BIG BROTHER BORO HOUSE WEEK FIVE
Written by Andrew Morgan

The housemates looked on in bemusement as Townsend fell down, his flooring wiping the smugness from his self-satisfied face, his corpulent body soon to be twitching amidst a scene of carnage. Juninho let out a frightened gasp, too shocked to find the words to sum up the scene. He blamed Mendieta as he was sure that if he still had his dictionary with him he could have described the events with the eloquence of Shakespeare. But as it stood, he would have to make do with almost inaudible groans. He caught a look at Mendieta out of the corner of his eye and slyly punched him in the arm, annoyed that he could no longer have the fame that he craved. Mendieta looked back and with a petulant flick of his flowing blond hair, he turned the other cheek, amazed at Juninho's lack of maturity over such an important incident.

The air stood still for a few seconds, the only things audible being the sound of almost erotic heavy breathing and the dejected lorry groaning on its axles like a helpless drunk unable to alter his situation. Mills turned round to face the crowd, horror smeared into his face, the spittle of hate still tainting his bottom lip, glistening his initial intent like the most imnminent of beacons. He stared intently at the group, petrified through the knowledge of how bad this all looked.


The goddam Tactic's Truck! Stupid idea.

"I never did anything", he squealed in a high pitch voice, dancing up and down like a housewife who has left the quiche on too long in the oven. "I never did anything" he repeated, his attention flitting between the scene beneath his feet and the crowd of morbid onlookers aghast behind him. '"I didn't! I didn't do anything." He scrunched his nose up to make a face, his poise and demeanour like a thirteen year old kid, determined to exonerate his guilt in the eyes of his father who caught him doing something he shouldn't have been doing. "I didn't, I didn't", he pleaded again, his voice rising a further octave as if someone was squeezing his nuts, exterminating the last vestiges of life juice out of his body, crippling forever any spirit inside. "I DIDN'T", he crescendoed, paranoia inherent, stamping his feet like a child who was not getting his own way. The crowd looked back perplexed, still taking it all in, the scene of carnage, Mills actions and seeing Townsend without warning, indeed it was the latter that had disturbed the majority of the players.



'We know you didn't Danny,' Southgate said reassuringly but it was all too late to convince the ferocious right-back. Mills had already stormed off in a huff to play with his dolls, determined to undress their fragile bodies of the needles they were wearing and then play with them again in this den of torture. Concerned, Southgate moved forward but Ehiogu stopped him, knowing that the best thing in their defence would be staying behind, to leave the body untouched until the paramedics arrived. Ehiogu looked up and saw a distraught Des Lynum, kneeling down over the body trying to give him the kiss-of-life. This aroused certain members of the crowd but they dared not admit it, the scene of gallantry and bravery warming their hearts, as with every fifth kiss, Des constantly said 'there', a reassuring voice to Townsend like he reassured the nation. Suddenly, Des looked up. The fear was resident in his eyes, tears welling up in their distance and trickling down his face, soaking his moustache so that it resembled a slug. A slug creeping slowly across Andy Townsend's top lip.

"He was my friend' he said slowly, deliberately, "and they are about to retire him. Without the Premiership any more we are all lost, no longer needed nor wanted, merely thrown to the dogs. It was his idea to bring in Gareth, he thought his England experience would be vital, but because of this we are here and my best friend is dying".


TLF in his new clothes

Quedrue reeled back, the sentimentality of it all making him ill as he stuck two fingers in his mouth as if pretending to vomit. Unfortunately at the same moment Des was turning Townsend on to his side to get him into the recovery position and the full extent of his injuries were explicitly made known, the sea of blood opining against the cold evening air, forming channels of pain on wizened old skin. Juninho coiled back in horror, his shoulder hitting Quedrue's left hand and forcing it further down his throat. Quedrue started spluttering, his face turning white as his fellow players looked on to see if he was okay. And at the very moment that Juninho turned round, he expelled a vast proportion of sick, that landed squarely on his shoulder and starting trickling down to the floor. Juninho recoiled back again in horror but now in the other direction. He felt like his legs had given way beneath him as he crashed to the ground. Mendieta looked down and quickly withdrew his boot, a satisfied grin spread across his face, a grin that soon was effaced as a cascade of puke watered the group as Juninho fell. Des looked up, his mouth wide open as a few delicate pieces landed straight on his tongue. Shocked, he instinctively spat out the gunk, which unfortunately landed on Townsend who started twitching his revilement. Meanwhile, Maccarone, sensing a diving competition threw himself ungainly to the floor but, like Juninho managed to trip over Mendieta's outstretched boot and land flat on the prostrate Townsend, who burped up more sick straight into Des' mouth as he was trying to resuscitate him. Meanwhile, Southgate came round to pat Quedrue on the back, believing his vomiting was from the scene out in front, whilst everyone else stared at Southgate for the revelations just told, the answers popping into place very tidily.


The bloke from the Tactic's truck

For they had noticed during the England games his TV appearances and could never quite level it with him not being around the house, but these clandestine meetings made everything fall into place, and now they felt betrayed by the boss for allowing Southgate to leave, for allowing him the freedom they craved for his pointless excursions. He wasn't even any good at punditry anyway they thought. No good at all. So sensing this animosity, Southgate looked back, asking them "What?", in a way that intimated that he already knew the answer.

Yet just as Quedrue was about to vex the frustrations of all, a voice over the tannoy broke their discussion. 'Please could all housemates go to their rooms until the situation is resolved. It is to be reminded that you are not allowed to have contact with the outside world unless you are Gareth Southgate, who is the manager's favourite. Please could you vacate the scene immediately. Thank you'. Annoyed, the housemates looked up but felt that it was necessary to comply. They left the grieving Des Lynam and went to their rooms, ready to continue the discussion that they were just about to start...