Children are very important... when they're right under your nose. Michelle was deeply hurt that Ali didn't want to come to her wedding to Robert. Just as she was when she married Steve - oh no, wait, she didn't mention him at all back then, only talking about her darling Ryan's absence. Michelle keeps banging on about how much she loves and misses her biological son even though we've not seen her give two hoots about him for the best part of a decade. We were there, scriptwriters; we saw you try to airbrush Alex out of existence, and that annoyed us too. A more honest story would be her finally admitting the unpleasant fact that she doesn't consider him to be her child and would rather he just went away, but that would require a level of self-analysis the Exalted Queen of the Universe is incapable of. Instead she'll just feel sorry for herself for a dozen episodes until Ali realises she is, in fact, The Most Wonderful Woman In The World and probably gives her away at the wedding. On the plus side, Carla using her unstoppable cougar powers on Michelle's son will really, really annoy her.
Richard Hillman has placed a curse upon the Platts. The haunted evil of Norman Bates with a briefcase would certainly explain a lot of the misfortunes that have hit number eight. Bodies under the garage, spouses dropping dead, Nick rapidly aging like the Nazi at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - they all point to malign supernatural forces. What it doesn't explain is the family's cursed life before Gail met Richard. Ivy Tilsley's behaviour towards her daughter-in-law would be a lot more understandable if she was acting under the influence of evil voodoo, rather than just being a hateful old sow.
Product placement can be subliminal. When confronted with Brian behind the counter of the cafe, Gina decided to fox him with a request for a chai latte. Naturally Brian had no idea how to make it, because he is basically a ball of marshmallow in a Pringle sweater, and she had to settle for a mug of instant with UHT. If only there were another coffee shop close by where expert baristas could hand-craft such a complex beverage! Meanwhile Freshco have suddenly started advertising on the bus stop, perhaps because they're aware a new supermarket will be opening in the area quite soon. On the other hand, the ostentatious Interflora logo seems to have vanished off Tracy Barlow's bouquets, hinting that they've stopped their standing order with ITV, so that shop will probably be transformed into a Greggs in the next couple of weeks.
Pregnancy bellies are surprisingly easy to hide. A fun game to play while watching the show is keeping track of the various ways Eva tries to hide her baby bump: award yourself ten points for a cushion, five for an ostentatiously outsized handbag. You or I might think that larger, more voluminous outfits - perhaps something with an Empire waistline, or a cape - would be the solution, but that would offend Eva's fashion sensibilities. Instead she just loiters behind the bar holding a model of the Lusitania made out of matchsticks in front of her stomach. It seems to be working, though, as not one of the four thousand people who live with her in the Rovers has noticed she's up the duff, meaning the needlessly complex surrogacy scheme can trundle on. (Seriously, there is absolutely no reason why Peter and Leanne couldn't have been let in on this secret, but I suppose if Corrie was suddenly full of rational people handling crises in an appropriate manner nobody would watch).
Even a two year old deserves a decent birthday spread. Was there any more heartbreaking sight in this week's episodes than Harry's party food being dumped on kitchen tiles? The collapse of Fiz and Tyrone's relationship wasn't anywhere near as upsetting as a batch of sausage rolls going to waste. Thankfully the trifle seemed to survive the carnage; if that delicious looking confection had crashed to the floor as well I'd have had to phone the ITV Action Line to get counselling because of upsetting scenes. I'm going to have to disagree with Sarah-Lou's proclamation that no-one eats the sandwiches at parties. I do; I'll happily hoover up a dozen finger-sized ham and mustard sarnies with the crusts cut off. I love party food. Vol-au-vents and mini quiches and spring rolls, tiny pork pies and doll-sized pizzas and, most glorious of all, the prawn ring; there is no greater joy in life than a full buffet. Fortunately I am colossally unpopular and never get invited to parties, otherwise I'd be even fatter than I already am.
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3 comments:
Brilliant post. Really made me laugh. Well done.
Hysterically funny, Scott! I now feel cleared of the dark humour of the show that's haunting my soul. You put the fun back in funny. :-)
Thanks for the laugh, especially the pre-mature aging of Nick. Yer killin' me.
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