Rana of the Roof

Now if you are of a certain age, and I am, you will no doubt remember a ludicrous 1980s American soap called Dynasty. God bless all who sailed in her. Dynasty was the tale of not-so-everyday oil folk, their lives, loves and frequently changing faces. The show descended into high camp at an early stage, thanks largely to the introduction of Joan Collins, hamming it up as Alexis. She was all cute one-liners and double entendres. Ask for a double entendre and she'd give you one. Anyway, to cut a short story long, Dynasty's finest hour came courtesy of the Moldovan massacre. The entire cast descended on some long-forgotten European republic to attend a royal wedding. As the guests lined up, they were all shot down by machine gun fire and left for dead. At the start of the next season, they all picked themselves up off the floor, dusted themselves down and went home. Which brings us nicely to Weatherfield . . .

Sometimes dear old Corrie, with four hundred ITV slots per week to fill, elongates a storyline to snapping point. Exhibit A, m'lud, is 'Sally in Prison', a tale that dragged on longer than the entire series of Prisoner Cell Block H and was only saved by stellar performances from the main characters. In much the same way, the throbbing boredom of t'faktry roof has been pulsing away for eternity. On it went. Cracking noises, wisps of dust, knowing looks. In the midst of this, the Wives of Dull were preparing their wedding and gabbling on in such a flowery way that you knew the Grim Reaper was going to come a-knockin'.

By the time we had actually lumbered up to the fateful day, it was hard to feel anything but relief. Down came the roof and I almost dashed up north to festoon bunting on the mangled wreckage. The aftermath though was distressing for many viewers. Despite crossing my fingers and offering up a prayer, I wept on learning that Sean had survived. Life can be so very, very cruel. However, this is where Corrie aligned itself with that staggeringly awful episode of Dynasty. It didn't matter how many twisted girders and swinging live wires hindered them, the entire ensemble shook off bits of shredded roofing and carried on. All we needed was Joan Collins in a Nolan Miller cocktail dress a-top the rubble offering a smile to camera. Roll credits.

Sadly the credits did roll for the nurse-with-no-purpose, Rana of the Roof. There she lay in her wedding gown, like a junior Miss Haversham. Hours became days as on it went. Even mumbling doctor Ali removed his hard hat and shrugged, overcome with boredom. There were a few happier moments though when it appeared that Kate and her permanently startled face might possibly, possibly celebrate her nuptials with half a dozen Singer sewing machines and an RSJ for company. Well, at least that gimlet-eyed look would be for a reason. So dull was Kate than Rana opted for death rather than face a lifetime related, in some roundabout way, to Michelle. I did try to assemble the Connor family tree but found I could achieve the same result by just throwing a knot of spaghetti on the floor.

Life goes on in Weatherfield. I found myself far more concerned with Tim's heart attack and Gina's

impending departure. Poor Gina, she spent at least four episodes wheeling her case up and down the street, advising everyone that she was leaving. A few minutes later, we would see her walking in the opposite direction with the case. It would have been more fun if someone had added an item every time she sailed by. You know, an inflatable toy, George Forman grill, Rana . . .

Meanwhile, many of us are also trying to keep up with ITV3's vintage Corrie repeats. These seem much more watchable than the current efforts. It's always lovely to see Bet's massive wig bearing down on poor little Vicky, choking slowly on the clouds of fag smoke billowing from her grandparents. It's also fun to see the displays in Bettabuys blatantly filled with Morrisons products and Ivy slowly jamming bottles of Pomagne in amongst the Domestos. Maybe it's a rose-tinted glasses affair, as we seek comfort in Betty's hotpot, Alma's dithering and Rita's shocking knitwear. Simpler times of course. We never saw Phyllis Pearce with a factory on her head.

By Clinkers to Riddle

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