Tidy up after yourself. I'm sure we've all experienced that feeling of fear and dread as we've walked along a towpath, or on a footbridge, or even a quiet street. The horror as you see a gang of youths approaching, hoodies up, hands down their trackie bottoms, being all noisy and boisterous and full of energy because they're young and haven't yet become fully aware of the crushing horror of existence. In real life, these lads pass me by quite unremarkably, because they are no more interested in middle aged men with a Morrison's bag full of Quavers and vodka than anyone else, but in soap opera land these never end well. So it was this week, when David was mugged by a gang of - well, I'll say lads, but I think they were all pushing thirty, some of them from the other side.
Frankly, I thought David deserved everything he got, because he first got their attention when he hurled an empty beer can into the undergrowth. Littering is impolite and antisocial and plain unpleasant. It wouldn't surprise me if the lads weren't random scallies at all, but were in fact the paramilitary wing of the Keep Britain Tidy campaign, patrolling the streets to mete out vigilante justice to those who spit out chewing gum or discard a cigarette butt. In fact, they'd just come from delivering a Brooklyn Curb-Stomp on an old woman who'd picked up her dog's mess, but had then hung the poo bag over the spike on a metal fence. It's harsh but it's the only way these people will learn.
David eventually broke free and hid from them up that fire escape where Carla had her psychotic episode last year. Why he didn't run into the barber's, which is in the same building and where he could've closed and locked the door and been quite safe, I have no idea.
When opportunity knocks, answer. There were only three episodes this week, as the ongoing pandemic put paid to production of the show, but Monday's episode offered up a valid alternative to fill all that time. As Imran chomped down on David's toast I spotted a poster behind him for Mary's still tragically unseen one-woman show. It is a crime that we haven't been able to see her all in the programme, and now there is no excuse for not putting An Audience With Mary Cole on our screens. Thirty minutes - no, make it an hour - of Patti Clare delivering a monologue all about Mary's colourful and thoroughly insane life would be A+ television. You don't need an expensive crew or sets, just have her film it on her phone in her living room and whack it on ITV. It could be like Talking Heads, only on amphetamines. I would absolutely tune in for that.
People must be told. Speaking of the ongoing hellscape that is planet earth right now, the episodes were preceded by the above title card on broadcast. Presumably Ofcom have got sick of people phoning in to complain that the residents of Weatherfield are all going to the pub and hugging and are therefore riddled with the virus. If I'd been in charge at ITV I'd have added "you know this isn't real, right?" on the bottom, but that's just me. I hope there are more of these in future to let the more credulous members of the audience know that what they're watching is in fact a drama. "The producers would like to inform viewers that Geoff is a fictional character played by an actor, so please stop hitting Ian Bartholomew in supermarkets." "The following episode doesn't really make sense, but it's Britain's Got Talent Live Week, so we got told we had to do something epic." "This episode was filmed in January, which is why everyone looks absolutely pigging frozen even though they're pretending it's a nice spring day."
Baked goods are a controversial subject. Bap or barm? Alex, who works in a cafe, is Team Bap, but Gemma is a Barm Person, which I fear means they can never truly be friends. You can overcome many things in a relationship - different religions, political divides - but if someone asks you if you want a bap when what you want is a barm it'll annoy you every time and you'll end up shoving it down their throat. Personally I'm a Roll Person, because I'm a soft Southern nance, though I live on Merseyside where it's called a Bin Lid so frankly anything's better than that. It was nice to see Alex out and about this week, by the way; he's been trapped behind the counter of the cafe for months, coming out with a one-liner then wandering in the back, so it was good to see they'd finally remembered he's friends with Gemma. I wonder if his sudden resurgence has anything to do with Ali's departure? Ali's real name is, let's not forget, Alex; perhaps there's a strict rule about the number of Alexes allowed to appear onscreen at any one time and so young Mr Warner is only allowed out of the plot cupboard now Mr Neeson has burned off into the sunset.
Everybody's a fool. It was April Fool's Day this week (in the episode broadcast April 3rd, because of the new schedule, but never mind) and everyone took part. Bernie applied fake spots to her face and put salt in the sugar bowl...
...Lily hid under the table so that David could terrify Gail by pretending her granddaughter had wandered off; she tried to get her revenge later by telling him his car was on fire but he treated it with the contempt it deserved...
...Steve performed a craniotomy on Tracy while she slept, then sewed part of her brain back on the outside of her head...
...while at number six, the funniest gag was the idea that anyone would willingly want to spend more than two minutes in the same room as Geoff without punching him in the face. Even though I'm really short of material this week, I still refuse to cover the Geoff/Yasmeen storyline - not least because it's really hard to get any laughs out of the systematic destruction of a woman's entire soul - but I will say that if the resolution to Friday's cliffhanger doesn't involve her kneeing him in the goolies I will be very angry indeed.
Now there's only three episodes a week, I've got to find a way to keep my Corrie levels topped up, so I've started writing fan fiction. If you want to read my tender love story about Dev, Brian and Tiny the Horse, please contact me on Twitter @merseytart.
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