I’m
trying to work out the topography of the Street. How close is Peter and Carla’s
flat to Tina’s? Would it be possible for him to blame their simultaneous
pregnancy on the thinness of the chipboard walls? Possibly his extraordinary
potency has enabled him to render both up the duff with one single shot? Could
he use this as a defence?
Peter’s
not doing himself any favours. Last night he fell off the wagon spectacularly
in a rough Irish boozer and Steve had to come and rescue him. Steve’s never
been known for finding the most sensible solution to anything, and his curious
plan here was for the two of them to get a room. I think the intention was to
get Peter sober before taking him home to Carla the next day. But there was a
hilarious unintentional subtext. Peter seems to be insatiable. Who next? Emily?
Meanwhile
at the Bistro it was Ladies’ Night. They were having a designery jumble sale
and raffle to celebrate Hayley and raise money for charity. Sally was snooty
about Beth’s donated garment and I felt my heart go out to Beth, who’s done a
lot to reprieve herself recently – not least beat up that mugger after bingo.
When her picture appeared in the Weatherfield Gazette lately and online
readers’ comments were scathing about her ‘spaniel’s ears’ breasts and scraggy
hair, I really felt for her. They’re finding a way to humanize this latterday
Janice Battersby character. (Kirk absolutely shone in his reassurances to her
about the bitchy comments – telling her that he thinks spaniels’ ears are
great. In fact, he finds all dogs’ ears sexy.)
I
have to say I was glad when the girls sang ‘New York, New York’ to Stella and
waved her off. Nothing against the character especially – she grew on me as
time went by. But for a while there we had a surplus of tragic, faded blondes
on that street. They hung around in designer tops behind the bar like those
vultures in the Disney version of ‘The Jungle Book’, never quite knowing what
to do with themselves.
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