A miasma hangs over Ambridge; an enchantment of sorts. Its inhabitants seem bizarrely foggy about events in the outside world. For example, the word Palestine cannot be spoken in the village. The Malik family have been saying a few prayers during iftar, among which “Let it stop soon,” is the nearest anyone has come to mentioning The Situation. They have now moved back to their house on the recently sewage-engulfed Beechwood estate – departing their temporary accommodation at the Ambridge Hall B&B perhaps just before the well-meaning joining-in-with-Ramadan by Lynda Snell (MBE) got oppressive. The Snells, on the other hand, are missing the Maliks so much that Constanza upped and died (she’s a llama).
Ah, the sewage. Aside from its olfactory effects, the longer-term consequences continue. No one wants to eat cheese or yoghurt artisanally produced amid human excrement, remarkably, so Helen Archer’s organic dairy business is in trouble. The plan is to make one of Clarrie Grundy or Susan Carter redundant, a typically humane move from the Bridge Farm Archers. The threatened job loss has only strengthened Emma Grundy’s resolve to campaign against the evils of Borchester Water. She and Pat Archer turned up at a demo dressed as giant bog rolls, and soon, a plan for a bellringing protest at St Stephen’s church was hatched. Alan Franks, at his trendy vicar best, loved the idea, and a 10-hour campanological marathon, plus an outburst of citizen handbell ringing, was devised. Not everyone was delighted. Martyn Gibson, twirling his moustache and swirling his evil capitalist’s cloak, swept into the church on the verge of an apoplexy. The bells rang out, nonetheless.
A copy of the Guardian must have been smuggled into George Grundy’s prison, because he made rather a chilling joke about maths prodigy Brad Horrobin becoming his financial accomplice just as soon as he sets up a family crime cartel – a future for Brad that was fearfully mooted by this column back in November. At any rate, when Brad confessed that he could no longer keep George’s video business alive, the young inmate didn’t seem to care – strongly suggesting that an alternative, and I’ll warrant nefarious, business idea has taken root. I would hate to think of dear Brad morphing into Stringer Bell, but stranger things have happened.
This is the last A Month in Ambridge for a while. I’ll be back in the autumn. In the meantime I’ll be writing a book, and spending much of my time in Ukraine. I’ll keep listening, of course. In Ambridge, the agricultural year will roll on: the sheep will still need shearing, the harvest collecting and Natasha’s stilettos polishing, even when the rest of the world teeters on the edge.
