Firstly, let's get any mention of THAT WOMAN out of the way. Let it go on record that I do not like Liz McDonald and never have. She morphed from reasonable housewife and barmaid to screeching shrew in a very short space of time. Her return to t'cobbles is hardly big news - she's no Bet Lynch - but I realise that I am in a very small minority. I will therefore gladly settle back and not mention the hopeless wife, useless mother and dreary landlady until she clatters across the street in something hideous later this year.Elsewhere though, I feel heartened by recent episodes of the Street. Like the sloughing off a difficult winter and a chilly spring, so the show seems to be ridding itself of all things Collinson. New shoots of hope are staring to grow, a bit like these endless nature-related metaphors.
This week we witnessed a lovely little scene in the new 'colour-me-brothel' Rovers. For a few minutes, Steve and Owen bantered on about hooves and horns. It made no sense but was a joy in its own way. Just two blokes stood at the bar, nattering on about nothing. More please.
Sally's drunken evening at the pub was a riot as is her delving into the world of Internet dating. Suddenly, Sally's a bit of fun again and seemingly she's bonding more with Sophie and a much more relaxed Jenna. With grown-up daughters and an ex-husband off the scene, it will be great to see Sal live a little.
This week we have also witnessed a more contemplative Carla, backed up by a supportive non-vitriolic Peter. Carla's usual default would have been slam that clattering bag of hers down and tear a strip off her victim. Her inner turmoil was evident and this helps us, the simple viewer, to appreciate her a little more.
Of course, not everything in the garden is rosy. Any storyline involving Tracy-luv seems to be hard-going and this latest 'silk for sale' nonsense has been worse than most. As a collective, we have probably ranted and droned on about Trace ad nauseum over the years. With reason. It feels as though Tracy is so far beyond redeemable that the only way she is going is off to Manchester Piccadilly in a taxi. She's dreadful and seems to suck the life out of every scene she appears in. Come on Uncle Stuart, do the right thing and send her packing. As opposed to sending her to packing.
It's not a current story but this week we have had to contend with the linking of the words 'Hayley' and 'cancer'. Which will lead to the word 'death'. I seriously don't believe that after fighting cancer, Hayley would suddenly up sticks and do a runner in search of a better life. Hayley will die and the only thing to look forward to will be the wonderful performance - and let's face it, it will be golden - from Julie Hesmondhalgh. She has not quit her anorak yet but I'm missing her already.Are things looking up for our Weatherfield chums overall? Dare we hope that things can only get better?
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