Ritchie acts nefariously as the shadow of ever present doom comes closer. There is perennial wretchedness. Jill doesn't get to do much beyond react to events. Ritchie is intolerable. This was not unabashedly nostalgic. Ritchie tests social constraints to their limits. Ritchie is a reckless slut. It is now 1984 and there is no warmth or decency.
Roscoe is banned from a family wedding. Ritchie is incomparably depraved and unpleasant. Men in their underpants walk around. People lack personal morals and are ludicrously, wilfully destructive. This was not compellingly awful. This was not an ostensibly idyllic time. People won't listen to AIDS warnings. Ritchie spews conspiracy theories and is in denial and is wildly irresponsible.
Jill has to help a friend who has it. There is no gratitude or appreciation for Jill. Objective evidence is ignored. Colin ends up consequently excluded from his job. Ritchie is verbally vicious and spews false assurances and vehemently denies knowledge.
Jill is overtly giving. This is emblematic of all that is wrong. Only Jill is concerned, she's the notable exception. All other 80s socio-political shocks are ignored. Ritchie has strategic incompetence. Profound despair is coming. Roscoe is awful. Colin's creepy ex-boss gets busted in a public bog. A dreadful family 'help' the sick man. This was not seriously fantastic. Jill points out the risks, Ritchie won't listen.
Jill works and only she cares. After the sick man dies, his family burn everything of his: bedding, photos, a videotape and baby photos in the back garden. The gang go on living promiscuously and excessively.
“Happening in silence.”
“Stayed in a better class of hotel.”
“Walks around all day in despair.”
“Do some work for once in your life!”
“What's going to save you?”
“You're not employed anymore.”