#Red Letter Day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amplifyme · 1 year ago

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Had a post cross my dash this evening that made me think of this one. An oldie but (hopefully) goodie. Sunday night smut.

Red Letter Day (read on AO3).

Explicit. MSR. Humor. Post-Fight the Future. Pre-Season 6. Absolutely no redeeming value. Originally published summer of 1998.

Summary: Mulder discovers the hidden benefits of Scully's PMS.

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If I was anywhere near the crack genius most people seem to think I am, I would have taken the time to check my calendar before I ever opened my mouth.

News flash: Dana Scully is hell on wheels the two or three days prior to the monthly visit from her "friend."

That's how she refers to her period: as her friend. If I had a friend that made me psychotic on a regular basis, I'd definitely be looking around for a new one. And you'd think a well- educated doctor could come up with a term a little more clinical than that.

Whatever.

There we were in our brand-spanking-new office (which I hate with a passion that knows no bounds because it’s bare and lacks the charm it had before the fire), knee-deep in cardboard boxes filled with freshly printed copies of all the X files Scully and I'd had the good sense to save on disk and stash at home.

We'd spent the better part of the previous weekend at the offices of the Gunmen, shooting the shit while the boys' printer got a workout. Call me paranoid, but I have no definitive proof that the printers at the Bureau aren't out to get me.

Note to self: send Byers a decent bottle of scotch, the collected works of Korn to Langly, and a copy of Alien Probe to Frohike.

Scully was cross-legged on the floor, stuffing papers into candy- striped file folders and consulting a list of case numbers, checking off each one as it was compiled. I'd made the mistake of volunteering to put said folders into some kind of order once she was done with them. And that's where we ran into trouble.

You see, Scully's idea of a filing system is way out of line with mine. I've always grouped files by phenomenon; Scully prefers to do it by case number. Consequently, our old file cabinets in our office (may its previous flotsam and jetsam rest in peace) were not exactly what one might call organized. That sort of thing doesn't faze me too much, but it makes her crazy. Had I bothered to note the date, I would have known not to cross her when she questioned me about it.

Live and learn.

"You're doing those by case number, right?"

I wasn't really paying much attention to her question. I had my back turned to her and had gotten lost in the last file she'd handed me, mourning anew the untimely, bizarre death of Clyde Bruckman and his equally bizarre take on my own demise. I made a noncommittal noise in reply.

"Mulder? You're filing those by case number?"

Her question finally registered. "Uh, no. Should I be?"

I flinched at the stinging slap of her hand hitting the hard surface of the floor. "Dammit, Mulder, I thought we agreed to do it by case number."

My radar went active and the alarms started going off. I had no idea why she'd flown off the handle so quickly, but I was pretty sure I was about to find out.

"We did?" I was being careful, buying myself some time to try to figure out what was going on. I turned and gave her my most guileless face as I got busy trying to recall what I might have done recently to piss her off. Hard as it may be to believe, I came up empty.

She gave me a long, icy look and gritted through her teeth, "Yes, we did. The last time you were at my apartment, as a matter of fact. Don't you remember?"

Okay, that was an easy one. I knew the right (read: best) answer and spit it out gratefully. "I'm sorry, Scully. My head must have been somewhere else."

So far so good. My excuse was legit. Especially if you take into account that the last time I'd been at her place, sex had been the only thing on our minds. And I've discovered that Scully gets very talkative afterwards, while I tend to zone out during my usual post-coital return to all my favorite places on her body. I'd much rather nuzzle the underside of her breasts or the curve of her ass than discuss the best way to organize our file cabinets. So I let her ramble on and she lets me poke and nibble. It's generally an equitable trade and, to be perfectly honest, I'd always figured she was paying as little attention to what I was doing as I was to what she was saying.

But like I said, live and learn. Because my smartass mouth then overrode my common sense. "Now that I think about it," I elaborated before I could stop myself, bending low and whispering. "I'm pretty sure it was between your legs."

"Jesus Christ, Mulder, is that all you think about? We have work to do here."

"I'm working. See?" I waved a hand at the open file cabinets and the rows of folders tucked inside.

"No, you're not. You're thinking about your head being between my legs. No wonder you can't file anything properly."

Obviously she wasn’t as concerned as me about the office being bugged.

I fought to tamp down my sudden flash of anger. What the hell was her problem? "Just because I'm not doing it the way you want me to, Scully, doesn't mean it's not being done properly."

"Whatever," she shot back. "Just do it however the hell you want to. You always do anyway."

Bitch.

While part of me was slowly realizing there might've been something more to her outburst than just my ill-timed comment, the rest of me couldn't have cared less. I found myself glaring at her. She glared right back.

"Fine," I snapped, swinging back around and yanking all the neatly filed folders out of the cabinets and slapping them down on top. "I'll do it your way."

That seemed to do the trick, because she got very quiet after that. At least she didn't gloat over her small victory. I kept up a steady stream of silent curses as I worked to re-file everything by case number. I was almost through the first pile when she began muttering under her breath.

Without turning around I asked, "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"I knew this was gonna happen," she announced.

That's all it took to suck me right back into the game. "Knew what was gonna happen?" I turned just as she was getting to her feet.

"This," she said. "This problem you seem to have staying on task. I knew as soon as we started… you know… you'd have trouble separating that part from the work. Honestly, Mulder. I'm trying to get some work done and all you can think about is going down on me."

All this blurted out with her arms folded defensively across her chest and that holier-than-thou tone of voice. I opened my mouth to let loose with some retort and snapped it shut again as soon as I got a really good look at her face. Her flushed face. The high color and the sparkling eyes that spoke not just of anger, but of what I'd come to recognize as arousal.

It dawned on me in that moment that Scully was as horny as she was angry. Maybe even more so.

It took all my considerable self-control to keep the smile off my face. I took a step toward her and said, "I hate to point out the obvious, but you're the one who keeps bringing it up. I was just making a joke. You're the one who can't stop talking about it."

"And just what are you implying?" Her eyes danced fire as she glared up at me.

I've found that sometimes my silence can say more than words ever could. This was one of those moments. I watched her face change as she realized that I had more than a clue what was going on.

"Oh, I don't fucking believe this," she muttered, turning away and grabbing her trench coat from the chair she'd draped it over. "I'm going home. I'm not going to stand around here and watch your head explode from your over-inflated ego." She stomped to the door and flung it open, struggling comically to get her arms in the sleeves of her coat. "Good-bye, Mulder. I will see you in the morning."

I spent the next few minutes smothering my laughter and then dug out my pocket calendar, settling into a chair as I confirmed my suspicions.

It was probably four years ago when I started keeping track of Scully's menstrual cycles. At first, I'd just been marking down the days when she seemed to possess a shorter fuse than normal. After about three months, a definite pattern had emerged. I'd been able to pinpoint the days that marked the actual start of her period because she'd invariably complain of lower back pain and be popping Advil throughout the day. Once those events occurred, I knew I was safe for another month or so. It was the two or three days prior to that when I had to be careful.

Those were the days when Scully would act as though she'd just as soon shoot me as look at me. Or speak to me. Or have anything to do with me. Those were the days when we both would find any excuse to avoid being in close contact. She would take off for a long weekend or a symposium at Quantico or, if neither of those were possible, I would grudgingly offer my temporary services to BSU. If we happened to be in the field or out of town on a case, we'd come up with ways to work separately. Since there was almost always a corpse or two that needed slicing and dicing, it was never much of a problem.

All this time I'd been thinking that she just had less patience with me those few days than at other times-a result of hormones gone wild. It never once occurred to me that she might've been avoiding me for an entirely different reason. I was stunned by the idea that she maybe she'd wanted nothing more than to throw me down and screw me blind, hence her pissy manner that insured I'd stay away and not become an irresistible treat. Considering we hadn't been lovers until just a few months ago, that would certainly explain why she'd felt a need to be as far away from me as possible.

Can't exactly go around jumping your partner on impulse, now can you? So you take pains to avoid them instead. Out of sight, out of mind, Scully?

My grin just got bigger as I checked the previous two months on my calendar. Sure enough: those particular red letter days were times when we'd been apart for one reason or another. So even though we were engaging in hot monkey love by then, she had habitually avoided me the few days before her period. Wouldn't want to actually admit she might be extraordinarily horny and indulge herself in our new favorite pastime.

Well.

Wasn't that interesting.

So then I did what any red-blooded man would do: I formulated a plan to use her hormones to my advantage.

Now before you start lecturing me about what a pig I am, ask yourself: wouldn't you do the same?

I thought so.

I gave the unfiled files a cursory glance and decided they weren't going anywhere. I locked up the office and headed home. After grabbing a quick shower, I threw on jeans and a t- shirt and hightailed it over to her place.

Apparently I'd interrupted a rare session of Scully self- indulgence. I took a quick look over her shoulder as she threw open the door, spotting the pint of Wavy Gravy on the coffee table. William Hurt and Kathleen Turner were raising body temperatures on the TV.

"What do you want?" she asked. The pissy tone was still there, but she couldn't stop her eyes from raking me over head to toe in a rather predatory way.

Bingo.

"Hello to you, too, Scully. Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing," she growled.

"Good." I stepped right past her, ignoring the indignant look she aimed at me.

I heard her huff dramatically as she closed the door. "What do you want, Mulder?"

"Who says I want anything?" I pulled off my leather jacket and tossed it onto the chair. Flopped down on the couch and grabbed the ice cream. I had the first spoonful in my mouth as she came around the end of the couch and planted herself in front of me, hands on hips.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eating your ice cream."

"I can see that."

I leisurely licked the back of the spoon clean, my eyes pinning hers.

"Why are you here, Mulder? Surely it's not just to eat my food."

I jammed the spoon back into the container and set it on the table. "You're right. That's not why I'm here."

One eyebrow crept up her face and her hands lifted in question.

"I think," I told her, “That the real question is, what do you want?

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you're not being honest with me, and I don't think I like it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

That's the moment I realized Scully was capable of looking me straight in the eye without actually looking at me. Avoidance by confrontation.

Amazing.

"You're a lousy liar, Scully. You always have been." I was a little surprised at how raw my voice sounded to my own ears. Hoarse, aroused. I was even getting a hard-on, and I'd yet to lay a finger on her. It was shaping up to be an interesting afternoon.

"Excuse me?" she blustered. "If you've come here to insult me, Mulder, then I think you'd better leave."

"I didn't come here to insult you." I slumped back against the cushions, my feet purposefully planted wide. "I have something much more pleasant in mind."

She did a quick check of my crotch before lifting her eyes to mine. She tried to look innocent, like she hadn't just been caught eyeing the goods, but she couldn't pull it off.

I had her fair and square.

"Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but-"

"Just couldn't stop thinking about it, could you?"

"What?"

"My head between your legs." I made each word slow and precise. "The thought of me going down on you. It turns you on, doesn't it, Scully?"

She began to stammer, no doubt trying to get out some kind of excuse. I didn't give her the time. "In fact, I'd lay odds you're getting wet right now, just from me saying the words."

"Mulder-"

"It's okay. It turns me on, too. See?" I glanced at the rapidly growing bulge in my jeans. She obediently looked. When she raised her eyes, they'd gone dark and heavy-lidded. "The only thing I'm not sure about is just what turns you on the most. Is it the thought of my mouth against you, licking you? Or my tongue dipping into you?" I deliberately looked back down at my crotch. "Or maybe it's this you're thinking about."

I knew I was. I didn't have a whole lot of choice. My cock was straining uncomfortably against the rough denim of my jeans, demanding attention. I heard her sharp intake of air as my hips lifted slightly in invitation.

"It's okay," I told her again. "You don't have to hide from me anymore, Scully. You don't have to pretend. Whatever you want, whatever I can do for you, all you have to do is tell me and I'll do it."

I lifted my hands from where they rested on my thighs and draped my arms along the back of the couch, settling deeper into the overstuffed cushions. "Now why don't you just slip out of those clothes and come over here and tell me exactly what you want."

It was harder than hell to sound cool and confident when my heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. My throat had gone so tight I don't think I could have swallowed had my life depended on it. Not that there was any saliva remaining in the arid desert my mouth had become.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't just white-hot lust that caused my symptoms. I was terrified of Scully's response. Despite the way her hooded eyes lazily meandered over my body, despite her ragged breathing and the soft, inviting curve of her mouth, I had absolutely no idea what was going on in her head. For all I knew I was seconds away from having my ass booted out of her apartment and being told in no uncertain terms that I was no longer welcome there.

I'd never done anything like that with her before. While we'd indulged in the typical flirting lovers are wont to do over the last couple of months, I hadn't ever been that blatant in approaching her. We'd always entered into lovemaking the same way we did everything else in our relationship: slowly, cautiously, with few gestures and even fewer words.

All I could do at that moment was sit quietly and wait for her to decide. Though it might have appeared to anyone else that I was in charge of the situation, the complete opposite was true. It was Scully's call. She was in control, and I knew that was just the way she liked it.

It wasn't until her fingers lifted to the buttons of her blouse that I released the breath I hadn't been aware of holding. She pinned my eyes and wouldn't let go until she was forced to bend over to pull off her pants. And then she straightened and faced me, clad in nothing but a lacy bra and panties.

"All of it," I managed to croak.

And then she cocked an eyebrow and gave me tiny, wicked smile. A ragged chuckle escaped me and I finally took a deep breath.

Thank you, Scully, for not kicking me out. Thank you for not laughing in my face. Thank you for wanting me as much as I wanted you.

She made short work of the bra and panties and stood there waiting, giving me back a little of the control, letting me take a leisurely look at what she was offering. She was five-foot two inches of walking, talking perfection. I sat up and extended a hand to her and she stepped forward and silently took it. I tugged until she was standing right in front me, only inches away, trapped between my knees. I closed my eyes and breathed her in.

You know what it smells like just after it's rained on a perfect early spring evening? When you catch a whiff of new grass and leaves and just a hint of the musk of flowers still forming blossoms. That's what Scully smells like.

I let go of her fingers and moved my hands to her hips, holding her firmly in place. And then I leaned forward and kissed the soft slope of her belly, just below her navel. Her fingers slipped through my hair as I turned my cheek and rested it against her.

There I was just seconds after telling her to strip naked and talk dirty to me, struggling with a hard-on that could cut glass, when suddenly the back of my throat started to ache and my eyes to sting. All signs of impending tears. My face was buried in the softness of her belly, inches away from the source of her intense fragrance, and all I could do was get teary-eyed because I thought I must be the luckiest sonofabitch on the face of the earth.

Now you must understand something: I never thought Scully and I would get to the place we've reached. It's not that we weren't aware of our feelings for each other and the attraction between us, or curious about what it might be like to give in to that attraction. It's just that when you cut to the chase, both of us tend to be chickenshit when it comes to matters of the heart. Especially when you factor in all we had to lose if it'd turned out that sex between us was something better left to the imagination.

But we were lucky, Scully and me. We came together and discovered it could be even better than we had any right to expect. And sometimes that gets to me. It did that day, and in all honesty, it still happens with alarming frequency.

Scully, bless her horny little heart, pulled me right out my sentimental brooding. "You were right, Mulder," she murmured as I turned my face and kissed her again. "About everything you said. You made that joke in the office and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It just made me so…"

"Horny?" I supplied.

I felt the vibration of her silent chuckle as I continued to taste her belly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. And I had to get out of there. I'm not used to being able to admit my feelings to myself, let alone to you and… oh, don't stop doing that, Mulder… and so I ran away."

I moved my hands around and took a hold of her perfect little ass, gently kneading the flesh. I dipped my head and began to kiss along the crease where thigh met torso. "Old habits die hard, huh?"

"Oh, God. Yes, they do." Her fingers had taken a firmer grip on my head, directing my mouth where she wanted it. Which just happened to be where I wanted it, too. I nuzzled the crisp copper curls at the apex of her thighs. "Mulder, please."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

"No," I reminded her, "I want you to tell me."

She got quiet and I pulled away a little, looking up at her. She was gnawing on her bottom lip. Her expression was one of shyness struggling with need, and it was just about the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I considered letting her off the hook. For a second or two. But it was too good to let go. My cock twitched in anticipation.

She closed her eyes in a slow blink and whispered, "I want your mouth on me."

Good girl.

"Where, Scully? Show me."

She gave me a look that told me I was going to pay big-time for being so insistent. I was smart enough not to let her know how much I was looking forward to that. Sometimes you just have to keep things to yourself.

I thought she might take the less risky option and beat around the bush (no pun intended), but she apparently didn't want to waste any more time. One hand left my hair and came to rest on her stomach. There was only a moment's hesitation before she slid it down and cupped herself.

"Here," she breathed.

Never let it be said that I give up easily; especially not when things are getting interesting.

"I'm sorry, I can't see, your hand's in the way. Where?"

She slowly made a return trip up, this time with the first two fingers of her hand spread apart. This, of course, opened her up and left the small bud of her clit peeking out. She was wet, her folds plump and glistening, shaded a deep pinkish-red.

Beautiful. My little hothouse flower.

I licked my lips in anticipation and she sighed quietly as she spotted the tip of my tongue.

"There?" I asked.

"Yes." She growled impatiently, "Jesus, Mulder, just do it."

So I leaned in and flicked my tongue once against her clit, sliding off the couch until I was on my knees. And then I went in for the kill. It was a good thing my hands were still on her ass, because her knees buckled almost immediately. She groaned low in her throat and dug her nails into my scalp.

I've never understood men who don't enjoy being on the giving end of oral sex. It's always been right up there on my list of favorite things to do. I could spend hours at it-and have. Consider it a benefit of my obvious oral fixation. Scully certainly does.

I ran my tongue along her soft folds and then pulled them into my mouth, gently sucking the flesh before letting my tongue slip inside her. She clenched tight around me, beginning to thrust and grind against my mouth as I dipped in and tasted her smoky sweetness. I drew my tongue back and then ran it up her cleft, landing on her clit and mirroring the small circles her hips had begun to make.

Scully was moaning and whispering nonsense words, her legs grower weaker as the minutes ticked by. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to hold her up and my neck was beginning to complain about my awkward position anyway. So I pulled away and shoved the coffee table out a few feet, lying down on my back on the floor. I ended up with Scully standing above me, her feet planted on either side of my waist.

She gave a little grunt of disappointment and then squatted and reached down, going for the buttons on my jeans. I grabbed her wrists to stop her. She looked down at me with unfocused eyes, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips.

"Uh-uh." I let go and grabbed her hips, pulling her up toward me. "C'mere, I'm not finished yet." She crawled up until her knees were next to my ears and settled right down on my face.

Oh, yeah. It was heaven. It was as good as it got.

Somewhere along the line, I reached down and undid my fly. My cock had gotten progressively larger and harder and I was afraid the little bugger might suffocate if I didn't give him some air. It eased the pressure but not my discomfort. My cock was aching to do what my fingers and tongue were busy at.

But that's just part of the fun-holding off until you can't stand it anymore. God knows Scully and I had made it an art form, waiting over five years before we finally gave in the first time. Now that I knew she wasn't going anywhere, it was nothing to wait until I'd made good on my word to give her what she wanted.

Just a few minutes later Scully went stiff, her back snapping straight, and noisily came. She ground against me a little longer, riding it out, and then folded bonelessly at the waist. She braced her hands on the floor above my head and I wiggled out from beneath her and got on my knees. I quickly hauled off my t-shirt and then shoved my jeans and boxers down my hips. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lifted her ass in the air. And then, not giving her time to catch her breath, I buried my cock inside her in one savage thrust.

She squeaked and I grunted and then she arched her spine and shoved back against me, matching me stroke for stroke. I knew I wasn't going to last long. I could already feel the heat coiling low in my belly, gathering strength and moving even lower, into my balls and all along the length of my cock. But I wanted to make Scully come one more time. Just once more. Her two for my one. It sounded fair to me.

I spread my knees as wide as my jeans would allow and draped myself over her. Reaching up and grabbing a breast, I pinched the nipple between my fingers and then slid my hand down her belly and found her clit.

"Oh, Mulder."

It was first intelligible thing she'd said in several minutes, and it came out in a low keen. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell her how fucking good she felt - tight, hot, wet, squeezing around me - but I was beyond words, beyond any thought but relieving the ache in my balls and the screaming in my head. I settled for turning my face into her neck and taking her earlobe between my teeth. I bit down just as she came and she bucked violently against me.

Two, three, four more thrusts and I followed her down, throwing my head back and growling like a goddamn animal. I kept pounding into her long after my cock stop spasming and she'd milked me dry, not wanting to stop what had felt so unbelievably good. But my knees gave out in the end, forcing me to lift myself off her back and collapse on the floor next to her.

Scully's face was buried in the carpet, her fiery hair a tousled mess, her legs and arms akimbo. Her back was rising and falling rapidly as she desperately sucked in air. I fought to control my own breathing and reached over to run a hand down her sweat- covered back, coming to rest on the swell of her ass and giving it a friendly squeeze.

She lifted her head a few minutes later and turned her face toward me, squinting at me through the hair that fell over her eyes.

"Hi," I murmured.

She groaned in reply and opened her eyes all the way, looking me over. A slow smile spread across her face.

"What?" I asked.

She snickered. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look, Mulder?"

I looked down at myself and then back at her, grinning like a fool. My jeans and boxers were bunched around my knees, my feet still encased in boots, my erection rapidly deflating and lying wet and limp against my thigh. All in all, not exactly the model of suave sophistication. "I didn't hear you complaining earlier, Scully. Besides, you're not exactly cover girl material yourself at the moment."

"Depends on what magazine I'd be posing for." She made a 'gotcha' face, obviously pleased with herself.

I chuckled and pulled her closer, "Baby, you can pose for me anytime you want."

"I figured as much. And don't call me baby." She levered up on an elbow and brushed the hair from her face. I watched, with much appreciation, the sway of her breasts. "Mulder, kiss me."

"With pleasure." I wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck and guided her mouth down to mine. The first touch of her lips was electric, like a high-voltage current shooting through my body.

Scully and I are stingy with our kisses. I guess part of the reason is that neither one of us wants to get used to them. They're incredible, you see, and it would be far too easy to become addicted to them, to want to indulge without any thought as to where we are or what we should be doing instead. Too easy to be in the office or out in the field and be overwhelmed by an intense desire to turn to each other and grab a big, fat, wet kiss. So we dole them out carefully.

But that's not the only reason. It goes deeper than that. I think maybe it's because getting to that first kiss took so much longer than anything else. There's something even more special about kissing her than fucking her. I know it may sound strange to you, but then Scully and I have never exactly been poster children for normal behavior.

Eons later we broke apart and I licked the taste of her from my lips. She peered at me drowsily and declared, "You know, this is completely unfair of you."

"What is?"

"Taking advantage of me the way you just did. Pulling your profiling wonder boy act and figuring out what my problem was."

I smiled in victory. "Does this mean I can pencil you in for a repeat performance in about, oh, twenty-six days?"

"I have to wait that long?"

I tossed back my head and laughed as I gathered her into my arms. "You don't have to wait at all. Like I told you: all you have to do is tell me and I'm there. Whatever you want, whenever you want it. Your secret is safe with me."

"At the rate we're going, I won't have any secrets left."

I drew back a little and looked at her. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"My mother always said a woman should have one or two secrets, just to maintain an air of mystery."

"And what do you say, Scully?"

"I say," she stretched up and kissed me, "that some secrets are too good to keep to yourself."

I couldn't have agreed more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#txf #msr #fanfic #one from the vault #red letter day #i'm still proud of this one #it came out just the way i wanted it to #and that doesn't happen often #i love writing slightly clueless but enthusiastic and sincere mulder

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culttvblog · 1 year ago

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Red Letter Day: Bag of Yeast (Seventies TV Season)

The introduction to this series of posts on 1970s TV shows can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/culttvblog/729351469162233856/seventies-tv-season-introduction

Red Letter Day (1976) suffers from a couple of considerable handicaps which I think may account for its lack of presence in the cult TV blogosphere. The first is that it was only ever seven episodes so viewers never got time to remember the excellent episodes while forgetting the less good ones - inconsistent writing always being the lot of the anthology series. The first, Ready When You Are, Mr McGill is excellent (and in fact won an academy award). It's worth seeking out the series for that play alone. On the other hand, Amazing Stories is barking mad. It may be that I was distracted by the stuffed ?wolfhound which dominates most of the scenes but try as I might I found it difficult to detect the plot which is supposed to be a family being taken over by vegetables.

The other handicap, in my opinion, and remember it was devised by the legendary Jack Rosenthal so I'm punching well above my weight here, is that I think it is misnamed. Strictly speaking a red letter day is a special day in the calendar (and in fact goes back to Roman antiquity when that was how feasts were displayed in the calendar). In Britain this convention has also been used to show feasts in successive liturgical calendars and the illustration shows two red letter days shown in the 1549 Book of Common Prayer.

But that's not really the way the phrase is used in the show, where it is more a day of significance for the characters. So rather than have a line of festivals, we have days of significance, such as getting a role in a film, the death of a spouse, meeting your hero at a sci-fi convention. Of course not all these are going to be happy events, and since we've been set up to expect red letter days it's bound to be a bit of a let-down at getting something else, in fact significant life events including bereavements and all sorts of other things.

Bag of Yeast is the final play in the series; it stars and is based on a story by Neville Smith about Tony Scannell, a young man who suddenly decides to become a Roman Catholic priest, and the effect this decision has on his family, him and his fiancee. If you look up Neville Smith on IMDB he has a long list of credits of writing the sort of plays that tend to be a bit more high brow than the stuff I normally watch. Bag of yeast is Cockney rhyming slang for beast or priest, and I only found this out because I looked it up: if this is the reason for the name it's strange, given the play's setting in Liverpool. Once again I'm aware that I'm subjecting a TV show intended for one showing nearly fifty years ago to an intense scrutiny prompted by repeat viewings which it wouldn't have had at the time.

The play doesn't hesitate to invite us to reflect on the ripples of this decision in all aspects of his life, and untimately doesn't tend to give easy decisions but tends to provoke thought.

We are invited to think about Tony's motivations for becoming a priest. These are cleverly teased out by the natural plot device of his family and others asking him why he's decided to become a priest. The play also interestingly gives a variety of responses to this: notably his Marxist father who disapproves of this every step of the way. We also see an interesting interview he has with the bishop where he describes that he wants to be involved as a priest in the social change which is coming: the bishop, rightly, points out that Tony hasn't mentioned Christ once in his description of why he wants to be a priest, but nonetheless goes on to ordain him. Bizarrely, during the interview the bishop comments that many of the students he started seminary with have left, yet would have made better priests that the ones who remain: surely an odd thing to say to a seminarian. Tony is clear that his vision of church and priesthood is more political and prophetic than used to be the case. This somewhat nebulous sense of vocation is contrasted with a scene in which he discusses it with a priest who tells him he is overly sure but does encourage him to think about what effect his actions will have on his family and others. This show doesn't give easy answers to this but encourages us to think.

We are particularly invited to think about what the hell Tony thinks he is playing at as regards celibacy. His decision is actually portrayed as quite selfish because he abruptly breaks off with his fiancee who has no idea that he has been thinking about it: it is clear that even if they're not currently having sex they're not a million miles away from it. His fiancee of course wonders whether it's something she has done and is utterly mystified. The way I describe this sounds a bit wooden: however again this represents the way in which this show doesn't give pat answers.

Ultimately Tony's mother tells him that he is selfish, however for me the ultimate effect is complete mystification. His motivation and ideals are very clear but I honestly think aren't ones that would automatically make you think of priesthood. So ultimately I suppose we are also invited to think about what would have happened to Tony in the years to come. I'm not a gambling man but even in the heady decade following Vatican 2 I can see him definitely going head to head with the bishop and losing. In fact one of the main questions this play brings up is what the hell the bishop is thinking, ordaining someone whose motivations he clearly thinks questionable.

As with all these seventies TV shows, the passage of fifty years has meant that we would of course react to them differently now from when they were first broadcast. Obviously we would now reflect on the sheer volume of priests who've been ordained who clearly shouldn't have been, and the role of the bishops in ordaining clearly unsuitable men. This isn't even hinted but I think we would tend to question the motivations of a school teacher becoming a priest and expect them to be probed quite thoroughly.

On the other hand I get the impression that this show was completely filmed on location and the seventies interiors are marvellous. There isn't one scene in this play which doesn't contain several huge crimes against interior design: clashing massive patterns, fake leather sofas that would give you a rash, and so on. It contains wonderful contemporary street scenes of Liverpool of the time. Even if you weren't interested in the plot you could turn down the volume and wallow in the scenes. My nursery school was painted in the exact shade of orange that the fiancee's classroom is!

There are a few problems with this that I feel rather bad saying, because this is an excellent drama.

The first is that it can't honestly he said to fit into the red letter day theme of the series. Even though it returns again and again to Tony's ordination day, which is obviously the red letter day, it isn't about that day. It's about him telling people his decision and road to ordination. It isn't made explicit in the show but it actually takes six years to train as a priest so the events of this show are actually spread over six years, mostly taking place before the six years start. Putting this in writing it feels a bit nit-picky, though.

The second is that Tony lives at home in his parents' house at the time he announces he is going to be a priest. Are we seriously supposed to believe that he has either been accepted as a priest without a time of habitual church going or else that he hasn't at least had a good time of being religious such that his family would notice? If someone gets accepted for ordained ministry you would expect them to at least have been religiously involved anyway, and that doesn't seem to be the case here.

Finally there is a difficulty is that Tony's character is supposed to be mid twenties at the start of the show but Neville Smith (born 1940) was 36 and it shows.

Despite my insistence that this show is not easy viewing and raises more questions than it answers, I think there is a possible synthesis to be made of this which could lead to a happy outcome. This is that even though his dad disapproves of the church, it is apparent that Tony's motivations aren't that different from his dad's really. There is also a scene after the ordination where we see the dad getting on like a house on fire with the bishop. There is a suggestion that all the varied elements in Tony's circle could actually be reconciled if they would just let themselves be. Although of course the fiancee is noticeably absent from this possible reconciliation.

This is a very interesting and unusual drama in a rather mixed anthology series which doesn't get enough mention.

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Image credit: https://library.chethams.com/collections/101-treasures-of-chethams/book-of-common-prayer/

#70s tv #70s tv season #red letter day

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