Posts Tagged ‘Mickey’


July 11, 2007


Well done Mickey, you’ve managed to get rid of the only desirable cast member with your idiotic talk of marriage. She also sold knocked off DVDs and grew skunk in the larder. The perfect woman. Alright, she couldn’t act for toffee, but who really cares? Ian Beale’s got away without an equity card for his entire life, so it needn’t stop anyone.

How could you foul it up? I suspect, on Li’s part, the commitment issue was probably just a ruse to escape that incessant squeaking you subject people to. I’m of the opinion that young Mickey was starved as a child and was forced to swallow a pet guinea pig whole. Lodged in his oesaphagus, it lives off stray flakes from the bacon baps he buys from Cathy’s caff, intercepting any signal from his voicebox with a shrill squeak. It’s the only explanation.

Yesterday’s ‘enders was one in an occasional series of ‘comic’ episodes – that is to say nobody got savaged by a stray dog, not one child got maimed by Charlie’s 20 mph cab and nobody fell off the top of a helter skelter. Instead we had Stella trying to sing Barbie Girl over that peripheral fat character’s karaoke machine. Where did that chubby mate of Shirley’s come from? It’s as if Oliver Hardy’s corpse, reanimated, had a shave and bumbled into Elstree studios. We also saw Phil, on his stag night, treated to a stripper whilst wearing a really rather far out looking hat, man. On top of all this hilarity, Minty chased a sheep through the Square.

Obviously we needed a bit of misery now that the mental doctor’s defected, so we also had a dribble of the Max and Stacey affair. Max shouted a message through Stacey’s letterbox. I’ve never seen a more alarming sight than the bulging eyes of the red haired lightbulb head peering through a mail slit. It would give any normal girl nightmares for weeks, but for Stace it was simply a reminder of a great bunk up. If anyone  can think of a more perverse love triangle (only involving human adults) I’ll doff my cap to them.


February 7, 2007

Mickey Eastenders 

I remember tuning in to Eastenders in my youth and I remember all the brilliant characters who were under the age of 18. There was Wickesy with his Jimmy Hill good looks, charming all the ladies before he became  PC Heartbeat. Then there was Sharon Watts, a large-lovely, glamorous and bulbous. There was only a whisker of difference between her look and Pat’s, but – good Lord – what a whisker. Then there was Michelle played by the gorgeous Susan Tully. A dwarf in drag, her cheeks looked to me like fossilised apples. She had attitude, she had vim, she had Lofty. What about Ian Beale in his glory days? Happy-go-lucky, carefree, always on the lookout for a place where an honest shilling could be made. Proper East-end youngsters they were. I wanted to move down South from the fens of Lincolnshire to hang out with this crowd of street-smart youngsters, abandoning the potato-picking and the frosty fields for littered streets where kids say ‘ain’t’ instead of ‘isn’t’.

This may be pure nostalgia, but I’m certain the kids back then were a million times more interesting than the sub-Hollyoaks clan of idiots they parade these days.

Mickey, with his gravity defying haircut, continues to speak like a fourteen year old boy with a nine year old girl’s voice. When he utters words, he emits the sound of Luke Goss running his fingernails down a blackboard while stepping on polystyrene blocks in clogs. They could use him as an alarm to wake up the deaf. Add this to the fact that the scriptwriters never give him anything more complicated to handle than tripping over a boiled sweet in the video shop, and I fail to see the point of his existence either in a fictional or material world. Is he eye candy? I wouldn’t have thought so, with his strawberry blonde Manga-mullet and mid-90’s combats. Comic relief? If he makes you smile rather than wince, you’re a stronger man than I. His only function is to pad a scene out, providing one extra body in the pub. He’ll lift a glass when Peggy proposes a toast to Phil’s latest shirt or be a chuckler when Minty pukes up his pint of Churchill into Jim’s wife, Dot, but he’ll never, ever have a central storyline. 

I am bewildered by the existence of Mickey off of Eastenders. Bewildered and bemused.