'ave a proper Merry Christmas!

I just wanted to wish all those who have taken the time to read, comment on, critique and offer feedback, proof-read (not to the extent you'd notice, I know!) my wee Corrie blog over the past few months. I just really hope that it's been as much fun and enjoyable for you as it has been me! 


I shall be watching the upcoming episodes avidly (with my Kevin Turvey-style jotter and bookies pen) ready to post in the next few days. And it looks like it going to be bad hair days all round at the Platts - what with Les Dennis's fake son and a likely *white* Christmas for Kylie - what with Ol' Sith eyes Callum at the ready with the white and powdery...


Anyway, I didn't want to go on to much as we have hour long Corrie on Christmas Day and another on Boxing Day to devour and reflect on, in the true spirit of the season. Also, to bring in the New Year in a classy fashion we have a programme dedicated to Dame Barbara of Salford herself, and her alter ego Rita! 

(if you're a fan of this image visit: http://pop-goes-the-easel.tripod.com/id2.html - amazing stuff!)


So, I am wishing anyone who reads this a massive Happy Christmas and a fantabulousa New Year! 

But try not to over-indulge, eh?! 

(And, yes - that was just an excuse for a picture of Peter..!)

A trifle late...

I have not blogged of late. For anyone who endures/enjoys reading I hope you will appreciate my apologies.


Yes, the trial of Peter Barlow took it's toll on us all. I was a wreck, so it's no wonder the pressure led poor Deirdre to Jackson Pollock a trifle all over the walls... Not least because Young Kenneth became (astonishingly)  even more sanctimonious than usual.  Michelle rolled her eyes a bit more, Carla took to the Merlot like Craig eats chips, and Steve began a descent into a nervous breakdown....


But in the end, like a really good episode of Quincy - the real wrong 'un was found out. Perma-shifty Rob was shopped by his own sister, Carla and his one-time bride-to-be Tracy led the police straight to him. The two murderers are no more.


Finally, Peter was a free man - especially as he no longer shares a bucket with dickhead cellmate (played by the fabulously monikered Fine Time Fontayne). That was until he arrived back on the cobbles. Where once again, he was a guilty man. Although he might not have killed Tina - to alround he had a crucial role in her demise and was quickly reminded by all and sundry...that girl who works in the Bistro, Rita and bloody Michelle.



So, Peter left for Portsmouth - smoothing things out with his son ( a wee Bruno from Fame) with a bag of chips. I for one shall miss him, his lovely pea-coats, brooding eyes and the best smoking on telly ever. Bon Voyage, mon amour...

                                           

                                           

Sorry - I digress! The main story for me right now is poor old Steve McDonald. It seems the years of being the 'fun' bloke in the pub, the talkative taxi driver, good son and father have got to him. 

In short, it seems that he can't please himself anymore, let alone anyone else...and has sunk into something of a depression.







Whilst I wouldn't normally do a 'serious' post on my blog - I think that Steve's portrayal is all to real (in my limited experience/opinion!). Perhaps especially in terms of men - trying to front things out, and not lose face - but a fair few women too. The silent denial to yourself that you cannot 'do' anymore...






The entrapment he feels: the uselessness, lethargy... doing daft things to try and feel better, but then immediately regretting them. All on a small scale - so they just seem thoughtless, selfish or stupid are all too real and recognisable. 

I don't want this to turn into some sort of 'self-help' piece, but I think this story line and portrayal is being handled really well. Especially in showing that the frustration he feels with himself is constantly misconstrued or misunderstood and - in turn - infuriating everyone around him.








Now, I know I said I didn't want this to be a self-help piece - but, if you're feeling a bit crappy, or think someone you know is, there are places that can help:


Mind - http://www.mind.org.uk/

NHS 111 - http://www.nhs.uk/NHSEngland/AboutNHSservices/Emergencyandurgentcareservices/Pages/NHS-111.aspx

Mental Health Foundation - http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/

Samaritans - http://www.samaritans.org/



Your GP's surgery can also sometimes be a really good place to start. But just confiding and admitting that you are struggling, to anyone you feel comfortable with, whether they're a stranger or best mate/family member can really help. Likewise, if you are worried about someone and their behaviour - ask them if they are alright. It might be nothing, but on the other hand, it could mean the world to them.

Just don't let it fester...

Unsung heroes: Neil...

Never has one man's face told such a story...

​

Coronation Street has never shyed away from it's more eccentric, sightly crackers or downright deranged characters (Tony Gordon, that Irish nurse who stalked Martin Platt, Don Brennan..) - but the newest one is rapidly becoming my favourite...

Yes, I am talking about the cuckolded Neil. The poor man. After working away in various danger zones to make sure his family had a nice semi-detached and garden, matching settees and cushions (the sort of house where you know they have a proper dinner service and cutlery...) he returned home to find his wife Andrea shacked up with him from Red Dwarf, and no idea she appeared on Dancing on Ice...

​

After having her head turned by a history course, a few nights out in the Rovers and a heart attack from space-invader turned cabbie, Lloyd - she decided this was the life she'd been craving. Yes, really... No amount of Michelle's eye-rolling, sarkiness from an increasingly bitter Eileen, nor Steve's gurning could stop these star-crossed lovers.

So, Neil was binned off. And, doesn't seem to be taking the news all that well. He's promised to give up fishing, sacked off his job (this time in the Philippines with a car!) and is becoming a fantastically unnerving, but really polite stalker. Happily asking, 'Ooh, what film are you watching?' - when asked to not stand outside his estranged wife's new home all night. Randomly interrupting her dates with tales of her pregnancy cravings, and leaving all his luggage at the airport when he legged if off a flight to 'win' her back... Or just grind her down (no jokes at the back, please).

My personal favourite has to be his bonding with a children's clown sent round as a wind-up by Steve and Lloyd in response to 'pizzagate'. In an ironic twist, the clown's wife had just left him too...

The clown and Neil penciled in a second date and will be, 'meeting for a pint soon'.

​

Good on you Neil - and may your campaign of (quite literally) killing them with kindness continue! 

Size isn't everything...except when it's chipboard.

When gormless couple Tyrone and Fiz decided on a loft conversion, they knew they could rely on on the honest, yet painfully dim Jason to go a good job - mates rates too. Get in!

Behind the scenes,  the strings on Jason's business were being pulled by the nefarious forces of Tony and Todd. Especially Todd, who this time around is less the rosy-cheeked, sexually-confused Ken Barlow in the making and more Hitler-haired Iago...

In order to keep costs low, drum up business and make plenty cash - Tony gave Todd the job in admin/PR or something? Anyway it's involved Todd  trying to con Norris into getting a new roof, cold calling old ladies and offering to send round 'his best man for the job', oh - and picking on Gary a bit...the last bit seems seems a fair perk of the job to me though. 

But, tricky Todd has come unstuck with his over-cocky sneering and gift of the gab... When the workshy gobshite was sent by two experienced builders to buy the materials for the loft conversion (no, I have no idea why either...), he made a bit of an 'executive decision'. Rather than buying the right thickness of chipboard (I cannot remember the exact dimensions - neither could Todd), he bought a smaller size and pocketed the change. Now, I don't blame him for doing it (hopefully he put the money towards moving out of his mother's already overcrowded house) - but you'd have thought Todd would know that sometimes - size is everything?

Even Tony, who we know is a bad 'un because he's flogged hooky hairdryers to the two murderers warned Todd that that the chipboard would be unsafe, (especially in a house whose inhabitants seem to exist on pie, chips, bacon butties and lashings of ale). And even Gary (onetime soldier, who emotes by crying outside the shed at his Mum's or hitting people with a plank of two-by-four) voiced his concerns...only to be threatened with the sack by naughty Todd. 

So the floor was laid and thus the scene was set - for tragedy. Or rather, daft bloody Tyrone went up to a unfinished loft conversion after being explicitly told not to for safety reasons. Father Dougal and the big red button all over again...

So Tyrone has a bust hand, but no indication of any sense being knocked into him. Fiz is being her usual sympathetic self; moaning about her lot, picking at Tyrone and drinking pints while he's on the Orange Juice... All this whilst Tony's chucking money at them, so they don't claim on their invalidated insurance. 

One half of that dreary couple sure ain't as thick as they look... 

Nuts in August...

When Deirdre decided a holiday was long overdue, our tanned leather heroine dreamed of the Maldives/Majorca/St. Tropez.  North Wales - in a freakin' caravan - was not on the radar. Unless you're Ken Barlow... Ken's vegetarianism seemingly means he wants to hang out in places without roads or proper shops, and spend time with people who breed and kill animals for money. Interesting choice Ken...

All our Deirdre wanted was a pool, a bit of sun and a good Jackie Collins...but Ken obviously sneered at such wanton philistinism. Insisting on outside toilets, long walks and picnics. Good for the constitution, no doubt... Despite Deirdre having already clocked somewhere for a good pub lunch (read as: liquid) - Ken's roasted pepper hummus butties, bottle of Montepulciano and assorted dips won out - Well, the wine did. Following in the great Barlow tradition, Deirdre drank the bottle and who could blame her? I would have drunk petrol...

After subjecting his wife to a night in a caravan even people-traffickers rejected, and National Service style toilet/shower block - Ken though she'd really love a long walk....wearing the farmer wife's shoes. Who said Ken doesn't know what women want? The ol' smoothie...

To be fair to Ken, Deirdre did get some dinner - mainly wine and Silk Cut, but it was something. I'm sure she was wishing for a couple of pork pies and those smoky bacon crisps she likes from the Rovers' though...

The outing took a terrifying turn though, when they then met 'Derek' the bull who had an instant attraction to Deirdre. Regular viewers will be aware, she's always had been a sort of nectar for small businessmen (Mike Baldwin, Dev...), but she can now add to this livestock too. 

Although, Derek turned out to be a lady bovine... 

The start of a new story-line for Deirdre? Well, stranger things have happened...

After such a delightful walk and feeling thoroughly reconnected with the great outdoors - Ken and Deirdre went back to the Bloc, and played cards. Whereupon, Ken suddenly realised they could escape and returned to Weatherfield to ruin Tracy and Rob's fun...

Every cloud, eh?!

Sweet tooth...

We pick up from the revelation that 'Jim' is the landlord and likes to brew a bit of grog. Just 'to make life in here a bit more bearable', for his fellow Her Majesty's Pleasure-seekers. He also likes posh biscuits. Chocolate ones. I wouldn't let that sweet tooth fool you though, so I wouldn't...

Whilst Ken and his hair are frantically trying to build a case for the defence, and Deirdre is 'worn-out' - (Not. Saying. A. Word.) - our Anti-hero Peter, is faced with the same old choice yet again. Between good and evil. Light or dark. Fight or be fought. Or in this case, Jim's booze to Ken's unquenchable desire for justice...

That said, Jim has displayed his more positive qualities. As well as Warlord and Landlord, he can certainly add Lifecoach to his CV. He could seriously rival The Speakmans (although I'm not sure who would be the most scary to be locked in a cell with)... 'Jim' succeeded where Weatherfield's own Atticus Finch (yes, Ken) failed - persuading our thirsty desperado to plead 'Not Guilty'. Although, it could have had something to do with Peter being half-pissed, and DC doing the Countdown theme in his ear before the hearing... 

He also drove Peter to steal DC's wine-gums. An act that in my opinion, was thoroughly deserved.

But, he didn't want the sweets because they stick in his fillings - so they do (I will stop this...). And like an infant Ian Paisley, he demanded biscuits... 

A microcosm of the 'Troubles' playing out before our eyes.

Only joking Peter! 


Cheeky 'Jim' had the booze all the long... 'Chateau de Bighouse' warming nicely in his front pocket. So, Peter did the sensible thing and got thoroughly mortal; tried not to slur his words, and laughed in DC's face when confronted over the confectionery theft. 

Oh, Peter...

Moonshine over Salford...

Well, well, well...hasn't it been an exciting week in Coronation Street? We've enjoyed chipboard wrangling, ice- cream injuries, a reconciliation between him from Red Dwarf and her that was on Dancing on Ice, and news of Deirdre's luncheon meat (sadly past it's sell-by, and now unpalatable to Ken). 

And, if all that didn't leave you completely KO'd - Peter Barlow has made a new friend in the Big House. I'm thrilled, mainly because his cellmate is an actual dickhead. 

The big drama started when Peter's son (Lou Ferrino jnr) decided he'd changed his mind about visiting his father in Prison with Granddad Ken, and would rather go to the Zoo with two murderers instead.

As you can understand, Ken's hair was livid. And, after admonishing and chastising the resplendent in beige Leanne, and the two murderers - Ken delivered the news to a deflated Peter. His one and only son, Simon: the love of his life, the reason he keeps going, his world...(ad lib to fade)...wouldn't be joining them for a body-search, machine coffee and quavers. 

Peter's response was fairly reasonable. Self-pity,and moonshine...well, we've all been there. 

It turned out that dickhead cellmate (DC) has his uses, and also a name (that I can't remember). He knew of a lovely chap, ex-landlord - who is known as - you'll never guess... 'The Landlord'. He's our man, brews a bit of booze but also 'runs' the prison... As the mini-bar was dry, Peter was more than game - looking decidedly more Spaghetti Western than Kitchen Sink...

The Landlord turned out to be Geneva Convention breaching, former warlord - Rodovan Karadzic, who has now taken on Jim McDonald's former life. The giveaway was 'Jim' letting a naive and green Peter in on his secret... 'some of my best friends are murders, so they are...' . When most men would run, Peter necked his pop like he was at the last supper. Luckily, Peter loves a drink with a splash of danger.

So, the Warlord is now the Landlord. And if there's one thing I know, landlords always call in a debt...

A recommendation!

The eagle-eyed among you might have realised that this blog focuses mainly on Coronation Street...however, I do like to try and keep up with other soaps too. Now, while I can't claim to be a massive Eastenders fan I do like to try and keep up to date with it. One blog I have found really useful has been eastendersunplugged:



- http://eastendersunplugged.wordpress.com/.


It's a great little blog and is clearly written by someone who really enjoys the programme and knows their stuff. It's full of updates, spotlight articles on characters, EE news and my favourite bit - discussions on classic episodes. I love this as it's a bit of a trip down memory lane - the only downside being I realise how old I am! ;-)


Even if you're not a massive 'enders fan it's still a mighty good read, and if you are you'll no doubt love it! 

'He's gone to the shop!!!'

Never have so few words held so much weight....

Yes, Ken's back! Hurrah!


Even an untrained eye could tell Ken had been away a while. A healthy bronzed glow had replaced the Barlow bleak beige and he hadn't hired a 'Streetcars' taxi back from the airport. Most tellingly, he thought 'surprising' his family would be a lovely idea. As the street's longest serving resident you'd think it would be imprinted in his every fibre of his being that this was very much the opposite; sort of like knowing when he's hungry or needs to visit the library. But I suppose maple syrup and vegetarianism can turn man's head...

Ken has returned a changed man. He's now vegetarian, (well, these intellectuals always have funny ideas), has begun to dress like an Umpire and is writing poetry (leave now Deirdre, now!). But Ken's lifestyle changes, pale into insignificance to the tumultuous time Deirdre's faced in his absence. He ain't the only one that's changed...

After the 'Surprise-Surprise!' of Ken's early arrival, Deirdre spent the rest of the afternoon keeping him prisoner in his own home and well away from the truth. In 'Goodbye Lenin' fashion, she shoo-ed away friends and neighbours, cracked on with a lasagne and pretended all was well. That was until Eccles decided now was time for her revenge and bolted...We all knew there was only so much those little paws could take... After witnessing the vision that was Deirdre racing like a be-slippered Zola Budd after Eccles, Ken suddenly felt the need for a bottle of brandy.

A fitting drink for someone who's about to get one helluva shock. Drink deep, young Kenneth you're going to need it... After bumping into Carla (could she smell that brandy?) he was soon up to speed. The beans spilled all over the Rover's floor, with a crowd of afternoon drinkers watching avidly, while chomping their crisps and supping ale ( a simpering Gail, Audrey and Les Dennis).
As the horror of the past few months unfurled, Ken ran through every emotion a man could - shock, disbelief, disgust, anger, grief - with the same expression. Stoicism incarnate...

Returning to No.1, Ken's fury was finally unleashed. 'How could you not tell me that my own son is in prison for murder?' 'What sort of woman are you?' he raged at poor Deirdre. Which is a bit much from Ken, who would be hard pushed to name all his children of the top of his head, and definitely couldn't pick them out of a police line up.

A tearfully apologetic Deirdre sobbed throatily, imploring Ken to understand and listen...to no avail. Eventually she got frigged off with his pious, sanctimonious preaching - roaring at him to 'Shut up! Shut up! Shut up...!'.

And with that, he did and went for a lie-down - never touching his vegetarian lasagne. Despite returning to a maelstrom of family breakdown, affairs, alcoholism and murder charges, there was one thing he was certain of. He doesn't trust that Rob...

Love Unlimited...

So, meanwhile, our blinking black widow Gail (three dead husbands!) was taking her relationship with Les Dennis to a new level with an afternoon of wet play. By that, I mean he turned up in his mate's ice cream van, and they cleaned it... The rest of the episode was a bit like 'Trees Lounge' on a tight budget and more depressing.

On a whim, they took the van for a spin round the sights of Weatherfield (...so yeah, the Red Rec and Freshco's...) and then decided to get drunk in her garden. As Gail lives on the posh side of the street, I'm sure it was Zinfandel and 'Walker's Sensations' all round. Les enjoyed it like a man who'd just been released from prison (oh, he had?!) and blinded by lust, took off his brown suede bomber jacket and moved in for a kiss....

Unfortunately, Gail's son Nick - who has a brain injury that no-one seems to give much of a shit about anymore - was peering through Gail's voile curtains and spotted them. Nick had had a bad day...well...more like a bad year, to be honest. He very nearly died in a car crash after his brother David, tried to kill him. His wife, Leanne left him and took up with his friend and confidant - the busty personal trainer, Kal. And, he's been left with a brain injury that makes him increasingly Basil Fawlty-like in manner. After another epic bout of Fawlty-ism; Nick pissed off his staff, had a row with his ex-wife, and then decided it was all Gail's fault for having the day off from cleaning the Bistro he owns. The ironically named, 'Just Nick's'...

Further incensed by the display of sheer eroticism between Les and Gail - or, 'Le Baiser Legendaire' - as it's now known in my house - Nick went ape and trashed Les's mate's van. 

Pushed to choose between a man who robbed her house, but bought her a new telly and tried to make amends - or a family who treat her like a recently trafficked slave - Gail sadly, dumped Les. The lack of verbal abuse had taken it's toll.... So, Les put his jacket on and left looking deflated.

So the cork's back in the bottle, and the Zinfandel's back on ice... 

"Thinking is easy, acting is difficult, and to put one's thoughts into action is the most difficult thing in the world."

There is no way that you could say this Corrie week has been a less than an action packed affair! We've been treated to a library sit-in - with Goethe quotes and collective action that would've made Bob Crow proud. An act on vandalism on Les Dennis's Ice Cream van (not a euphemism...) and a pensioner punch-up. All that, and more Eccles the dog bothering...this time by Lou Ferrino Jr - Simon Barlow...Phew! 
That's why I'll be doing this round up in sections...nothing to do with me being away for a few days, honest! ;-)


So first up, the campaign for justice. No, not the for innocent Peter. A far more worthy cause - against the closure of Weatherfield's knowledge and information hub... No, not Ken or Roy...


In shock news to Weatherfield residents, Roy announced the imminent closure of the never mentioned, yet heavily used local library. Roy only stumbled on this news when he tried to return a book borrowed by his late wife and fifth Beatle, Hayley. The news soon swept like wildfire. Emily Bishop's (Widow of the Parish/Church-goer/ part-time Anarcho-syndicalist) ears were certainly burning...



Roy, resplendent in beige and clutching his shopping bag proudly - immediately started a petition against the closure. A measured act for a measured man. That was until he met Yasmeen. As Chief Librarian, some may say she has a vested interest - that is until she starts her spiel. And by the thump, does she have a spiel. Every time she appears another Elizabethan speech is delivered with the swish of a pashmina...The nearest Weatherfield has got to Rosa Luxemburg. With a selfie...









Anyway...after hearing quite how Liz MacDonald *enjoys* a library, and lovely Craig can do his homework there without getting picked on, Roy engaged in diplomatic and tactical talks with Anarcho-Emily, and Yasmeen. Over milky coffee and shortbread fingers, Emily regaled with her previous experience of brick throwing and trespass. For a moment, I thought she was going to tell us about her time at Greenham...but alas not. I'm sure she had many a jumble sale to organise for, or was manning the barricades at Orgreave at the time


Roy eventually capitulated, and reluctantly engaged in a bit of direct action. Craig, Emily and Mary helped out too...but Craig had to go home for his tea, Mary had concerns about leaving her Motor-home overnight in Salford, and Emily was starting to nod off. Despite these setbacks, after a night-time sit-in - consisting of 'Rosa' and Roy falling out, eating cheese butties, heavy use of the reference section by Roy/internet by 'Rosa', and the eventual detente between them - the library was granted a reprieve... Hurrah! 

...Until it burned down!

Shit... 

But as Mary said, like a 'Phoenix from the Ashes (pun intended), the library will rise again'. And oh boy, did it?! Roy's got some bookcases and the 'Community Library' in Roy's Rolls is born! 

I can imagine it now. 'Fifty Shades...' over a toasted teacake...what more could Deidre want?

Coronation Street...

Coronation Street

In a sad, yet not unexpected twist of fate - Peter Barlow is now languishing in the 'Big House' (so he is...) and sharing a cell with an incredibly cheerful Yorkshire man, who did my tits in after thirty seconds. Prison means Peter now sports regulation Norman Stanley Fletcher/Daryl from Birds of a Feather barbering, and also must wear a netball bib when on screen. I can only imagine his disappointment in between being handed the bib and then seeing Deidre in the visiting room. For the man who, with a youthful and occasionally violent barmaid - did 'something quite beautiful' - it must be a bit of a comedown. That said, Deidre's had her moments... 

Of course, we all know Peter didn't kill Tina. It was the omni-shifty Rob. Who assuages his guilt by walking Eccles the dog, the length and breadth of Weatherfield. Well that, or making his sister Carla, toasties when she's come home from Harvey Nick's shitfaced. His idea to hastily stash the murder weapon (a lead pipe, no less) and Steph's (delightful) charm bracelet in Deidre's unlocked outhouse (no jokes please...), looked at first to be his undoing. But when you have Peter Barlow as an in-law, anything is possible...

So for now, Peter remains behind bars with nothing but half a packet of Pall Mall, a pain in the arse cell mate and a picture of his son, Simon when he was still cute. So angry at his family's lack of faith in him - he's now adamant he doesn't want to see them anymore. Deidre understandably, 'just doesn't know what to think anymore'. Tracy-luv has decided now is an ideal time to steal and sell a war medal, and Rob is wandering around looking confused and irritable - more like a man suffering concussion than wrestling murderous guilt.

In the meantime Rob's wearing out good shoe leather - not to mention poor old Eccles's tiny paws - down to the bone.

And, just to make matters worse...KEN DOESN'T KNOW! 

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