Five Things We Learned In Corrie This Week

The geeks should inherit the earth.  When Sam Robertson made a return to the show last week I assumed that was the last we'd see of Wayne.  After all, it must get confusing on the call sheets to differentiate between Adam Barlow (actor) and Adam Barlow (character).  So I was delighted to see the Health and Safety Inspector return to the show, only to have my heart broken when Roy treated him like dirt for no apparent reason.  When he turned his back on him you could actually hear the tear roll down Wayne's pallid little cheek.  This is all to do with Sylvia's ring to rule them all; presumably Roy turned up something deeply unpleasant during his five weeks in Portsmouth and doesn't want to be reminded of it.  That's no excuse for being beastly to sweet Wayne though.  I'd much rather Roy kicked out the squatting Carla and Peter (who were much talked about but didn't appear all week, like Maris from Frasier) and invited Wayne round to the cafe flat to help him with a 1000 piece jigsaw of the Flying Scotsman.

Sean has his Mastermind specialist subjects all mapped out.  I'm never sure how you plan a Mastermind appearance - do you do your best topic in the first round, or do you save it for the final and gamble that you'll get that far on lesser topics?  Sean's chosen rounds would be on Adele (the singer, I assume, not a girl I knew at Uni), kids TV classic Rainbow, and Sex and the City.  I'm not sure why Sean would like the show about Carrie Bradshaw and her antics in Manhattan.  What could he possibly find relateable in a show about a self-centred narcissist who lives a life way beyond their pay scale, who treats their friends like dirt while pretending to be their bestie, and who mistakes catty insults for wit?  It's a mystery.

Don't hold your breath for the No 1 Battersby Detective Agency.  Toyah turned secret agent this week with predictably terrible results.  First she faked a break up with Imran so that she could move back into Victoria Court.  Why she wanted to get back in there is beyone me, since she uncovered the only incriminating evidence against Nicky - THE REPORT wedged under his divan - the other week and the police were well aware of it.  Maybe Craig used all the hot water in the yard flat and she wanted an excuse to return to luxury.  Her undercover work lasted about fourteen minutes as Nicky immediately saw through her and told her there was nothing to find anyway.  Then, in tandem with Leanne, she convinced herself that Nick was in hock to Rick the loan shark based entirely on a single hushed conversation with Gary in the cafe.  (Incidentally, I have completely lost track of what is going on with the money here.  Is it thirty thousand or forty thousand?  Did Elsa get any cash at all?  Where do Underworld's accounts come into all this?  I'm pretty sure it would take PriceWaterhouseCooper's finest to untangle it all at this stage, if they could bring themselves to care, which isn't guaranteed).  Toyah tried to get the information through subterfuge, but again, she was easier to see through than an Anglian Windows sample sale, and Rick sent her out with a flea in her ear.  It all climaxed with them breaking into Rick's office - because apparently that huge steel door was left unlocked, which is completely feasible - and rifling through his files in search of anything with Tilsley, N written on it.

And they'd have been caught and probably beaten up as well if Sarah-Lou hadn't snuck in the back and belted Sharon over the back of the head with a heavy object.  (Almost exactly the same circumstances that lead to Callum being brained a few years ago, but I'm guessing it doesn't have the same effect on Sarah-Lou because she's off on holiday next week, despite the first time being so traumatising for her she literally ended up being sectioned).  Anyway, they escaped, but then Leanne twigged Toyah was lying - again - and we were all back to square one.  I'm not sure what any of this accomplished really, but I suppose it filled a couple of episodes, didn't it?  The only good part was Jane Danson putting on a comedy Manchester accent while she talked to Rick on the phone and sounding like a roadie for Oasis.

Horse ownership is a feminist triumph.  Sally's deep-seated passion for horse riding was rekindled this week, a deep passion based on a single ride round a city farm in the late Seventies.  (Incidentally, Paula sniggered at this tale of humble lower-class pleasures, but since she went to school with Sally she should be from similar rough peasant stock.  Remember your roots).  On Wednesday she went for her first riding lesson in forty years, and by Friday she was basically Jenny Pitman; such is the power of equestrianism.  She floated the idea of purchasing a horse but Tim rightly pointed out that his business was in crisis and she was working in a temporary sweatshop in a community centre so maybe it wasn't the right time to go throwing a grand around on a whim.

Sinead shoved her oar in, berating her for listening to THE MAN and demanding they act as powerful women and splash out on an entirely unnecessary expense with large ongoing costs.  It's none of your business, actually, Sinead, but soon she was joining Sally, Yasmeen and Jenny in ponying up (hohoho) the cash for Heracles the Horse.  At this point I wondered if perhaps the writers have forgotten this is meant to be the story of everyday working class folk.  There have been signs of it for years, of course, with their takeaway coffees and meals in the Bistro and cabs everywhere, but when factory worker Sinead and her minimum wage waiter husband with a new baby decide they've got £250 to chuck away after a single conversation in the pub, we've lost any pretence that these characters actually have financial limitations.

You can't escape your past.  Natalie spent much of the week fluttering her eyelids at David before going in for an ill-advised snog on Wednesday.  He exasperatedly told Shona he wasn't interested in her - "she's not even my type!".  Yes, it would be totally out of character for David to go for a young pretty brunette...

...with a dodgy criminal past...

...and a gob the size of the Mersey Tunnel.

It's absolutely out of the question.  David wouldn't give that kind of girl a second look.

Now he's finished writing this up, the author is going to go and set up a cab firm.  Apparently it's easy as anything to get an operating licence from the council; in fact the licencing committee seem to deal with taxi firms within twenty-four hours. It should all be finalised by the end of today so send me your bookings via Twitter @merseytart.

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