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Distracted by lust again in Desperate Romantics episode five This week, our episode-by-episode review of the Victorian drama sees Rossetti revert to type while being undone by his fiancee's less-than-terminal condition
 Well 'ere's a turn up for the books an' no mistake. Five weeks after they'd first charged through the door marked "Historically Questionable Costume Romp: Quite Rude, Actually", the members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood were finally in a position to celebrate their collective achievements. Rossetti had pocketed a massive cash advance from increasingly creepy/crackers patron Ruskin. Hunt was pumping out pictures of Jesus in a fog of chaste industriousness ("I made £5,000 … IN ONE WEEK!") Millais, meanwhile, had lost his heart and personality to married life and was thus too busy drifting around like a sigh in a cravat to care that everyone thought his new "slapdash schmaltz" direction was absolute arse. A party was evidently in order. While the fireworks banged and the groupies giggled, the PRB popped its cork and let the self-congratulation flow. Drunk on his thunderously good luck, Rossetti staggered outside for some air. There, in the moonlight, stood a vision of delicate comeliness. Pillow lipped and sumptuously hipped, she leaned on a lamppost, gobbing. Rossetti gasped. "I should not become distracted by lust," he gulped, but it was too late.
Seconds later, they were using his four-poster bed as a gymnasium, Rossetti roaring delightedly as the tart's blancmanges pounded his face like a punchbag. But this was no one-night workout: the incorrigible slapper had fallen in love. Again. Her name? Fanny. Fanny? Yes, Fanny. How could Rossetti resist? It'd be like Shane MacGowan not fancying a woman called Alcohol. But there was trouble in Fitness First. While Rossetti and Fanny were busy doing Bums, Tums and Thighs on his studio floor, his fiancee was dying. Devastated by his constant infidelities, Lizzie had knocked back one laudanum and cranberry too many. "You much preferred me when I was a hopeful failure," she wept, sweatily. "You have broken my heart." It was actually really sad. Weeping profusely, Rossetti promised he would marry her and everything would be brilliant again and they'd start painting together and he'd never bang another prostitute ever again, honest.
"What were you thinking?" demanded Hunt between saving prostitutes by handing them pamphlets telling them they were going to hell. "I thought she'd die before she got to the altar," groaned Rossetti, head in hands. But, again, it was too late.
The wedding went ahead. While Fred the Non-Existent Plot Device shared his plans for the biggest PRB exhibition ever, Fanny stood outside the church, weeping. "Just 'cos I work wiv my below-decks don't mean I 'aven't got a heart," she wailed, as Hunt nodded understandingly and handed her one of his "Repent, Slag" leaflets.
The End. Next week: the finale! Excited?
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