Fat Brenda's Cream Horn

(This post was originally posted by Fat Brenda on the Coronation Street Blog in June 2015, reposted with permission.)

I’ve just got back from seeing Michael at the hospital and I have to say, I think he’s doing pretty well for someone who’s married to Gail – cos he’s still alive!

“She kept me from saying goodbye to my son, Brenda” he whined.

“Oh Michael,” I said. “At least you’ve not been stabbed outside a nightclub or driven into a canal or tried to fake yer own death and actually died! And as for poor Martin, well he came off worse…”

“I thought he moved to Liverpool, Brenda,” he said.

“He did lovey, and if that wan’t bad enough, he’s now living in Warrington – it’s a fate worse than death is that!”

Mind you, after what Michael told me, I’m not surprised he had a heart attack; imagine Eileen trying to tear yer clothes off! I’ve seen the wild-eyed look she has when she tears the wrapper off a Kit-Kat let alone a fella and it in’t for the flamin’ faint-hearted I can tell you!

four fingers of fun!

It’s been a very sombre time in Weatherfield after the death of Kal who was killed in cold blood by Leanne who stopped him escaping from a burning building by telling him she’d marry him while climbing down a ladder depriving him of his only route to escape. Not one to take responsibility for her actions she’s decided to blame Carla who may or may not have forgotten to blow out a homemade candle that Sinead made to thank Steve for making her legs not work for ages, forcing her to lie on her back and be constantly hassled by an annoying Irish fella in a wheelchair. They say revenge is a dish best served cold but not for Sinead, for her revenge is a dish best served moulded into the shape of an eighties looking candle.

Kylie’s back and I have to say she’s looking very well for someone who’s been in a drugged up stupor for three months and lived on the streets of London wi’ nowt but a manky old Costa coffee cup full of five pees, coppers and broken dreams!

Talking of sleeping rough, poor Maddie’s gone to the great soup kitchen in the sky – poor lass. Sophie’s going round with a face like a wet weekend in Blackpool but I told her, “God moves in mysterious ways lovey, only the good die young and he probably wanted some knickers packing or his car cleaned so he took Maddie to heaven and one day when he needs a petulant lass to work in his shop he’ll take you an’ all!”

It didn’t help though, you can’t flamin’ help some folk!

"I'm flamin' Melanie!"

I was looking through the window of number thirteen hoping to catch a glimpse of Kevin changing out of his overalls - I’ve a thing about short hairy fellas – just ask Tyrone… I dream of running me fingers through his back hair...

Tyrone out of his overalls!

...  where was I..? So I was looking through the window and I was surprised to see Jenny wearing what looked like road kill on her head! She looked a bit like Uma Thurman in that Pup Friction… if Uma Thurman was totally off her rocker and from Weatherfield. She’s definitely up to summat cos she keeps calling and booking taxis in the name of Melanie!

“Hello, Streetcars”

“Oh hello, I’d like to book a taxi for thirteen Coronation Street please.”

“Yes Jenny, where are you going to, lovey?”

“No, it’s Melanie.”

“What’s Melony? Are you eating a sorbet or summat, Jenny?”

“No, me name’s Melanie.”

“Ok then Melanie, Where are you going to, Jenny?”

“Melanie.”

“Melanie? I’ve never heard of that, is it in Hale Barnes?”

“No, I told you, me name’s Melanie.”

“Oh, sorry Jenny. Where do you want to go, Melanie?”

“To the train station please, Brenda.”

“How do you know me name’s Brenda, Melanie?”

“Your name’s Brenda Melanie?”

“No, Jenny love, how does Melanie know me name?”

“Who’s Melanie?”

“Look Jenny, stop playing silly beggars, do you want this taxi or not? Hello? Hello?”

She flamin’ hung up on me! I tell you loveys, she’s not right that one!

I had that Todd in here the other day, gloating over the way he set his mam up by pretending to be someone from Dubai on a dating site! He was looking so pleased with himself that I thought it was probably the best time to tell him that I’d been doing the same to him for the past fortnight on Grindr!

“What..? You’re Rocco from Rosamund Street?” he gasped.

“Yes Todd I am! I’m flamin’ Rocco!”

“But I told you all about my… fantasies…”

“Yes you did Todd! You told me all about yer weird He-Man fetish! I have the flamin’ power an’ all that! Wearing yer undies and that blond wig you fashioned from one of Liz McDonald’s extension pieces! You flamin’ weirdo!”

“Ooooh but me scar on me face an’ all that!” he cried.

“What flamin’ scar!? Do you mean that tiny mark on yer face that looks like it’s been caused by a sudden rush of air from the gentle flapping of a chaffinch’s wing? There’s nowt flamin’ there! I’ve seen a paper cut leave a bigger scar than that!”

Todd's Grindr profile picture!

Anyhow, I’d better go; I’ve got Steve on his honeymoon, Michael in hospital and Lloyd in flamin’ Norway of all places so I’m working all hours just to keep this place afloat. And will I get any thanks for it? No I will not! It’s a lonely life when yer stuck in here wi’ nowt but a barrel of biscuits and a faulty kettle!

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