Fat Brenda's Cream Horn

A flamin' tranny

Now loveys, here in Weatherfield we pride ourselves on our open-mindedness and tolerance. We have interracial relationships like Tyrone and Kirsty and Xin and Graeme. Even as far back as Curly and Shirley in’t eighties and Deirdre and Samir into the nineties we've stood proud against prejudice and held the door of progress open so others can follow. In’t naughties we’ve had all the sexuals an’ that; trans, bi, homo, lesbiotic and then there’s the vestites – or trannies as they’re known. In my day a tranny was a radio. Mind you a gay was a happy fella who wore bright colours an’ that. Like that Quentin Walker’s Crisp - that English fella in New York who lived wi’ that Sting or summat… Where was I?

Oh aye, tolerance.

So loveys, now it’s out there that, for a Salford backstreet, we’re surprisingly open-minded, a minority group has settled on’t cobbles and there’s concerns that the world’s first “Ginger Ghetto” is being created on our doorstep!

In the old days when Jenny Bradley joined our very own flame-haired Rita we didn't think too much about it 'cos fortunately it didn’t last and Jenny turned out to be a wrong ‘un like her dad. The folk of Weatherfield breathed a sigh of relief as two became one and house prices began to grow again.

There's been a few “are they, aren’t they?” moments an' all. When the Battersby clan arrived there was speculation that Les was a bit like a ginger but it could have been dirty blond or sandy or summat. As for Leanne, she was like a low rent ginger spice when she first came – all Union Jack dress and no knickers - so we weren’t sure whether her orange locks were real or dyed!

Anyhow, Les was eventually joined by the Browns who weren’t brown at all; they were ginger! Oh loveys, we should’ve known! We should have flamin’ known! It was the beginning of the ghettoisation of ginger folk!

Now we’ve got Fiz who has Hope who’s either gonna turn out like her mam and be ginger or she’s gonna take after her dad and be off her rocker AND ginger! Then there’s Joseph, he’s already looking like his dad - ginger. And they’ve been joined by Gary Windass – another one - who’s gonna be having a baby with the sister of Katy (her who’s had a baby with Ches) and that's gonna involve Tina and it seems like they’re set to spread! Two houses already! Next it’ll be three! Mind you, Rita's flat makes it three dun’t it? Oh loveys, I’ve nowt against ‘em honest I haven’t but house prices have been plummeting!

What about that Tommy? Is he a bit ginger?

Our Elsie Tanner was a redhead but she mixed, loveys! She integrated, like our Rita does! This new lot seem to keep 'emselves to 'emselves and soon it's gonna be a blond and brunette no-go area!

I know what yer thinking: "But Brenda, what about Eddie, the love of yer life, he were a bit ginger wan't he?" and I have to agree with you but what with him having long hair there was the whiff of summat exotic about him - that could've been his Hai Karate aftershave I suppose.

In the flamin' Ghetto

So, Pub of the year for’t Rovers, there’s more chance of Sunita Alahan winning rear of the flamin’ year! The Flying Horse is well better than’t Rovers 'cos you can get meat down there from Polish Pete who also sells ciggies from the back of his Passat. I thought I’d help Gloria though so I filled out a comment card and I wrote a poem for her.

I like Newton

I like Ridley,

Dairlea Dunkers,

Are bit flamin’ fiddly.

I like Tina,

Sean and Stella,

But I wish they’d employ,

A good looking fella

Talking of good looking fellas, it's nice to see Kirk’s got a lass int it? That lovely Beth is a right lucky mare! He’s a keeper is Kirk, a fella so simple he thought you had to have proof of age I.D. to buy flamin’ wine gums!

I’ve been getting a lot of stick on Tweeter for telling Jenna where Lloyd was on Friday night but in me defence I am like a young Cilla Black on Surprise Surprise! I don’t mean I sing a bit out of tune in a twin-set – although I do that an’ all – I mean I like to reunite folk!  Plus he’s been proper miserable to me since this Mandy’s been on’t scene. At least he’s not been as bad as when that Cheryl lass was here and he was crying all’t time!

Ken popped into the cab office last night and told me that his old flamin’ flame, Wendy Crozier Theodopolopolopolopolopolopolopolopodus is back on’t scene! Oh loveys, he’s had more lasses than that Darren Day! All Ken has to do is walk out onto any street in any city in any country and chuck a stone and you can bet yer life he’ll hit someone he’s had a fling with on't head! Poor Deirdre, she’ll be smoking a ciggie right now blissfully unaware that her Ken’s gonna be fandangling with a Crozier before Halloween!

I’ll tell you who’s cute, Ruby! What a little belter she is! Mind you, not as much of a belter as Kirsty if the rumours about her belting Tyrone are true! How could anyone harm one hair on Tyrone’s back is beyond me! The lad is kind, honest and caring. He’s so vulnerable an’ all. What that lad needs is a woman who’ll look after him; wash his overalls, fetch batter bits with his cod on a Friday when it’s Wong’s night. Oh loveys, if only he’d pick a nice lass (me) rather than all the wrong ‘uns like that Molly who selfishly soiled a load of Dev’s stock when she was crushed under them tins of Batchelor’s Cock-a-leekie.

Is it me or is there summat a bit perverted about Ryan and Tracy? She’s old enough to be his mam! I saw her last Friday grinning from ear to ear when I was getting me kebab wi’ chips and curry sauce and I felt like ramming me donner down her throat and shouting, “WHY DOES EVERYONE GET A FELLA EXCEPT ME?!”  You know it’s bad when murderers are more successful in love than you!

Dick Van flamin' Dyke/ Rob Donovan

I quite like the fizzer on that Rob Donovan in’t factory though. In half light he looks like a cut-price Sean Bean but I can’t quite put me finger on which part of Manchester he’s from wi’ that accent of his. If I shut me eyes he reminds me of a young Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins – if Dick was playing a northern knicker factory boss rather than a cockney tramp, artist, chimney sweep fella. He’s all, “Eloo gurls. Raght, back tu yer machines.” He must be from’t same place in’t North as Stella “Mah pub mah rules” Price.

I’m going now before I get lynched by a load of ginger folk. 

Remember loveys, when god gives you lemons, slice 'em up and put 'em in yer gin!

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