Don't hang around while Britain's Got Talent is on. Avoiding BGT is pretty good life advice anyway; no-one really needs to see a Slovenian gymnastic troupe have their hopes crushed by a barely-interested Simon Cowell. In Weatherfield though, getting out of town during Live Finals week is a matter of life or death. In the last few years the talent show has lead to Victoria Court exploding, John Stape jumping off a hospital roof, Tina getting murdered, Callum's body being dug up, and Nicky Tilsley sinking into quicksand. Okay, that last one was hilarious rather than horrific, but it does point to a pattern of terrible incidents happening around the end of May. David Platt should just pack up the kids and take them camping in North Wales out of harm's way the minute Dec pops up.
Photoshop is hard. "We need a picture that shows Robert and Michelle's long and meaningful relationship."
"We haven't got one."
"Send them on the set and we'll take one."
"He's got grey hair now. It'd be obvious we'd only just snapped it."
"Alright, photoshop something."
"We've only got five minutes until we film. It'll look terrible. Do you think that will matter?"
"No. Us professionals notice. Joe Public never clocks a darn thing."
The Charlie's Angels remake looks fantastic. Rosie took time out from practicing her amazing modelling skills - i.e. sitting down in a nice coat - to form a three woman vigilante team to take down slimy Antoine and his mid-Atlantic accent. It's a shame Helen Flanagan's pregnancy means she's about to vanish for six months, because I'd have loved to have seen Rosie, Olivia and Gemma as undercover crime fighters. They could have ridden round in the Speed Daal van now Zeedan's gone, leaping out the back to karate chop foes in tiny crop tops and leather pants. I'm pretty sure Pat Phelan's reign of terror would have ended a lot sooner if the three of them had been on the case, only pausing their relentless quest for justice for a quick spray tan and a manipedi. Start the commissioning process, ITV: I smell a spin-off!
Gratuitous nudity is preferred. New male character? Check. In his twenties? Check. Unnecessary shirtless scene? Check. It's a rite of passage for all young actors on the show - at least there was a story reason for it this time, unlike the usual "ooh, I've come downstairs to get a shirt" - and now Ryan Prescott has got the contractually obligated nipple exposure out the way he can get on with doing some actual acting. You might want to stop visiting the gym, mate: now we've seen your abs the producers might decide you're the new Jason Grimshaw and you'll be forced to take your shirt off for the flimsiest excuse for the rest of your time on the show. Pile on the pounds and they might let you just do character work.
The cards are telling us there are interesting times ahead. There is never a bad reason to have Sophie Thompson on television, but her previous stint as Rosemary was a little underwhelming. She was a bit too gentle and quiet to make a proper impression, and it didn't take advantage of her considerable comic talents. All that is forgiven now we've seen Rosemary is actually a rough old gum-chewing con artist; it got me giddy with excitement at the mayhem she can cause. The fact that she's formed an alliance with Nigel Havers is just a cherry on top.
If you know where you can buy David's lovely green jumper, please let the author know via Twitter @merseytart.
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