Molly’s Aunty Pam is brilliant and I want one too. In fact, every home should have one. You get the feeling Aunty Pam’s been spirited in from somewhere else, somewhere more fragrant where everyone’s fridge is packed with cheap meats off the market and they’re happier for it. It can only be a matter of time before Aunty Pam wiggles her nose, clicks her heels together three times and chants the mantra “There’s no place like Holby City” and then she’ll be gone, her work in this world done, leaving everyone who met her with a smile on their face and a vacuum pack of minute “give it ten minutes, it’s got history” steak in their hand.
And so it came to pass that Aunty Pam got Tyrone to propose to Molly this week with the help of some knock-off, naff Fabergesque eggs. “There’s not a girl alive who could say no to a talking egg,” muses Pam. And do you know, I think she might be right. The gaudy, plastic eggs had a recording button and Tyrone recorded his proposal to Molly. But when he got down on one knee in the Rovers with everyone watching and he pressed the button on the egg, it was Kirkeh’s voice that floated out after he’d scrambled the egg. “Where do you put the batteries, then?” the egg asked Molly and it’s not a phrase most women want to hear on a proposal, although some women might. Anyway, the joy of the Fabergesque egg is that you can re-record which Tyrone duly did, the egg popped the question in front of a burger van on the cobbles which Aunty Pam decorated with fairy lights that twinkled. She didn’t plug them in, she just wiggled her nose. And Molly replied via an egg of her own. As the two of them kissed to celebrate their engagement and Tyrone slipped Vera’s ring onto Molly’s finger, the camera panned around the cobbles as the spectators took in the scene. Vernon looked across the street, lovingly at Liz who was giving Harry the glad eye as he was watched over like a hawk by soon to be ex-wife Clarissa. John Stape leered at Fiz who looked troubled. And Jack must have got something in his eye because he came over all peculiar and had to look away, memories of his marriage to Vera all too apparent. It was darn good this bit, it really was, and both Sunny Jim and I had tears in our eyes.
In the cafĂ©, Vernon’s turning the place into a shrine for his lost musical youth. Up goes the framed advert for a Rock Rhythm Rascals gig. Up goes the framed crisp packet touched by the hand of the God that is known to Vernon as Cozy Powell...
...and down Vernon tried to get with the kids when he tried to explain the appeal of ELO. “Who’s PLO?” asks Darryl who’s more of an Arctic Monkey sort of man. Frustrated, Vernon tries to spell it out again. “It’s the Electric - Light - Oh… what’s the point?”
Harry Mason, a man whose dress sense has clearly been informed by the mafia clothing catalogue for men Bada-Bling. Advertising tagline: Yer want it? Yer wear it! Or else! Delivery tagline: We send da boys round witcha oyder. It’s all soft woollen knits worn loose around the shoulders, braces to hold up trousers and glasses on a string round the neck. I bet his socks have got diamonds on them. Or as it’s Bada-Bling, diamonds in them. Anyway, Harry’s socks are included on a list of complaints that his soon to be ex-moll Clarissa passes on to Liz in the Rovers. But is she his soon to be ex? Liz was clearly hoping so but then Clarissa won Harry round with some of Aunty Pam’s cheap steak and a bottle of red and it was left to Harry to break the news to Liz that he and Clarissa were back together again. Liz lost control and yelled at Harry to leave but when he wouldn’t go, Vernon turfed him out and sent Liz to her comfort zone (aka smokers shelter) for a fag to calm down. He followed her outside where he promised her they’d always be friends. Liz pulled Vernon towards her for a hug but he was hoping for a snog and his face crumpled up in despair.
John what’s the point Stape has been really creepy this week. He bought Chesney a bike for his birthday but as soon as Ches found out who the present was from, he dumped the bike on the street. His mum hadn’t forgotten his birthday and had sent tickets to join her in Vegas. Chesney was off like a shot to see Cilla in the city of sin, leaving Fiz to fend off John Stape as best she can, but she’s folding, you can tell. Norris, bless him, refused to serve John in the Kabin. I say Good On Yer! - that’s Norris, not John - and everyone’s bemused by the fact he’s now a driver for Streetcars - that’s John, not Norris.
David turns paranoid when Tina giggles as she’s typing and she won’t tell him who she’s emailing or what she’s doing online. He doesn’t understand the concept of friends, never mind virtual ones called PIXOCUTIE! and DUFF_37. I don’t know if they’re called that, it’s just a guess on my part.
“I have no problem with the gays…” Blanche tells Deirdre but when people start a sentence like that, you know their problem is a big one, “… and I’d walk over hot coals for that Paul O’Grady”, but it doesn’t look like she’d do the same for her own son-in-law. Not that Ken’s gay, at least we don’t think so, but Blanche thinks he is when he goes to an art auction with Ted and starts reading Armistead Maupin. Deirdre took the news with her usual exasperation and Ken exploded in a camp sort of way: “I am not a homosexual,” by the dining room table. Anyway, his night out with Ted has fired Ken up to reignite the inner flames of passion that made him want to be a writer. He dusts off his old novel that’s been fermenting in the loft and sits down with a pencil in his hand and an idea in his head of becoming the famous novelist he always wanted to be. I think I could do with a night out with Ted.
Five things we learned in Corrie this week.
1. Aunty Pam can down a sweet sherry in one single gulp. What a woman.
2. Becky and Jason enjoyed happy doubles hour on their jollies. Or was it double happy hour?
3. Rita has got fabulous skin.
4. Liz is short for lizard.
5. There is at least one girl alive that can’t say no to a talking egg.
And that’s just about that for this week.
Coronation Street writers this week were Stephen Bennett, Chris Fewtrell, Carmel Morgan, Debbie Oates.
Glenda
--
Blogging away merrily at http://flamingnora.blogspot.com/
David turns paranoid when Tina giggles as she’s typing and she won’t tell him who she’s emailing or what she’s doing online. He doesn’t understand the concept of friends, never mind virtual ones called PIXOCUTIE! and DUFF_37. I don’t know if they’re called that, it’s just a guess on my part.
“I have no problem with the gays…” Blanche tells Deirdre but when people start a sentence like that, you know their problem is a big one, “… and I’d walk over hot coals for that Paul O’Grady”, but it doesn’t look like she’d do the same for her own son-in-law. Not that Ken’s gay, at least we don’t think so, but Blanche thinks he is when he goes to an art auction with Ted and starts reading Armistead Maupin. Deirdre took the news with her usual exasperation and Ken exploded in a camp sort of way: “I am not a homosexual,” by the dining room table. Anyway, his night out with Ted has fired Ken up to reignite the inner flames of passion that made him want to be a writer. He dusts off his old novel that’s been fermenting in the loft and sits down with a pencil in his hand and an idea in his head of becoming the famous novelist he always wanted to be. I think I could do with a night out with Ted.
Five things we learned in Corrie this week.
1. Aunty Pam can down a sweet sherry in one single gulp. What a woman.
2. Becky and Jason enjoyed happy doubles hour on their jollies. Or was it double happy hour?
3. Rita has got fabulous skin.
4. Liz is short for lizard.
5. There is at least one girl alive that can’t say no to a talking egg.
And that’s just about that for this week.
Coronation Street writers this week were Stephen Bennett, Chris Fewtrell, Carmel Morgan, Debbie Oates.
Glenda
--
Blogging away merrily at http://flamingnora.blogspot.com/
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