Panto season is upon us. No, I don't mean Brian's epic tale of Cinderella hunting for the one toe ring to rule them all. I mean Carla and Elsa up there, the Evil Queen meeting the Fairy Godmother. Could they be coded any clearer as opposites? Carla is black leather, dark hair, tight jeans; Elsa is fluffy and blonde and pastel. They look like they're about to break out the magic wands and start a battle for dominance over Oz, although in this case I am very much Team Wicked Witch. (They also look really cold on that bench. You might even say they look FROZEN. Dammit, I promised myself I wouldn't do any of those gags.)
Beware the Alleyway of Doom. The set extension has provided us with ample storyline opportunities. A tram stop to take people into town, a police station for the many, many crime-based storylines, a Costa and a Co-op to earn ITV a few bob. And, of course, an alleyway for when a character needs to be beaten to within an inch of his life. A few months ago Zeedan gave a would be rapist a good kicking in there, and this week it was Ali's turn to be pummeled mercilessly under a dripping drainpipe. Ryan intervened, causing a brief lull in the ongoing war between the - are they brothers? I'm not sure what you call two swapped at birth boys who don't share any DNA. I will point out that Ali was a high flying, intelligent medical professional until he got back in touch with Michelle, and now he's a drunken loser sexually harassing young girls and working as a waiter. Should've kept your distance, mate. It's baffling how Robert could look at Ali and Ryan's behaviour and think to himself, yes, I think the mother of those two should have another child. I'd have run into the kitchen and given myself a vasectomy with the kitchen shears to make sure her bloodline didn't continue any further. (I'll also add, Corrie producers, that your references are a little out of date. There are lots of burly men with tattoos and thick beards and shaven heads in Manchester, but they're not bikers. They're more likely to be found at the Eagle in Canal Street on Leather Night.)
Families hold you back. Sally's trial began this week, and it doesn't look good for the fragrant Mayor Metcalfe. The main reason for this seems to be her terrible family who are constantly intervening and making things worse for her. Left to her own devices, Sally would probably be alright, but since this whole farrago started Gina's tried to dispose of evidence, Tim's belted the accuser, and Sophie's encouraged her to swallow a Silk Cut Shandy to make herself sick. Even her lawyer's too busy having saucy sex romps with her daughter to bother asking Sal if she had an alibi until it's far too late. Thank goodness Rosie has stayed in Tokyo; if she was in Weatherfield she'd probably be trying to seduce the judge into finding in her mum's favour and ending up in prison for soliciting. I have everything crossed that Sally will be found innocent, mainly so she can go back to number 4 and chuck all of Gina's belongings out on the Street. They've so far avoided any hint that Tim is even slightly interested in his duplicitous sister-in-law, but I'm scared that if she's in prison Gina will ply him with home brew and take advantage. Tim and Sally must stay together, because they are adorable.
Children should be seen and not chomping. I know we're meant to be on Fiz and Tyrone's side with Hope's problems at Bessie Street, but why was nobody that bothered that she's going around biting teachers? Her mum and dad seemed far more agitated that she might not be able to go to school with her mates than the fact that she's turned into Jaws. Excluding her may have been an overreaction - and Phil was definitely doing it for political reasons, what with him being basically Michael Gove - but I didn't hear anyone coming up with any ideas for what her punishment should've been. Remember, this is the girl who set fire to a trampoline and blamed her sister; she could do with a bit of disciplining. No wonder Maureen Lipman favours Ruby over the demon child.
Bacon never lets you down. Gemma bounced back from her boyfriend turning out to be a dodgy thief by chowing down on a couple of greasy bin lids. Wise girl. A wodge of floury white wrapped around rashers of Danish and some HP will raise even the lowest of spirits; Sinead should abandon that revolting kale, spinach and avocado concoction and instead tuck into a bacon barm if she wants to feel better about her cancer. If Gemma could just learn to close her mouth while she eats it'd be perfect.
Despite having no experience whatsoever, the author has applied to be a waiter at the Bistro to earn some pin money. Apparently they've got thousands of vacancies and anyone can work there. Wish him good luck for his interview on Twitter @merseytart.
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