MONDAY-TUESDAY: Bagging a Rat #PGat35
IMPORTANT: This review contains SPOILERS. Massive great honking ones. If you haven’t ever seen Press Gang (Seriously?! Are you a KD?!!! What are you even doing here reading this, you fool?! Click right on over to Amazon, buy yourself the complete series boxset and remedy that situation immediately before you read any further…) #CommissionsEarned
The world looks one way on Monday, but quite another by Tuesday morning…
David Jefford.
For Press Gang fans, it is practically impossible to recall now what encountering Norbridge’s Golden Jerk for the very first time was like, and to view Monday-Tuesday without it being coloured by the importance that these events will assume in the future. It also seems unlikely that Monday-Tuesday would make it to television screens in a 4:40 pm children’s slot in 2024. This is challenging and thought-provoking stuff, elevating the show to a new and decidedly mature dramatic level, which in retrospect feels rather squandered on the CITV kids for whom it was originally commissioned. 
From the decidedly eerie title caption screens, which smoothly fade David Jefford out of existence as Monday becomes Tuesday, to the timey-wimey, twisty-turny narrative thread, everything about this episode is designed to unsettle and intrigue. Tuesday is a world where Lynda Day is crying… and something is very seriously wrong here. 
David Jefford’s threat to destroy the Junior Gazette itself would be drama enough; indeed those mean old adults wanting to shut the paper down for good would have been exactly how the season finale might have played out in any “normal” show. Having weathered the clashes over exams and the extracurricular workload in Both Sides of the Paper, the allegations made in the anonymous letter printed in The Gazette are particularly apposite. Mr Winters is in fearsome, unforgiving mood, and fast becoming more foe than ally. Matt Kerr, meanwhile, appears bewilderingly unconcerned in this latest turn of events. Indeed, it is quite bizarre that Kerr is shown reading from the Gazette Letters Page as if it is – erm – news to him. Based on previous evidence, you surely would expect him to have given Lynda a heads-up about it in advance, at the very least. Since it throws his personal pet project into question, why not offer Lynda the right to reply to the accusations? Can it really be that Matt Kerr is looking for an excuse to shut down the Junior Gazette? 
Lynda, of course, is lying about the lies, and David has a fat file of proof. For someone who has only been on the paper a couple of weeks, he has given this a great deal of time and effort. His plan is positively Machiavellian, verging on the Francis Urquhart (Underwood) scale of cunning, and yet we find ourselves morally befuddled, since he is the voice of truth, and appears genuinely passionate about the paper. When Lynda finally concedes to Jefford’s demands in the playground, there is a sense of relief that this awkward and unpleasant situation has been successfully defused.
But the most horrific twist is to come, as Colin arrives at the Tuesday morning meeting, and Lynda finally reveals what has become of David.
Obviously, we were never going to actually see his death, but Lynda’s stark and matter-of-fact description of events is distinctly chilling. We then witness five unarmed teenagers meander innocently into the woods on a private estate, to find themselves confronting a defiant, entitled and emotionally unstable boy who is toting a loaded shotgun like a pro. There is a decidedly surreal quality to this sequence. David has a lifestyle far removed from that of the target audience of the show, and a billion miles away from anything we see of life in Norbridge (“My dad’s got an estate. Only it’s a car.”) This serves to underline David’s isolation, a world apart from the locals, whilst explaining away his access to firearms. And even though we now know how this will end, and that everyone in the news team is alive and safe on Tuesday morning, the stand-off is edgy and tense. 
Whilst Colin says aloud what the rest of them are all thinking, Lynda fixes David with her very best steely-eyed gaze and delivers her message. Their message. Because even though we see Kenny and Sarah expressing some doubts beforehand, having the others present effectively means that they are all saying it: Lynda is simply the one doing the talking. Their silence equates to validation and complicity; it becomes a gestalt verdict. And maybe, in the future, there might come a time when Spike will speak up, and implore Lynda to be kinder and more compassionate, but this isn’t that time. 
A single, chilling shotgun blast, and it is all over. David has delivered his own judgement. While Kenny and Sarah are suitably downcast and introspective, and Colin has managed to remain blissfully ignorant of developments, it becomes apparent that on Tuesday morning, Spike is the one with the sharp insight and real empathy. Not that you would credit it initially, as he blithely regales them all with the romantic misadventures of Colin and Ethel Stuttgart. Indeed, this seems to be very much the Spike Thomson who would run a pair of knickers up the flagpole on school sports day. It is an insanely clever piece of writing, leading the viewer to strongly empathise with the “shut-the-fuck-up-Spike” looks that both Kenny and Sarah are throwing in his direction… right up to the point when we realise that it is only Spike who has clearly identified the danger, and is desperately trying to mitigate against Lynda’s self-flagellation. 
Finally, Lynda is left alone with her thoughts in the newsroom. We can imagine how firm she was on this, sending everyone away, shutting them all out, wanting to be on her own… Everyone does as she asks, even her oldest friend Kenny: he has surely remained Lynda’s best friend only because he is, above all else, obedient. Spike, however, not so much.
Having tried and failed to convince her himself, Spike brings Matt Kerr to the newsroom to try to get Lynda to see sense. It is all very proper but slightly stilted as he perches on the edge of her desk. Kerr is the voice of reason, calmly and sensibly (also beautifully back-lit and almost angelically) telling her she is not to blame. Lynda, meeting his gaze with soulful, red-rimmed eyes, acknowledges his words of wisdom with a watery, thankful smile… whilst simultaneously composing her resignation letter. There will be no Wednesday for Lynda. 
Then Matt Kerr is gone, and Lynda puts on her coat and heads out of the newsroom for the last time. But who is there, lurking out in the corridor, waiting out of sight, just in case she does anything really stupid… It is the valiant and noble Spike Thomson Jr, White Knight of Norbridge, ready to slay rampaging dragons and fend off any random passing demons to keep Miss Lynda Day safe. And it is here, in the closing moments, when we discover Lynda that is truly resigned to her fate, in every way… 
Press Gang @ 35 