I’m not being funny but I think I’d have to fight Lucille for Cyril. I’d want to feed him some pies though for I am fat and I’d squash him.
I think Trixie is about to get flattened by the widower.
Not as much as I fancy flattening Shelagh. Nippy sprout. Calling out Nancy for her ‘mistake’ and the patient transferring to St Cuthberts.
Aye lass. You devoted yourself to God and then went to feck a doctor. If that wasn’t enough of a ‘mistake’, you chose ^that* doctor.
The only thing I have in common with her - apart from being a Jockanory - is the garden chair. Though technically they were my nan’s ones.
I like Nancy at the moment. She’s not sooking lemons and acting holier than thou. Predictable story about the delivery.
shelagh, I hope you go into Timmy’s room and find your carefully bound copies of the Lancet with pages stuck together at the mere mention of a genital.
For if I have to look at their smug coupons for ever more then surely I will be in travail.
I loved Phyllis snoozing through the football. 
Poor Fred and his minimiser...
The Michael story broke my heart. It is still a bloody stigma for some.
I can’t be arsed with DrT’s retrospective progressiveness but I thoroughly believe Phyllis being so forward thinking.
And SMJ finding her faith once more.
She will be on nodding terms with St Peter shortly. Meanwhile she looks beautiful in the glow of her faith.
But the placenta thing also made me cry for so many reasons.