We are NOT watching Miranda
She went for the anodyne opening, trying to slip quietly under his radar with a surreptitious ‘Sugar?’
‘What my love?’ he responded, no sign of suspicion.
‘Have you got the remote control?’ She’d tried but failed to sound innocent.
Still, he only attempted a deflection rather than a straight ‘No’.
‘What for sweetheart? You don’t need it, we’re watching the footy.’
She countered by trying for a non-confrontational, matter of fact approach. ‘Miranda’s on at half-eight. You know we always watch Miranda.’
‘No, we don’t ALWAYS watch Miranda and I told you, I’m watching the footy’
That was it! It was Red Alert Mr Spok and set phasers to ready.
‘Just GIVE me the remote control!’
‘Look honeybunch, I’m not arguing.’ (He was) ‘We’re NOT watching Miranda – OK? It’s Chelsea and Man United – it’s live – and I’m watching it! You can watch bloody Miranda anytime.’
‘Don’t you Look honeybunch me. YOU can watch the bloody, bleeding, buggering football anytime! Watch it on Match of the Day, record it. Just give me MY remote control, we ARE watching Miranda.’
‘But if you don’t watch footy live, it’s not worth watching.’ he pleaded.
‘It’s not worth watching anyway – twenty two blokes chasing a ball around.’
‘Oh the Twenty two blokes chasing a ball around jibe. Well Miranda’s just two big girls chasing a bloke around going Phwoarr!!! all the time. How do you think that makes me feel? Eh? Like a sex object, that’s how.’
‘YOU? A sex object? Really? And – it’s One big girl actually, Stevie’s not big, you’re the one who said she was fit. So it’s all right for YOU to go ‘Phwoarr!!! at Stevie and how am I supposed to feel? Oh, and for your information, Miranda and Stevie don’t run – they gallop.’
‘Sugar-lovey-honeybunch . . .’ – He was trying to retreat and regroup – put down his phaser.
‘What!’ – Her phaser was still set at ready.
‘We don’t want to watch Miranda. We want to watch the footy, don’t we? Look, if Miranda and Stevie were real people, sitting at home tonight you don’t REALLY think they’d be watching Miranda do you? No! They’d be watching all those fit blokes running round after a ball. THAT’S what they’d be doing.’
‘What fit blokes? You don’t call Wayne Rooney fit?’
‘No . . . not like Rooney, like him.’
‘Him, there, in the red shirt, Ashley Young.’
‘OH . . . MY. . . GOD! Now, he IS ‘what I call’ gorgeous! No! He’s not what I CALL gorgeous, he IS gorgeous. Oh . . . and him! LOOK AT HIM!’
‘That one,in the blue shirt. Who’s he?’
‘That’s Juan Mata.’
‘Phwoarr!!! Woof, Woof! Now THAT is ‘what I call’ a sex object! Juan Mata – nice!’
‘All right, I give in, you convinced me, change the channel. Here you are. Here’s the remote control. Go on then, we’ll watch Miranda.’
‘What do you mean no?’
‘I mean no I don’t want to change the channel!
I mean . . . we are NOT watching Miranda!’