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.