Sewing in the Media

More tales of badly-researched dodgy-ness..

Scene I– The Tailor’s shop (Aha! But wait, there’s more!) in a sleepy little English village (is there any other kind? Not in Tube-land there isn’t).

The inspector’s wife needs to get her coat fixed.

Jovial rich-gent looks like he’s fixing for something entirely different. Either that or he’s terribly short-sighted.

However, she quickly gets distracted by something shiny (and immediately proceeds to feel it up).

Refrain from sweating upon the dry goods please!

Whereupon dodgy rich gent magically whips out a swatch of (self-designed) tweed (who’d have thunk) to impress her with.

Yes, yes, one of my own designs! Care to touch it? Certainly not! You are too familiar Sir!

Creepy Lord such and such (who also has a self-designed tweed) responds with the following enlightened riposte, “Yes well, the birds will fall dead out of the trees dear chap, no need to bring a gun the sight of that tweed should suffice” or some such hilarity.

Get that away from me, it’s common.

Polite laughter ensues.

End scene I.

Scene II- At home with inspector what’s his face.

The inspector suffers grievous bodily harm after incorrectly assuming that the missus will darn his tattered rags.

Scene III- Random house in the village with conveniently placed bushes on either side of the back entryway.

Dodgy old lady from the tailor’s shop visits seamstress I to discuss some dodgy deeds. Seamstress I’s hubby is sent packing to the pub forthwith.

Sewing machine on dining table = chances of dinner being served < statistically insignificant.

He looks more put out than he has any right to be. At least he wasn’t smacked in the face with a tattered shirt.

Tea brewed- check. Hubby banished- check. Sewing machine in plain sight- check. Let the drama commence.

The ladies commence ~~plotting~~ chatting only to realise (belatedly) that some creeper is perving at them from the bushes (I was hoping the two of them were having an affair and that it was the husband perving from the bushes but this series is way too pedestrian for high-jinks of that calibre). Pretty much everyone else in the village seems to be getting some on the side though- apart from poor inspector what’s his face, and dodgy old lady’s son. The latter has been stood up by tailor’s-assistant-hottie again and is drowning his sorrows at the pub where, surprise surprise, constable sweet cheeks finds him).

Scene IV- At the police station following the discovery of dodgy old lady’s body in the parish garden.

A map! Excellent !(Yes well done man! Let’s all strut around with our fingers in our suspenders and an air of superiority for the rest of the episode).

This is a scene from later in show. See that deathboard? Well sweet cheeks here contributed that map.

I’ll head out to the pub and check if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary. Good man!

No, the right response would have been, “At 10AM? Isn’t it a bit early in day for getting sh*tfaced? You’ve only just started your shift and all you’ve managed to get done is whack a bloody map on the ~~whiteboard~~ deathboard”.

Eventually, after a whole lot of bumbling around and bubbling incoherently, the coppers figure out that creepy Lord so and so owns a sh*t load of property (i.e. the whole village and everyone in it) including a secluded icehouse in the woods (insert weak jokes about warm drinks etc. Wait no, the coppers have done that for you) which they decide to investigate at a later stage. Facepalm bonanza! At this point I had my money on icicle as a murder weapon (because this show is actually hideous enough to seriously consider cliches like that).

Scene V- The morgue.

By this time idle-wild detective man (previously known as sweetcheeks/ drunkat10) has managed to sponge off:

drinks at the pub
tea and biscuits (and a free shoe cleaning + polish) at creepy Lord so and so’s estate
a cashmere swatch from tailor’s-assistant-hottie (she crumbled in the face of his pithy platitudes) at the tailor’s shop (and who knows what other favours from the other indentured serfs in the village).

Smooth like sandpaper and the village ladies love it.

Fabric foreplay (she knows how it works-the lads are only interested when they’re likely to get a free suit out of it). The assistant gives him a ~~swatch~~ bloody great hank of propah British tweed just cutting it willy nilly out of the centre of the bolt… (possibly making dolls clothes out of the rest, now there’s a bleeding great hole right in the middle…). I would have liked to have a thought bubble over the poor tailor’s head (having to listen to their dreary banter while hand-sewing trim in a vertical position) but some things are better left to the imagination.

The coroner (this man has contaminated more crime scenes than I care to recount- haphazard is his middle name) says death was caused by blows to the head + a pointy tool of some sort (gotta give it to the British,they make sure the job’s well and truly done)- icicle, score! Virtual self-high-five!and then I remembered this a sewing-related crime so perhaps it was a tailor’s awl (except it’d have to be made of titanium or something to go through the victim – I don’t fancy the odds of a standard issue clover awl making it through through her trench coat fabric).

Scene VI- The icehouse.

After more bad acting,* futzing around and generally bemoaning the vagaries of fate etc, the coppers eventually converge at the icehouse where Creepy Lord so and so has the scene set with heathen-smiting music, crazy-ass creepy candles (Martha Stewart would have a fit at the mess of wax everywhere) and angry quoting of biblical verses out of what appears to be a large print copy of the Gutenberg original.

Turns out Creepy’d been bonking seamstress II for yonks and dodgy old lady found out about it so he killed her (in god’s name). Just as he’s about to bloodily dispatch seamstress II in the same manner (who by the way has conveniently i.e. idiotically aligned herself in front of the altar with her back to him *bonus facepalm*) the coppers turn up, followed shortly by tailor’s-assistant-hottie, who it turns out was also bonking Creepy.

Darling when I said let’s swing I didn’t mean with constable drunkat10 and inspectorwhatshisface.

Hottie’s appearance causes mass hysteria among the general constabulary (but she gave me a swatch, from the centre of the bolt– if that’s not love then what is?**).

Oh and in case you were wondering, the murder instrument? A pair of dressmaking shears (possibly also from biblical times) stolen from the tailor’s shop. … hohoho

A large cross-wise cut like that made by ~~gardening shears~~ gigantic Medieval tailor’s shears.

*Actually I wouldn’t even go as far as to call it acting, it was just people swerving dramatically in various directions while the poor camera person tried to keep up..

**Punching you in the face when you ask her to sew you something. That’s love. It’s for your own good and believe me it hurts her more than it hurts you.

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