Let it go. I'm going to put this in writing here, for the avoidance of doubt. If any doctors or surgeons want to play around with my unconscious body, I'm ok with that. So long as I'm under general anaesthetic and I come out of the operation with whatever was broken all fixed up, I don't care what you do. Put me in amusing poses for a selfie. Dangle me off the roof by my feet. Use me as a prop in a stage production of Weekend At Bernie's. If I don't know about it, I'm fine with it.
In short, I really don't care about Peter and his vendetta against Thorne. You got a new liver Pete, stop whining. You know somebody died to donate that liver, don't you? Someone had a much worse experience than you. All you got was an organ making a guest appearance in a surgeon's Facebook status. Who cares? Certainly Ken and Carla seem to have had enough of it all, grimacing every time he starts banging on about it again. Peter even tried introducing a whole class warfare angle to try and get Ken's interest but nope, nobody cares, suck it up Pete and get back to work.
Speaking of people who need to get over things, I wish George would stop whining about Frank being evil. He was a bully forty years ago mate. I was the leading light of my school, the Boy Most Likely To, and here I am spending my Sunday writing about a soap opera in my pants; a lot changes after you graduate. Maybe Frank really is a nice person now. Actually no, obviously he isn't, because we've reached that point where the bluff has gone on for so long that George is apologising and saying "maybe I'm wrong" which, by the laws of continuing drama, means that Frank is probably going to go psycho any minute. With any luck he'll smack Sean about a bit on his way out the door.
Iced hibiscus and strawberry TEA! Help yourself!
Coffee? GO BACK TO SEATTLE YOU WEIRDO CAFFEINE FREAK, WE'LL HAVE NONE OF THAT ROUND HERE.
Now we've got Spider back, dressed like Dobby the House Elf and answering some sort of environmental bush telegraph system so he could get involved with Toyah's protesting. I realise this is a blasphemy, but I was never really a fan of Spider: along with the Battersbys and the Cult of Nirab he signalled the point where Corrie stopped being the everyday tale of Northern folk and went a bit desperate for attention. It's nice to have him back for Toyah's sake, though; let's never forget this is the man who took her virginity in a tent during an eclipse, so there's probably some kind of arcane magick linking them. Let's hope they've learned the lesson from when they brought back Sharon Gaskell and made her awful and haven't decided to ruin him.
What's that? He's hissing "the plan's still on... let's do this" into his phone the minute Toyah's back is turned? That probably means he's gone EVIL and is now a taser-wielding gangster, though I hope he's actually talking to Auntie Em up in Scotland. She's told him to go back to number 3 and retrieve Ernest's piano and God help the Baileys if they stand in his way.
I'll only briefly touch on Maria's ongoing recycling nightmare, because it is a nonsense on about four hundred different levels, but I will say that if you don't want people to know where you live, maybe don't run for office, because your home address is written on the ballot paper and is probably on the Council website? And if you still don't want to be doxxed, maybe don't stand outside your front door with an easily identifiable tram stop right behind you and film a video calling everyone on the internet a sad loser?
Mamma Mimi, Here We Go Again! Look out everyone: Mimi's back! She arrived on the Street to cause havoc ahead of Fiz's wedding, which is next week apparently. Fiz was constantly complaining about how much there was to do - yeah, there will be when you give yourself about six weeks to organise everything. What's the rush? Anyway Mimi arrived to "lend a hand" and we got what we'd sorely missed last time she was in the programme: an encounter with Evelyn. They carried out a proxy war via their dogs, with Cerberus apparently causing Mimi to bruise a hip while Coco scoffed a dinner that wasn't hers. I demand two things from this storyline and I will not be happy unless they occur:
- Dame Maureen Lipman and Margot Leicester spend every single minute of next week's episodes exchanging unsubtle barbs, cruel put-downs, and camp eye rolls, culminating in the two women throwing wedding cake at one another and ruining everything;
- Cerberus gets Coco pregnant and they have a load of mongrel puppies that are adorable yet annoying. (Actually Coco might be a boy; if that's the case Coco should hump Cerberus at inappropriate moments).
It's not much to ask Corrie. Be honest, you'd much rather watch that then Summer banging on about her insulin again. (Oh, and Mimi made a big deal about how wonderful oolong is. Were this week's episodes sponsored by the Tea Council or what?)
Five Things took a brief break while I had Covid. I'm fine now, but one of the symptoms of long Covid appears to be a rattling intolerance for literally everything Sean says. Unless that's perfectly normal? I'd appreciate it if a doctor could contact me on Twitter @merseytart.
