldfish (see quotes); it’s a bloomin’ menagerie this week.  We’ll admit we never really thought of Brendan as a hoppity little frog before, but he’s got the tongue for it, and the rumour is they can go at it for hours.  So, yeah.  We also have a return to the highest heights of Broxy amazingness, after a dip with that hot money plot in the summer which was frankly, a bit rubbish.  But they are BACK, and this time, it’s terminal.  We know Foxy’s leaving, right?  (*sob*), but if you gotta go, go locked in a fatal embrace with Brendan Brady, every time.   We literally cannot wait for this to kick off.

So, where’s Brendan been, since he disappeared from Her Majesty’s Pleasure?  At home, apparently, but incognito.  Observing his own kids from a lonely distance, watching Declan play the football that HE SAID HE DOESN’T LIKE BUT DOES ALL THE TIME.  This scene with Cheryl near broke my godamn heart, but then they are my favourite Oaks brother-sister combo, like, EVER.  Brendo seemed lost in his own existential angst.  “Oi kept thinkin’ to moiself,” he said, gazing somewhere into the inside of his own head, “how did I get here … how … did I get here?  It’s …” Strangely, for him, he seemed to have run out of answers.

“Y’know, oi’ve been hearin’ this, this noise, all day,” he said, as Cheryl looked increasingly and justifiably worried, “and oi’ve … oi’ve finally figured out what it is … soilence.  No more sound of grown men, screamin’ threats or croiin fer their mammies … oi almost forgot what it sounded loike, soilence, it’s … it’s … it’s … noice.”  He looked impossibly sad.  But he said he was fine.  And whatever happened before, he was going to make it right.

Seriously?  Brendan Brady?  Avenging angel, making it right?  Awesome.  Now he’s really scaring us.

Quotes:

Brendan, on Warren’s surprise offspring: “Usually when a bloke takes a girl up the fairground, all she comes home with is a goldfish.”

Brendan:“Joel … oi loike the sound o’ that.  Kind o’ just … rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?” [does obscene things

with the Brady tongue].
Warren, looking like he wants to throw: “Funny, that.”
Brendan, gazing at the pretty: “Good lookin’ lad … must take after his Ma.  Now THAT was funny.”