Friday 1 May

Hi there again folks! It's that time of the week again. Sunday and another update. I'm a bit behind this weekend - normally, I would start on Saturday morning and finish off on Sunday morning, but here we are on Sunday afternoon and I'm just starting! It's been a bit of a gruelling week from a work viewpoint, but a good one businesswise, so I mustn't grumble. Mind you, these days, by the time Friday afternoon comes around, my wife and I both feel and probably look like zombies after the week has taken its toll - the ravages of Anno Domini become harder to disguise and anyway, the pace of life is getting faster by the day. Anyway, in the UK, it's a public Bank Holiday weekend, which means that we have an extra day on Monday to add to the weekend to give us a chance to recuperate.

We tend to go out for a walk on Saturdays if the weather and we are up to it and yesterday was a lovely afternoon - three hours or so spent walking on the hills and moorland around the Duke of Devonshire's Chatsworth estate in Derbyshire. Get the boots on and just walk a few minutes away from the busy car park and you are virtually alone, apart >from the multitude of sheep and pheasants which are so tame they mug you for food when you have collapsed for a breather at the top of a hill. Yet a mile or so down the hill, the place is teeming with people - each to their own!

Tonight, we are taking out my mother-in-law for a meal - she is 89 on Tuesday and fighting fit - fighting being the operative word. She is one of those splendid examples of aged cantankerous individuals who would pick a quarrel with Mother Theresa, were she still alive! For a number of years she has been steadily getting more and more deaf, but her independent (euphemism for stubborn) nature mean she will not countenance a hearing aid. So conversations become very strained because everything has to be repeated loudly many times - after a while, you just give up! Her total lack of diplomatic skills also means that she passes highly embarrassing personal comments about people within their earshot at the top of her voice - at times, I am not sure whether it is deafness, ignorance or pure bloody-mindedness or a combination of all three factors, which controls this behaviour. Mind you, comments are not the only embarrassing things she passes - in common with a lot of older folk, she suffers from loose bowel syndrome, with the result that she will regularly fart loudly while talking to people, totally oblivious of what she has done! This is usually accompanied by much highly stifled mirth as we attempt to stop ourselves soiling our undies! Old age has certainly given her an excuse for saying the most outrageous things for which mere mortals would get locked up! A great cabaret act though, in small doses!

This week has also seen me, in common with a number of other RATUCSERS, in embracing IRC. No doubt, when I make my appearance in the bankruptcy courts as a result of the sky-high phone bills I am probably notching up, I wonder whether I'll be able to send the bill to Jacq in Canada, where the blame must firmly be laid. I must admit that I am deeply envious of the phone/cable system in Canada which allows for Internet access unrestricted by considerations of cost. I did hear a few months ago that my local Electricity supply company Norweb, had devised a new system in conjunction with Canadian telecoms company, Nortel, which will allow internet access via the electricity supply. An adaptor attached to the mains box apparently decodes internet signals and is able to provide speeds about 10 times faster than those available through conventional modem access at this stage. Roll on for this development and I hope it doesn't take too long to wend its way out here in the sticks. Currently, I am very jealous of our Canadian friends and those with academic internet accounts in the UK, where phone bills are not a consideration.

The last week has been very enjoyable on IRC making new friends and discovering existing fans! In particular, it has been really nice meeting fellow RATUCSERS, CP and our Ruth, both from Durham Uni. Ruth (the infamous belly-dancing librarian) and I enjoyed our first public gallop in the small hours of Saturday morning when we tuned in for the weekly quiz. The best way I can describe this event is like the Grand National starting 20 times over in one hour - fast, furious and frenzied - but with a lot more humour than the horsey event. Anyway, I got the distinct impression that our Roof was as breathless as I was with all this activity. Cybersex takes it out of you, you know!

As far as describing any joint activities in which CP and I may have been involved, I have a reputation to protect - mine, not his, which is beyond redemption - so I will agree to divulge nothing further to protect the various parties involved. Apart from a scary chat last night, with some individual alleging to be a WWW wrestler who wanted to know the sex of all those on the channel - I have been imagining the picture of him and CP meeting face to face and visualising the potential outcomes, trying to work out who would run away in fright first.

The other joy has been discovering popups and wavs on IRC - I'm getting quite a collection of these which are really good fun. I have decided to start collecting wav files of my hero, Fred Elliott, as played by John Savident. John is a local lad from my wife's home town of Ashton-under-Lyne - apparently, he went to the same local Grammar School and was in the same year as my brother-in-law. I don't know whether it is true, but I am told that he went into the police force after leaving school - now that conjures up a picture and a half, him reading the caution to the local villains. Great character, larger than life and great fun - one of the major presences on Corrie. The mental picture of him saying "Hello little budgie" to Mavis' pet is one of those memories which will bring back a chuckle to my dying days.

Anyway, onto business. Friday's episode sponsored by Cadbury's Astros, starts in the back room of the Rovers Return. Earlier in the week, you will recall that Jack Duckworth saw the hypnotherapist, Magenta Savannah, to help him cure his smoking addiction. He is revelling in his success at giving up the weed and extolling to Betty the virtues of breathing in all this lovely fresh air. Betty is cynical, a style which she carries out par excellence. He is free of his habit and goes onto marvel at the lovely perfume on Vera - when she tells him that it is washing up liquid, Jack carries on ecstatically doing his Bisto Kid impression "washing up liquid, eh - think what I've been missing all these years, Betty" as he goes out to get a whiff of the "Weatherfield ozone" and we wonder what sort of acid-trip he's been on! We have clue when we see a smirk on Jack's face as he leaves the room and we realise that we are witnessing a wonderful wind-up - heaven help him when the ruse falls apart! In the meantime, enjoy!

Betty is puzzled as to what is going on and Vera tells her "happen it's worked Betty, love, you know, that Magenta, I bet she's done it." Nasty Spumante and Orangina enter the room, to start the day's work. Vera tells Nasty that it looks as if Jack has been cured following the visit to the hypnotist and that she had put Jack into a trance and planted the suggestion that he should give up smoking. Nasty suggests that Magenta should have suggested that Jack upped their wages, but Vera has other ideas - if this works, she has a few other things in mind to be suggested to Jack.

As the girls cackle, Jack comes back into the room. Nastily asks him whether he has "been out for a puff", but Jack contemptuously tells her to wash her mouth out and then proceeds to ask Samantha what kind of washing up liquid she uses, much to everyone's bewilderment. He asks Nasty what was the score at the football match last night - she tells him that they lost one-nil. "Do you know they couldn't find the net even if they were deep-sea fishermen, you know next time, you want to get Des to take you to an away game. Still be a rubbish match, but at least you'll have a day out, won't you!" he advises her. This little faux-pas blows apart Nasty's little secret as Orangina realises that her ex, Des and Nasty have been out together. She glares, daggers drawn, at her colleague - if looks could kill!

We are chez Ashley Peacock - the post has arrived bearing a letter from the local nick from the guy who murdered Tilly's father RBrian. You will recall that Tilly got Leanne to write to the prisoner on his behalf - even though the letter is addressed to Leanne, when Tilly sees who it is from, he opens and reads it. He stuffs the letter into his pocket as Leanne comes downstairs and they leave the house for college and work, respectively.

Ashley also has to go to work. Zoe is still very upset and doesn't want him to go to work right now. He tells her he won't be long and reassures her that he will pop back after an hour.

He suggests booking an appointment for him and her to see the doctor because "you've been under a lot of pressure - a lot of stress - he might be able to give you something - something to make you better. You need help, Zoe, we need help. You have to see proper people, professional people, people who know what's what."

Zoe tells him that she has had "social workers and psychiatrists all my flaming life. I've had them talking to me in their soft snooty voices. Do you think they really care? Do you think they really want to help?"

Ashley says that he thinks they do, "don't they?"

"Right, well if they do, why did they keep losing my files? Why did they keep changing my social worker? Why did they keep swapping me from children's home to foster parents, foster parents to children's home?" is her plaintive cry.

"I don't know" replies Ashley, helplessly.

"No you don't" is her reply, as you start to realise the extent of the psychological damage she has suffered. "Go to work, Ashley, I said, go to work" as she breaks down in tears. Ashley looks on helpless.

Outside, Tilly is telling Leanne about the letter she's had from Whately. He reads out the letter. The prisoner thanks Leanne for writing to him, he doesn't get many letters, he likes her name, his parole board meets soon and that he would like to meet her. Leanne looks apprehensive "it's giving me the creeps, this" she tells him. Tilly doesn't see how she is reacting - he thinks it is brilliant news. She asks him what he wants to do next. He looks blank - blank the plank!

Gareh is on his way to work, saying goodbye to Judeh on the doorstep as Liz passes by in the street. Judeh asks Frizzie how Jim is getting on. "Still the same" is Liz's response and she thanks them for visiting Jim. Judeh asks what the next stage is. Liz tells them that she and Steve are going right now to see the consultant, so it depends on what he says.

As Liz goes on her way, Gareh remarks to Judeh that there is something "funny going on, there. Steve's acting odd!" (Why that should be newsworthy is beyond me - it's a case of "plus ca change" as far as I'm concerned - since when has Plasticine Head not been acting odd - at least now, he has a hard hat to keep in soft addled brain safely inside his cranium!) Gareh cannot put his finger on the problem, "it's just a feeling I get."

"Yes, like the feeling I've just had" says Judeh as she feels a twinge >from Mallett Minor, inside her tum. Gareh wonderws whether the baby is kicking already and puts his hand on her tummy.

As he does so, Zoe is coming out of Ashley's house - she sees what is going on. Judeh sees her and pulls Gareh's hand away. As Gareh shifts himself to go to work, there is a freeze frame as we see Judeh and Zoe staring at each other across the street, Judy is embarrassed, Zoe looks upset. At this Zoe, turns round sharply and goes back into the house.

Steve is leaving Fiona's to go to work - they are discussing whether they will be able to meet for lunch. At this point, Frizzie calls on him and together they go off arm-in-arm to visit Jim at the hospital.

At The Rovers, hostilities have clearly been declared by Orangina against Nasty Spumante. "So it's right what I hear about the football" she quizzes Nasty, who confirms that Des did take her to the match. "No skin off my nose, just can't see what the big secret's about" is Orangina's huffy reply. Nasty tells her that there is no big secret, which prompts the Tango Girl to wonder why Jack is making an issue out of it. When Nasty disputes that, Orangina says unconvincingly "like I said, no skin off my nose". "Good" says Nasty realising that she is in for a bumpy ride ahead.

It is nealry opening time as we see Jack is sampling the ale - Vera catches him and tells him off "Here, what do you think you're doing, we're just about to open up".

"What is this, wench?" replies Jack lapsing into Lusty Jack Johnson in his best Gummidgespeak.

"You what?" is Vera's puzzled response.

"I'll take my ale when I like. 'Tis a fine thing when a landlord cannot taste the fruits of his own barrel. Now be off to the scullery before I take thee across my knee."

Then lapsing back into Jackspeak "Nice spot of ale this!"

Ashley has just popped back to see Zoe - he tells her that he cannot be long as Maude will be waiting. Zoe tells him that he is really considerate and that she has never met anyone like that before. He is better than all the social workers she has had. Ashley asks whether there were any nice words and Zoe confides that there was a cleaner who was nice to her in her first children's home. She seeks reassurance that he would never put her into care and Ashley gives her that comfort. She apologies to him for all the hassle she has given him and comments on how he has been so good to her, kind and patient. Ashley wants to put all their problems behind them and looks forward to a new start. He suggests giving Shannon's things to Gary and Judy for their new baby, as a gesture. Zoe agrees but, although we can see that she is very upset, Ashley doesn't see the signals. As he goes back out to work, Zoe opens up a pack of cigarettes - it is empty. She opens her purse - she doesn't have enough money. She throws her purse down dejectedly.

Nasty and Orangina are still not really talking - in an attempt to warm the icy atmosphere, Nasty asks if there is any news on Jim. After fencing around verbally, with single word responses from Tango Girl, Nasty decides to grasp the nettle. She admits that she went to "a football match with Des, that's it, end of story". "Well, good, because, lie I said, it's no skin off my nose" replies TG, with Nasty finishing off the sentence in stereo with Orangina. Samantha is upset that Nasty kept the news from her - Nasty denies that was the case, but Sammy stomps out in a huff.

Enter Lusty Jack Johnson - "why, 'tis young Natalie, a lass for the taking, I'll be bound." He suggests going to the stable "while the harridan is still about her duties". "Jack, what are you on about?" is her puzzled response. Lusty Jack suddenly snaps back into Duckymode and asks if there is any more tea in the pot. Nasty looks at him bewildered.

Zoe has come into the Kabin - she asks Leanne for some cigarettes and opens the pack handed to her. It is clear that she does not intend to pay for them, as takes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it up. Leanne asks her what she is playing at, but Zoe says that Rita will not miss one packet and suggests that Leanne makes up the money. Leanne is not willing to play ball and asks for the money - she tells her that she likes the job and wants to keep it and asks her again for the money. Rita, hearing the raised voices, comes in from the bag and asks if there is a problem. Leanne tells her that Zoe has forgotten her purse. "I see, then I'm sure Zoe will pay us later, won't you" replies Rita. She then asks Zoe how she is feeling, sympathising because she has obviously been through a rough time. Zoe becomes increasingly irritated and snaps at Rita. "What's the matter with everyone around here? I spend months where no one will even give me the time of day and then, all of a sudden, I've got prayers and tears and sympathy everywhere I flaming well walk. Just get off my case, will you!" as she storms out of the shop. Rita and Leanne look shocked at Zoe's outburst and Leanne apologises to Rita. "Oh don't you apologise, love. That poor girl, she's just a fuse waiting to be lit", replies Rita. "All it will take is one spark - then God, help us" is her ominously prophetic statement.

End of part 1

The ads including one from pompous smug git aka Richard Branson advertising Virgin Holidays to Disney in Florida, a stupid pretty offensive stereotypical piss-take of Scandinavian people and one for MFI furniture (my mother-in-law calls them MI5, which raises an interesting picture in one's mind).

Part 2
Back at the Rovers, it's Fred Elliott asking for "my usual tincture, please, landlord" to which Lusty Jack responds to Orangina "wench take his lordship's horse round into the stables". Vera is realising that something isn't quite right as Lusty Jack asks for payment for the drinks "two groats, if you please". "And cheap at the price, tavern keeper, worth every farthing" is Fred's riposte.

Vera calls Jack - "who calls? 'Tis the shrew. What is it woman?" he asks. She tells him she'd like him to come through into the back. "Har, har, har, the magic of Lusty Jack still works its wonders, do you see?" he proclaims, "you've gotta wait your turn woman, I've got other wenches to service, afore thee, but if you go yonder and prepare my victuals, I might step in shortly".

Rita is telling St. Emilion that she was on the wrong side of Zoe's tongue earlier on this morning - she tells her that Zoe flew off the handle simply after being asked if she was alright. Fred joins the girls.

Rita tells Fred how Zoe has been reacting and about the way she struck St. Emilion the previous night. Fred is shocked, but St. Emilion tries to explain it away by stating that Zoe is under a lot of stress. Rita says she is under stress herself, but doesn't go round bashing folk. She wonders what would have happened had Gareh not been around when Zoe attacked St. Emilion.

Jack comes into the back room - when Vera makes a reference to Lusty Jack, Ducky doesn't seem to have any idea what she is talking about. She is bewildered and worried - clearly he needs his head examining. He isn't Lusty, he is hungry and he wants his dinner - he tells her she needs her head examining!

Orangina asks Vera what is the matter - "It's our Jack, he's reversed" is V's reply, taking on the mantle from the Hildas Baker and Ogden. "He's reversed, ever since he went to that hypnotist, he thinks he's somebody from a byegone age - he's just... reversed." "Regressed", corrects our Sammy, "No, you don't think he has".

Leanne has come back to Maison Peacock - she is furious with Zoe's behaviour in the Kabin. She asks what she thinks she is playing at and that she could have got the sack because of her. Zoe is clearly very upset and tells her she wants to be left alone. Leanne starts to calm down - she is disappointed being asked to steal by Zoe - mates don't do these things. Zoe clearly doesn't think the same way, but Leanne points out that times have changed.

"I know, I used to have a baby" is Zoe's tearful reply.

Leanne tries to reassure her that things will get better, but Zoe is not convinced "How do you know?" she asks.

"Well, they're bound to.... in time" is Leanne's naïve reply. (She has obviously not heard of my mother's maxim "Cheer up, things could get worse, so she did ... and lo, things got worse").

She tells her that they all care about her, but this brings about a surprised reponse from Zoe "Care about me? Why?" With that, she storms out of the house, bumping into Tilly as he makes his way in.

He is pre-occupied with this great idea he has had regarding Whately - he tells Leanne that Whately is likely to be released soon and that Leanne should write to him to find out when. However, she is upset at the state that Zoe is in and tells him to "Stuff him" as she races out after Zoe.

Frizzie Lizzie has arrived at the building site. Gareh is shovelling away at ground level - he calls Steve who asks how she got on at the hospital. She has nothing to report and Gareh says that, no doubt, they will tell her more when there is something more to tell "No news is good news".

Frizzie is curious to find out how the accident occurred and asks Steve to show her exactly what did happen. Steve gets tetchy and accuses her of wanting someone to pin the blame onto. She denies this. "Well, he was drunk, as usual" is Steve's evasive answer. She asks Gareh whether he can remember anything more but he is also unable to add to what he has already told her. He'd heard a crash and then Steve had shouted that his father had fallen. She wants to know whether he slipped but Gareh tells her he doesn't know.

Des is at the telling Nasty that he'd like to see her later but she is embarrassed and tells him that "certain people weren't impressed by our football match attendance", referring to Orangina. "You mean, Samantha, well what's it got to do with her, flaming cheek" he replies, not exactly keeping his voice down. Sam overhears the conversation, as Nasty tries to shush him up. As Nasty goes to the cashtill , Lusty Jack passes by and pinches her bottom.

Lusty Jack then comes up behind Betty at the bar. "Right my Betsie, it's time we had a roll in the hay" he tells her. He then pinches her bottom as well - she is not amused and slaps him around the face while Nasty looks on.

Two mothers are talking in the street - one is holding her baby - as Zoe walks by. She sees them, stops and then rushes back into the house, very obviously upset.

In the shop, Kev is telling Lizzie that he would be happy to take Jim back on. "At least it will give him something to look forward to" is Frizzie's relieved reply.

Fred has come into the shop. When the customers have left, he collars Ashley. He asks whether Ashley is aware that Zoe "has caused Emily Bishop grievous bodliy harm and that she bad mouthed Rita"? He tells Ashley that Zoe needs more than just a word - she needs psychiatric help, the Electric Chair! When Maude offers "You mean ECT" as a correction, Fred's riposte is "I know what I mean, thank you!" After talking further with Ashley, the lad promises to sort out the problem. After he leaves, Maude tells him that he shouldn't have the cares of the world on his shoulders at his age. He tells her that he'd had a chat with Zoe that morning and he feels that things will be better now, but Maude does not look at all convinced.

Gareh and Judeh are at home, about to have their tea. He tells her how Frizzie had come down to the site earlier in the day and that she had been enquiring how the accident had occurred. Steve had got defensive - although Gareh doesn't know what is going on, he is suspicious that Steve isn't telling him the full story.

There is a loud banging on the door - it is Zoe, whio is shouting outside. Gareh rushes to open the door.

Zoe is outside with Shannon's pram and the baby's clothes inside it.

She shouts at Gareh as he comes outside. "I'm helping you out, Gary, just like you helped me" says Zoe. "Oh, my mistake, you didn't help me, you used me" she continues. "You took my baby, you killed her".

Judeh looks upset as Gareh tells her to go inside.

"Go inside" announces Zoe to the gathering crowd of passers-by, "we wouldn't want the poor mother-to-be to get stressed out, eh?. Yes, she's pregnant, up the spout, didn't you know?" She picks up a can of lighter fuel and as Gareh moves towards her she tells him to keep away from her.

"Zoe, just listen to me" implores Gareh.

A crowd of onlookers is building up, including Fiona, Liz and Kevin.

"I did that already and where did it get me? I listened to you and where am I? My baby's dead and you just move on to another one. What are you, a flaming conveyor belt or summat?" She gets increasingly upset as Gareh tells her to calm down. She tells him that she will not calm down until they get what they deserve. "Ashley wanted me to give something for the baby and this is what I hope happens to it".

As she speaks she pours the lighter fuel onto the pram, lights a match and throws it on the pram. She pushes the pram towards Gareh. He falls while scrambling out of the way and then grabs Zoe.

As he does so, Kevin who has been watching the unfolding drama, rushes into the garage for the fire extinguisher, which he promptly uses to put out the fire.

Meanwhile, hearing the screaming in the street, Ashley runs out of the shop - he pulls Zoe away from Gareh and holds her. Gareh is furious and tells him that he is going to call the police. Ashley begs him not to do so as Zoe is upset. Gareh is not impressed - he had asked Ashley to control her, but he has been unable to do so and she is now out of control. Ashley pleads with him and reluctantly, Gareh agrees to let Ashley sort out the problem - he warns him that if there is the slightest repetition of her behaviour he will call the police and "she will end up where she belongs, banged up out of harm's way".

The episode ends with Ashley hugging a distraught Zoe, desperately trying to comfort her.

Cue music and credits
Episode written by Peter Mills
Script Copyright ITV Television

Well what a humdinger of an episode! The two extremes, comedy and tragedy.

The comedy superbly played by Bill Tarmey doubling as Jack Duckworth and Lusty Jack Johnson! He is a fine actor and it is wonderful to see him playing the part with such deft skill. Hamming it up and completely over the top - he's enjoying every minute of the wind-up. My God, when Vera rumbles him, there'll be fun.

Tragedy played out superbly by Zoe and Ashley. Steven Arnold is a fine actor as has been commented more than once on RATUCS, playing his part with great care and sensitivity. Tonight we have seen an award-winning performance from Joanne Froggatt as Zoe Tattersall. I have never liked the character before, but tonight, you got underneath the skin and understood for the first time, with real raw emotion, why she is the way she is. You cannot help but feel sorry for this poor girl, who is so badly damaged psychologically by the previous events in her unhappy childhood. This is acting of the finest kind, when you can forget your prejudices and preconceptions - when you can swing from disgust and anger to love and pity. I have misjudged this girl.

For those who criticised the storyline when it was first trailed, perhaps you will agree that it is a harrowing story, but brilliantly and sensitively portrayed. We live in a world of increasing crime and while deprivation is no excuse for crime, perhaps if we take the trouble to understand the deep-rooted social causes and try to attack them in our war on crime, then we will be tackling the real culprits and not just the symptoms. We all want to be wanted and need to be loved and the failure to satisfy those basic needs can have tragic consequences.

Phew... stiff drink time....

And that's about it for now - see you same time, same place, a week from now.

Take care now....

Regards, Alan

---

Sunday 3 May

Squadron Leader Biggles sat in the officers' mess after the debriefing. His men had all returned safely from the latest mission, bar one. An air of gloom and despondency hung over the room as the brave aviators pondered the fate of their colleague. In the pitch of battle, they had all been too busy to notice whether he had been shot down, or simply got lost on the way back.

Suddenly, Algy jumped to his feet. "Quiet lads", he shouted, "what's that sound ?". They rushed to the window, peering through the gloom of the early evening mist. The noise grew louder, the irregular beat of a misfiring Merlin engine sounding like music to their ears as the battered airframe appeared from the mist and touched down on the runway.

"Hurrah !". "Tail-end Charlie" Laird was back, low on fuel after getting hopelessly lost before finally finding his way back to the RATUCS squadron HQ, Corriedays. He was grounded for a month until he had learnt to prepare his mission briefing *before* taking off. Sorry, sorry, sorry !

We'd better press on...

Act 1
Leanne and Nicky are just leaving Ashley's house. [No doubt there was some snippet of conversation prior to this, but ITV sent out Sunday's episode about two minutes early again. That's it - a letter's going off off to the ITC complaints people about this.] Ashley tells Zoe he is worried about her not having eaten anything for nearly a day. She is not interested in his concern and tells him to go to work, but he wants her to go with him to the shop, and to the Mallett's house as well. Her response is a forceful "no way !". She doesn't care what people think about her, saying "I'm a nasty piece of work, me.". She was quite pleased at the frightened look on Gary's face as he shoved the blazing pram at him. Ashley tells Zoe he is going to see the doctor about her, as she needs help. Sorry, "'elp".

Natalie and Betty arrive at the Rovers to start work. They complain to Vera about Jack's behaviour the previous day. Vera suggests he is not responsible for his actions, having regressed to a previous life [in which he did no real work either, it would appear !]. She goes on to tell them how she doesn't know what triggers the appearance of "Lusty Jack". [It's every time you mention work, you daft bat !] Jack is brought in for questioning. He appears shocked at the allegations of impropriety behind the bar, claiming to have no memory of harassing Natalie and Betty. As his Worzel Gummidge impression takes over again, Vera hussles him back out of the bar.

Ahh! A cosy little family scene at Fiona's flat, with her and the baby, and the Ungrateful Undead, who is on the phone to Liz. "I've got a business to run !", he tells her, cutting her off. He tells Fiona he is fed up with seeing his Mum at the hospital, she keeps treating him as if he has something to hide. Fiona backs this up - she tells him he is definitely behaving in a strange manner. [Good God, he's not acting, is he ?] Steve punches the angry button, announcing he is not a liar. Fiona moves in for the kill, wondering if she had made a mistake taking him back and asking him to move in ? [In the background, we hear the radio playing "Big Mistake" by Natalie Imbra... Natalie Imroo, Imm, oh bloody hell the sexy sultry one from Neighbours. Someone's having a lot of fun with the background music these days !]

Ashley is talking to Maud, telling her that he cannot persuade Zoe to see a doctor. [Maud's response will appear in the summary at the end.] Maud asks him if he has sought Martin's advice. On cue, Martin walks in. He tells them Zoe is probably past counselling - he thinks she really isn't well. He suggests the poor girl could be sectioned, if necessary. "Locked up ?", asks Ashley. Well, in a hospital, for a few days, before being allowed to leave. Martin says there is always something can be done. ["Nurse ! Bring the electrodes..."]

Back at the Rovers, Lusty Jack is bemoaning the loss of his trusty mares. No, no, not Betty and Natalie ! He tells a bewildered Vera that he needs twenty guineas from the till before going to see a man about a horse. [Lucky Man, 3.30 at Weatherfield ?] Des arrives in the bar and immediately starts chatting to Natalie, under Samantha's venomous looks. He asks Natalie out that evening. We see Jack arriving at the bookies.

Quick flip to Des' house, where Natalie is asking him what he is playing at, is he rubbing salt in Samantha's wounds on purpose ? Is this his only motive for taking her out ? He tells Natalie he genuinely likes her, and that they're doing nothing wrong at all. They agree to proceed with the evening's plans.

Ashley returns home, to find Zoe sitting at the kitchen table, idly cutting off chunks of her own hair. She stares at him, blankly.

Intermission
Boring. Condescending to Italians. Overblown. Irritating. Unfunny. Trainspotting [raised a chuckle that one]. Very boring. Fortunately for me, I can fast-forward, and you can simply page down to...

Act 2
No sooner have we seen Zoe's attempts at home hairdressing than a female doctor arrives at the house. Ashley is worried how Zoe is going to take this. "Let's see, shall we ?" replies the doctor. She tries to engage Zoe in conversation about her unusual hairstyle [needless to say, it has the makings of something a little more interesting than the lank style of old]. Zoe is dismissive of this small talk, saying there is no need for Ashley to be worried about her, and asks the woman to leave. The doctor persists, suggesting that Zoe might be trying to punish herself. Zoe looks straight at Ashley - angry that the doctor knows what has happened. The doctor tells Zoe that she needs help, a few days in hospital. Her social worker has been informed, and agrees. She goes on to say that if Zoe won't go voluntarily, she can be made to go. Zoe looks at Ashley and slowly shakes her head at him.

At the hospital, Steve is sitting with Jim, as some strange gurgling noises come from the big man's throat. [What's that, a pint of your finest, Sandy ? Maybe not.] Steve panics and calls for the nurse, just as Liz arrives. Liz tells him to calm down, telling him this has happened before, it's just the tube in Jim's throat blocking slightly. Steve is alarmed - he had thought his Dad was dying. Almost emotion !

Zoe has packed a bag, but refuses to leave the house with the doctor if Ashley is coming with them. He tells her he will visit. "Don't come near me. In fact, I don't ever want to see you again !", she replies. Poor Ashley.

Jack is returning from the bookies as the ambulance draws up outside Ashley's house. As Zoe gets in, she stares at Ashley, who looks sick. [This look inspired no doubt by standing outside Maine Road as the light blue supporters realise that Man City are going down again next season, to entertain the likes of Macclesfield Town. Ha ha !]

Jack enters the bar, telling Vera he has been unable to buy any horses, and has a quiet smirk to himself. Oh my God, he has been fooling us all the time ! [Since about 15 seconds into the scene in the hypnotist's in fact...]

Nicky is doing his best to console Ashley, who is gutted. Ashley worries that this is the first proper home that Zoe has had, people have trusted her, and now what is going to happen ? He leaves to relieve Maud, who has been on her own in the shop all this time [Ashley, you are genuine star !]. Leanne arrives, to be told of Zoe's new accommodation, "what, the loony bin ?", she asks. Nicky asks her is she has written the next letter for Darren in prison. She sighs meaningfully, and disappears.

In the battlezone, Natalie is applying her war-paint. Samantha is interrogating her about Des. They bitch uninterestingly.

Leanne has written the letter. Nicky thinks it is a bit too short to get Darren's attention. [I hope you appreciate the effort I have to go to to think up new innuendo for both buses !] Leanne is nervous about revealing too much. Nicky has a bright idea and fishes out a recent photo of his wife. "That'll really get him interested !" he says. "Forget it", shouts Leanne, and strops off. Unfortunately, she doesn't take the photo with her...

Lusty Jack is in the back room, marvelling at the "picture box". Vera attempts to explain electricity to him, but gives up, telling him that she and Betty will manage behind the bar. Both Jacks smile as she leaves the room. Vera apologises to Betty for Jack's absence. She is going to see the hypnotist again.

Steve and Fiona are falling over themselves apologising to each other for the things they had said earlier. Obviously feeling guilty, Steve asks Fiona to sit down while he tells her about the scare at the hospital when Jim was apparently choking. Steve says that as he left the hospital, he had half-hoped that his Dad *had* died, and then no-one would have found out the truth about the accident. "Go on" says Fiona. As he tells her about Jim's arrival and drunken behaviour at the building site, Fiona guesses that they had been fighting again. She realises Jim's accident wasn't all it seemed to be.

This episode was written by Mark Wadlow.

Quite a lot of serious stuff tonight. The Lusty Jack joke is wearing very thin. Tension is mounting as we wonder what is going to happen next to Zoe and Ashley, whether Jim will wake up and/or everyone finds out that Steve more or less toppled him off the scaffolding, what fate is about to befall Leanne, how will Vera exact her revenge on Jack ? We don't care about Natalie and Sam and Des though. On the romantic front, the question of the day is: when is Hayley returning ?

Overall rating (out of 5 stars): ***1/2
(Half a star for Steve and Fiona actually managing a small amount of believable make-believe.)

Best line: On hearing that Zoe won't go to a doctor, Maud replies "A doctor ? An exorcist, more like !". Cruel, aren't I ?

Best scene: Pick any scene with Ashley and Zoe. These two are doing so well, they often don't need any dialogue at all to convey what they feel.

Toodle pip !

John

---

Monday 4 May

Life at Dewey Towers has been uneventful of late, apart from a little flurry of excitement on Sunday; but nothing to write home about really. In fact I won't mention it again. This is a Coronation Street Newsgroup - perish the thought!

Seriously though, thank you to everyone who mailed and posted. Now I really won't mention it again.

OK. Cut the waffle Dewey. What happened in Weatherfield on Monday 5th May 1998, and on a similar date in the mid 1700s? Plough on, dear reader, and you might enjoy this episode as much as I did.

Ashley is distraught. He believes he has betrayed Zoe by being instrumental in her departure at the hands of 'the caring profession'. Leanne tries to comfort him, tries to reassure him that he did the right thing, and that one day Zoe will thank him. Tearfully he leaves to go to work.

As Ashley leaves, the void is filled by Nick. Or perhaps not. He reminds Leanne about his plans for her to write to Darren Whately, and that because he thought she had forgotten, 'here's one I prepared earlier' (That one's for UK viewers!). Leanne is horrified to see that the letter, which he expects her to sign, has her photograph clipped to it - 'you haven't listened to a word I've said, have you? I don't want to do it.'

Above the salon, Fiona is giving Steve the third degree. Why didn't he tell her all this before, instead of bottling it all up? He explains that he though that 'everybody would think he did it because he hates his father'. Fiona thinks that she is to be considered as something above 'everybody'. She wants the truth, Steve is insistent that he didn't cause Big Jim's fall deliberately, but he had to retaliate against Jim's belligerence - he did push him. Fiona tells him to explain this to Liz, Steve quickly scotches this idea - it's between the two of them. He explains why - if Jim ends up permanently incapacitated, he, as the site contractor, will be liable - he'll be ruined. Fiona is horrified - Jim's the one who is ruined, but if he does come out of his coma, he's going to be the one to tell the truth. Steve hadn't considered that aspect.

Leanne is still trying to tell Nick that she won't be Darren Whately's penfriend, she's angry that Nick has taken no notice of her feelings - and demonstrates by tearing up the letter. She asks him to drop the whole idea, which he reluctantly seems to agree to.

In the back room, she was everybody's darlin'. No, not Candy from Miami FLA, but our Vera, stirring a pot of tea. Jack enters with a lecherous look on his face, and a pint in his hand. So early in the day, Jack? Uh-oh, he's in Lusty Jack mode. He extols the virtues of good old English ale against that upstart foreign drink, tea, finishing with a 'God save the King' and suddenly becoming our Jack again. Vera is getting frightened by these dual personalities, and she should know because she's sure she's been reincarnated. Jack reckons there's nowt to this reincarnation lark, but if there were, knowing his luck, he'd probably come back as a Man City supporter.

Chez Natalie, she and Sam are getting ready for work, but Sam rejects the offer of a lift in Natalie's car. Sam's being deliberately awkward, accuses Natalie of wanting her out, and eventually states that she will look for somewhere else to live, and move out as soon as she can. Natalie seems quite content at this.

Fred Elliott enters the bar with a cheery cry of 'Innkeeper???' Jack comes over in fake Lusty Jack mode, and they both chuckle over how he is still getting away with this harmless jape.

Betty (you remember her, Betty Williams) and Sam are both at the till. Natalie comes over to use the till and Betty senses friction. Sam tells her that Natalie has told her to move out, find someone else to live. Betty, the class snitch, goes straight to tell teacher, Mrs Duckworth. Jack, in Jack mode, calmly says that she can move in to the spare room at the Rovers, because he wouldn't see her out on the streets. Vera very firmly puts that idea out of his mind!

Nick arrives home at lunchtime, and is pleased to find the house empty. He has prepared another letter to Darren Whately on the college WP, and is now looking for an old Christmas card from which to copy Leanne's signature. Oooh you rat, Nick! He finds another photo of Leanne and seals the envelope up.

We're back in the Rovers, and Vera is telling Jack to pull his weight and collect glasses. Natalie is putting Betty straight on the 'Sam's moving out' story. And look! There's Roy at the far side of the bar! Jack is collecting glasses, as instructed, when suddenly Lusty Jack gets an attack of kidney stones, and tells Vera that the Apothecary told him he must rest. She hurries him off to the back to rest.

Roy has seen this, and Vera explains about the Magenta Savanna regression. Roy is excited, because Lusty Jack's reminiscences of life in Weatherfield in the 1700s could be a mine of information. Taking his notebook from his trusty shopping bag, he says he must see Jack 'while he's in this state'. Vera says she doesn't want him 'in this state' and suddenly gets the idea to go off to see Magenta Savanna herself. Roy still wants to get to Jack because 'Mrs Duckworth, we could learn so much about the past'. 'Beggar the past, I want me husband back'. A wonderful comic moment follows, Vera says 'He keeps waking me up in t'night, kicking me out o'bed, slapping me backside, saying 'get back to the village', <pulls Dame Edna Everage face> 'well I've 'ad enough'.

Now. How long is it since Jim's accident? Liz is talking to him, hoping he can hear, and he hasn't even got the five o'clock shadow he would have had at the time of the accident, let alone several day's growth. Do they shave you in hospital? Nurse Platt? Where are you? I think this mystery should be cleared up. She's telling him how wonderful he was when they were first married. Is it a flicker of recognition? His eyelids flutter and he moves his head. 'Nurse, Nurse screams Liz, oblivious to the conditions preferred in Intensive Care.

END OF PART ONE

Nursey comes to investigate, but soon disabuses Liz of the idea of improvement. Apparently 'Involuntary Muscle Action' is not uncommon in coma patients. Where is Nurse Platt when you need him? What a bedside manner that man's got. Liz still holds hope because he /did/ move his head.

Vera arrives at Magenta Savanna's consulting rooms to find a new shiny brass plate on the front door advising 'Magenta Savanna, Tarot Reader'. She's in full Gypsy Rose Lee garb. ''Ere, I thought you were an hypnotist', says Vera. 'Hypnotherapist' corrects La Savanna, 'Wednesdays and Fridays. Mondays and Thursdays I do readings from the cards and peeps into the crystal ball.' This woman could have been scripted by Victoria Wood - 'Mmmm. You'll not always be where you are now....I'm seeing a bungalow <smile>' Wonderful stuff!!! Vera wants to know what she's going to do about Jack's past.

Jack's present is taking full advantage of the apothecary's instruction to take it easy. He appears to be asleep while Betty ushers Roy and his notebook into the back room. Conveniently, he wakes up, in Lusty Jack persona, and asks who is there. Realising that he knows it's Roy, he says 'I know 'ee, 'ee be the pox doctor's clerk. There is no pox in this house'. Betty gets a better line than usual - ' ohhhh, he's with the pixies is this one, I'll leave him to you.'

Roy introduces himself to Lusty Jack Johnson. He wants to talk about life, state of the Nation, and so on. Lusty Jack wants to talk about women, so if Roy wants to talk, they can go into his tavern and Roy can wet Jack's whistle.

In the Street, note the snow lying, Nick posts his letter to Darren Whately.

In the Kabin, Leanne is troubled. She asks if Rita knew Brian. Rita did, of course. Leanne has to tell her everything, about the life sentence meaning release in a few weeks, the original correspondence between her and Whately and Nick's plan to write again with a photo. Rita is horrified.

Vera is trying to get her money back from Magnolia Soprano, who is suggesting that she should by rights be charging for this interview. And anyway, this Lusty Jack sounds far more fun than the feller she brought in for hypnotherapy. Magnolia starts to work on Vera, she tells her she gets a feeling for people who would be good regression subjects, and Vera is certainly one - 'I would say,......., that you've been a Queen in your time'. 'Well between you and me...... <sotto voce, looks round> I've got Royal blood'. A triumphant Magnolia beams 'I knew it! Get on the settee and I'll give you the session at half price!'. ''Ang about', says Vera, 'I came here about our Jack. You were supposed to stop him smoking'. 'And has he?'. 'Well, yes, but....' 'Well there you are then! Now just lie down and relax........Has anyone ever told you...you've a look of Cleopatra?'. 'Well as a matter of fact, they 'ave. It were a feller. He told me to lie down and relax an' all.'

Under the watchful eye of Fred Elliott, Roy is questioning Lusty Jack about life in Weatherfield 250 years ago. He wants to know what the popular sports and pastimes are in these parts. 'Wenchin' and quenchin'' apparently. Man goes into the woods 'Wenching' and then comes back to the tavern very thirsty, so he needs quenching.

Natalie confronts Sam about the 'Natalie has chucked me out' deception. Sam retaliates that 'It's what you wanted isn't it?' and adds that it doesn't matter, she's found somewhere to live, she's moving back into Curly's. And he wasn't even in the episode! Sam reminisces - she thought Natalie was a real friend, but then she stole Des from her. 'Stole him?' questions Natalie, 'you gave him away. And not so long before you were trying to avoid marrying him, and then you had it off with Chris Collins'. Sam encourages Natalie to ask Des why Sam is 'the way she is'.

We're back at the history lesson. In the background we see Fiona leading Maxine from the bar. Surprising, because Maxine does not speak in this scene, nor appear elsewhere in this episode. But the beauty is Roy's next question just as the aforementioned vegetables leave the bar:

'So. There has been no shortage of turnips in Weatherfield these past few years then?'

Magnificent.

Fred is trying to help out here, but Jack affirms that there's been a positive glut of turnips. To Roy, this means that Lusty Jack's Weatherfield is after the Great Turnip Blight of 'the hungry thirties', so this must be 1742, 1744 perhaps? Lusty Jack asks why Roy doesn't know what year it is - it's 1746. Even better, says Roy, because that means Lusty Jack must have memories of last year's great events. (Hmmm thinks Dewey. 1745. Battle of Culloden?) Jack is lost, but Roy reminds him that the Scots army marched through Weatherfield on their way to London.

Fred senses this getting out of hand, and calls for some more beers.

Lusty Jack can't out-bluff Roy on history, and gets his Bonnie Prince Charlie hopelessly confused. Fortunately, in the nick of time, Jack Duckworth reappears. Phew, that was close! - ''Ello Roy, didn't see you come in, son'

In number 4, Nick is berating Leanne for involving Rita. Rita sticks up for Leanne, and tries to talk sense into him. What was he hoping to achieve? What was he planning on doing if he met up with Darren Whately?

We're back in Emergency Ward Ten, where Liz rounds on Steve and tells him that this was his fault. All he had to do was make it up with Jim, or offer him a job when he first asked. This doesn't please Steve, who reminds her that she is as much to blame for Jim's previous state, what with sleeping with his best mate, making his life a misery, divorcing him. 'You, more than me, made him end up like this - he may as well be dead'

Nick is still moaning about it not being fair that Whately gets out soon, but his Dad's dead. Rita is still pushing to learn Nick's intentions - he admits he wanted to set a trap, and that Leanne would be the bait. She wonders what would happen if Whately knew Nick was playing games with him - we all know what he's capable of, don't we? Leanne thinks it that it's all over now, but Nick then admits that he signed a second letter, with her photo, and posted it an hour ago. And it's got No4, Coronation Street, as the reply address.........

And that, as Nigel Worsfold would say, is your lot.

Episode written by John Stevenson, with, I rather fancy, a little inspiration from Victoria Wood.

Dewey

---

Wednesday 6 May

Dear Update Readers,

It's been a funny old week, all things considered. So much so that I don't really know where to start.

Yesterday saw an important milestone: C and I celebrated our second anniversary. No, I can't believe it either: two whole weeks together! Who would credit it? (Don't think I'm joking either: on this bus - Dewey take note - anything longer than one night signals serious commitment, believe me). It's one in the eye for certain friends of mine who said it wouldn't last - especially those who still think I'm only with him for the free taxi rides. As if!

The second bit of news is that last week I came into some money. (Yes, I know there's a smutty joke in there somewhere about soggy £5 notes, as Ruth Carey was quick to point out). But I'm serious. I rarely have anything wonderful in my life to boast about, so I'm making no apologies for broadcasting this. If you've got it, flaunt it, as Glenda would say. Okay, so £12,000 ain't exactly a fortune, and I won't exactly be able to hand in my notice and retire to the Maldives, but it's better than a smack round the head with a wet haddock and it will keep me in Oil of Ulay until well after the Millenium. The only snag is that I can't touch it until my birthday - August 31st - which thus rules out any chance of my buying a round at the Ping come the 16th of this month. And before anyone asks, I'm not going to the Blackpool bash in October! And besides, there are some important charity donations that I have to consider, among them the QMHRRB and the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds.

The third snippet of news is that my mother rang me at the weekend to tell me that she is planning a trip to Lourdes. "Lourdes?!" I screamed. "But you don't even like cricket!" This went straight over my mother's head, and at this point my father grabbed the phone from her and shouted: "I don't know why she's going to Lourdes either; after all there's nothing wrong with her. Nothing apart from her respiratory problem anyway." "What respiratory problem?" I asked. "The fact," laughed my father, "that the silly cow won't stop breathing!" My mother shouted: "I'll phone you later", and the line went dead. (My mother is not the world's greatest joke lover, and she only ever attempts to tell them herself when she's half-cut on Tia Maria. And even then she butchers them beyond recognition. The last one I recall was her attempt at a Mae West one-liner, which eventually came out as: "Are you going to shoot me or is that an erect penis in your pocket?", or words to that effect). Anyway, half an hour later she phoned back. The upshot was that she wanted to know whether I'd like to accompany her to Lourdes. "But, touch wood, there's nothing wrong with me either," I said. "Why should I go to Lourdes?" "What about your migraines?" she said. "I don't get that many these days," I replied, "and besides, knowing my shitty luck, I'd probably go there to cure my headaches and come back paraplegic." "Well," she said, "you know that it's not only *physical* ailments that people go to cure..." I guess that I should have seen this coming, I know, but the temerity of the woman left me momentarily speechless. Fumbling for words, I told her that it was out of the question. "Anyway," I said, "I'm not a great fan of Saint Bernadette. I much prefer Joan of Arc. In fact, I'd quite like to *be* like Joan of Arc." "What do you mean?" she said. "Oh, you know," I replied, "chained and bound on top of a load of faggots!" And then it was my turn to put the phone down. Needless to say the offer of a free trip to Lourdes was withdrawn shortly afterwards.

But easily the most momentous happening of last week was, without a doubt, the clatter and bang of a closet door bursting open as Peter 'Dewey' Dewhirst made a mad dash for that other bus. And how the messages flooded into RATUCS, each one an encomium from the heart. I've never met Dewey, and up until three weeks ago I'd never spoken to or corresponded with him either, which is why I feel so privileged to have been the first 'in the know'. I have spoken to him quite a lot since, however, and can attest - along with all those who have actually met him - that he is a lovely chap, and one whom life has been shortchanging for far too long. Let's hope it all changes for him now. And that's all I'm saying on the matter. (I know Dewey's going to the London gathering on May 16th, and I'm trying to get Terwur to come too. At this rate there'll be more old queens at the Ping than you'd find at a royal wedding!)

But enough of this banter! On we go to the update:

What medication, exactly, is Tilly taking? OK, so the oestrogen supplements we know about, but what else is he popping? He's been married no more than a month or two and already he's sending photographs of his wife to a known murderer; I thought you only did that when you'd been married for a few years and felt like a radical change of direction. Anyway, there's a method in his madness; not much of a method, but it will do. He's using Leanne as bait to trap Darren Whately, the guy who put an end to RBrian all those years ago. (I don't know about twenty years, but I'd have given the poor sod a medal). Anyway, Leanne's consternation at this prospect is such that Tilly has now been forced to phone the prison and ask the guards to intercept the letter before Whately receives it. The episode begins with Tilly doing just this, but to no avail: the letter is on its way to Whateley and nothing can stop it. Understandably, Leanne is shitting bricks, for Whately is due out of prison any day now. Tilly sighs and simpers and minces about a bit, arms folded, in an attempt to look both frustrated and contrite. (He's also wearing a black T-shirt, which sets of his 'Miss Pears' blond tresses beautifully. Blonde on black is always I winner, I think, and especially in Tilly's case: after all, the light gets absorbed by the black and then doesn't have a chance to bounce off his zit like it usually does). At the end of the scene, Ashley descends the stairs to announce that he is off to work and planning to see Zoe in his lunch break. Tilly and Leanne both ask him to give her their regards.

In the backroom of the Rovers, Vera is serving breakfast to "Lusty Jack Johnson": four rashers of bacon, three eggs - and a mug of ale, brought in by Betty Williams. Vera wants Jack to hump some crates, but since he's in "Lusty Jack" mode there's no chance of that. (Now we know Vera is not the brightest of bunnies, with an IQ barely higher than room temperature, but given the number of scams that Jack has pulled in the past, hasn't she realised yet that all this Lusty Jack business is simply a ploy to avoid work? Even Betty Williams has twigged, and she makes Forrest Gump look like Plato). Vera asks Betty whether she'll hump the crates instead, whereupon Betty replies that she can't hump anything, not at her age anyway. Lusty says that he thinks he'll have a bath, which Vera asks Betty to run for him. "How about if I run him a cold bath and push him under?" Betty asks. "I could do *that*"

At the Weatherfield Home for the Eternally Bewildered, Zoe is in some kind of day room, looking out the window. The door opens, for it is Ashley. Zoe is pleased to see him and smiles affectionately. She tells him that she's been looking at the bird's nest in the tree outside her window; she thinks it's a blackbird, and it's been pulling up worms. (I'm sure that there was meant to be something deeply meaningful in this, but I couldn't quite get it. Answers, please, on a postcard). Anyway, the good news is that her section will soon be over and she will be released within a day or two. She also asks whether Ashley thinks Judeh would come to see her once she's out. For Zoe is now a remorseful little poppet with some apologising and explaining to do. (Hopefully she'll also get her hair seen to, although I have to say that even in this dire state it is probably better than anything that's ever emerged from 'Hair by Fiona').

At the hospital, Steve is keeping vigil by Jim's bedside - you know, one of those vigils where you sit next to someone in a vegetative state and read the paper. Before long, La Mouton appears. (This was a priceless moment in our house, for just as La Mouton appeared on the screen, a car alarm in our street went off and C shouted: "Trollope alert! Trollope alert!' No? Well I suppose you had to be there.) Anyway, La Mouton wants to know what's happening. "Has he moved or made any sound? Has anyone been in to see him?" she asks. "Only the nurse in blue with the curly hair," says Steve. La Mouton can't stand it any longer; she wants to know what's happening, and what chance Jim has of recovery. Steve, ever the optimist says: "Well it doesn't look very good to me." He then proceeds to cast aspersions on the comatose brickie's integrity. "Maybe he's not in a coma at all," Steve suggests. "Maybe he's just putting it on, just to get his own back." (Priceless line this, coming from someone who acts as though he is actually in a coma while pretending to be conscious). Liz is incensed at the very notion. "What have you been saying to him?" she screeches. "Nothing," says Steve. "Since he's in a coma, I didn't think there was any point." Liz can stand the uncertainty no more and goes off to find a doctor who can put her mind at rest.

At the Mallet residence, Ashley is telling Judeh all about his visit to see Zoe. Both of them admit to feeling just a tad guilty, with Judy claiming that she also holds herself partly responsible for what has happened. Her face light up, however, when Ashley says that Zoe wants to see her when she is released from hospital.

Back at the hospital, La Mouton has buttonholed a consultant and is grilling him on Jim's chances of recovery. The consultant says there is no reason why Jim should not make a full recovery. He cannot promise anything, however. (All I'd want to know if I were La Mouton is "If Jim recovers, will he ever say 'so it is' again? Will he call Alec 'Sandy', or Gary 'Scooby'? And will he ever wear that manky old tank-top again? If so, pull the sodding plug out now!"). The consultant says that it is early days, and that they're doing everything they can for him. La Mouton wants to know what will happen if Jim stays like this forever, and that she needs to be prepared for the worst. "Nothing will be done without your consent," says the consultant. "You mean, turn off the machines?" asks Steve, hopefully. La Mouton ignores Steve and asks the consultant whether Jim's memory will be affected. (This is an obvious side-swipe at Cadaver Boy, whose only wish, if Jim has to survive at all, is that he do so with total amnesia). The consultant says that there is no reason why Jim's memory will be affected. (How tragic! I mean, would you like to come out of a coma and remember that you're an alcoholic brickie with no job and even less dress sense? Poor bugger - stay where you are, mate, you've got more going for you.) Anyway, the consultant says that they should be prepared for anything, and that if it does come down to turning off the life-support machine, it will be a decision for Jim's next-of-kin to make. Steve looks at La Mouton, and La Mouton looks at Steve. "That's you," she says. "It's *your* decision."

Back at the Rovers, Natalie tells Vera that the bitter has finished and the barrel needs changing. Vera asks Jack to do it, but naturally at this very moment he regresses back to Lusty Jack Johnson. Lusty, of course, does not know the meaning of the word 'work'; moreover, he feels faint and needs fresh air. Slyly stuffing a packet of fags into his pocket, he announces his decision to go walking 'on the heath'. As he leaves, Vera asks Natalie to change the barrel. "If I break my ankle doing it," says Natalie, "I'll sue that hypnotherapist". (Funny Natalie should mention breaking her ankle, because Ruth Carey twisted hers badly yesterday, sliding down a barrister).

At this point, our old mate Roy walks in, bag in hand. He's come for a bottle of cider, but not to drink, oh no. Out of his trusty bag he fishes a cookery book ("How We Used To Eat") of ancient recipes, one of which - Port Wellington? Pork Wellington? - is cooked in cider. "It's a dish they used to eat in Lusty Jack's time," says Roy. "I'm sure he'd know it." Roy then throws caution to the wind and asks Vera whether she's convinced that Lusty Jack is a real character or just a Jack Duckworth scam. "Oh yes," says Vera, "he's in a time warp alright!" Roy points out the fact that when he quizzed Jack on certain historical facts - such as the nationality of Bonnie Prince Charlie - Jack gave all the wrong answers. Vera wonders why, given that the aforementioned Prince passed through Weatherfield only last year to open the new abattoir. "No, not Prince Charles!" says Betty, "but Bonnie Prince Charlie, from hundreds of years ago." Gradually Vera twigs on that Jack has been lying all along, and that Lusty Jack is just a figment of his twisted imagination. "I'll take that," says Vera, snatching the recipe book from Roy's hand, and disappears into the backroom to cook up a storm.

Back at the hospital, Steve is wolfing down loads of humble pie as he shows contrition for pushing Jim through the scaffolding. "I'm sorry, forgive me. I didn't want it to work out like this," he says. "How was I to know that the scaffolding would give way and you would fall?" Jim lies motionless, as we have come to expect. Steve, who is not used to apologies of any shape, size or colour, is exasperated at his father's silence: here he is, begging forgiveness, and no-one can hear him. "Can't you just twitch or something to show me that you can hear me?" he says. (Wonderful! "Can't you just twitch"? Who does Steve think is lying there, Martin Platt?). And then, with no further ado, Steve gives up the apologies as a bad job and reverts to type. "Anyway, what did you think you were doing, climbing up that scaffold full of booze? What do you expect? You were looking for trouble! And now you're putting me through all this! Well, I'm not to blame - it's all your fault, do you hear!!" By this time, Steve is ranting, and when La Mouton appears, as she does towards the end of Steve's diatribe, she is furious. "What the hell is going on?" she screeches. The McDonalds are wonderful, aren't they? Tragedies like this usually unite them, but not so with the McDonalds. And I thought *my* family was dysfunctional! Christ, the McDonalds make the Borgias look like the Osmonds.

Back at the Rovers, Vera is making a mysterious phone call. All I'll say is that it involves feathers...

(And no, it wasn't a kinky phone call. Feathers aren't kinky, they're just erotic. The difference between erotic and kinky? Well, using a feather on your lover is erotic; using the whole chicken is kinky).

Lusty Jack, meanwhile, is getting ready for a night of "drinking, wenching and the dogs" (so he's taking Sam and Natalie, then?). Vera, however, has other plans. She plays along with him, humouring him as much as she can. She tells him that she hopes he'll enjoy his night out, but not before he has had his tea. "By the way," she says, "when you're out tonight, you might bump into Bonnie Prince Charlie. You know, the Young Pretender." Lusty Jack nods. "As opposed to the 'Old Pretender'," says Vera, with a thinly-disguised snarl in her voice. And then she places a plate in front of Jack, filled to the brim with some kind of meat pie and potatoes. "It's an ancient recipe," she trills, "given to me by Roy Plomley. Tuck in; it's a banquet!" Jack tucks in and licks his lips in appreciation. "It's delicious," he says, "what is it? Rabbit? Pheasant?"

"No," screams Vera, "it's PIGEON!!"

Out in the bar, Natalie is trying her hardest to be nice to Sam, but it is an uphill battle. Natalie says: "Why don't you go and have a cup of tea; I can manage on my own." "Clever you!" snarls Sam, flouncing off to the till. "You're blowing this all up out of proportion," says Natalie. "Really?" says Sam. "Well, I know you, and I know Des, and I wasn't born yesterday." (Oooh, get *her*! This is handbags at ten paces territory, and no mistake). Later, when Des comes into the Rovers and Natalie invites him over for the weekend, Sam ostensibly does an about-turn and actually brings over three drinks: one for herself, one for Natalie and one for Des. "Here's wishing you both everything you wish for yourselves," says Sam, with a falsely saccharine smile on her face. Natalie and Des thank her and return the smile, but as Samantha retreats to her place by the till, a look of pure venom fills her face. Natalie and Des sip their drinks (red wine, ominously), and Natalie remarks that it's funny how Des waited until she'd had a sip before chancing it himself. (I don't think that being poisoned by Sam was what made Des hesitate. No, I think he was fast-forwarding his lecherous little brain to the weekend, and his rendezvous with Natalie. And how he'd better get a move on before the shops shut so he could buy a pound of bananas and start practicing throwing them up the High Sreet).

Also in the Rovers are Gareh and Judeh. Judeh tells Gareh about Ashley's visit to Zoe, and says that Zoe wants to see her when she comes out. Gareh doesn't think that it's a good idea. "I don't want you being upset," he says. "Not in your condition." (So is it Judeh's future refusal to see Zoe that precipitates next week's canal incident? I wonder.)

Out in the yard, a distraught Jack is standing by his pigeon coop, which is totally devoid of pigeons. Lots of feathers over the place, but not a pigeon in site. Yes, Mistress Vera has used the pigeons to make Lusty Jack's pie, which is now about to make a reappearance, if Jack's bilious countenance is anything to go by. "You took them all? he says. "Yes," gloats Vera: "tiny little things they were; hardly enough to fill a pie!" "Murderess!" cries Jack. "Con-man!" screams Vera. And as Vera storms off, the Lusty Jack farce comes to a merciful end. (And for those of you with sensitive natures, I assure you that stunt pigeons were used in this scene).

And finally, La Mouton and Steve discuss Jim's coma ... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..

AS I SEE IT

I'd love to regale you with more hot gossip from the wilds of Durham, but I must rush. Glenda's surprise guest has just arrived and I am off to speak with that person on the telephone. I'm so excited - and there's not even a man in the room!!

See you next seek,

Love, CP

---

Friday 8 May

Hi there again folks!

Friday seems to come round so quickly - I can't believe that it was a whole week ago, there I was knackered out of my skull after a hard week (don't get excited CP!) and here we are at the same point one week on, wellied again. It's been an extremely tiring fortnight - I've spent virtually all day at my biggest client's doing the annual pension review for the workforce - it's pretty intensive work but very satisfying and enjoyable nevertheless. Anyway, now comes the tedious bit, the consequential sorting out of the tons of paperwork which follows these meetings and that's something which I never look forward to..... I must admit we're ready for our short break in a couple of weeks and I'll be pleased to get away from the paperchase.

Another nice week on the net, getting friendly with the folk on the #coro_street chatline - they really are such a nice bunch. As Greggy said in one of his kind postings on RATUCS, it doesn't take long for you to be accepted as one of the regulars on there.

I thought his comment regarding the Canadian National inferiority complex was an interesting statement - obviously the Canucks have to contend with the issue of a large dominant neighbour alongside. Of course, that was the same sort of problem experienced by the Poles (no cracks, CP!) - maybe this is one of the reasons why the Poles always had such a great affinity for Canada - only they had two dominant powers to think about, namely, the Krauts and Ruskis (no offence intended as regards the Germans, although I reserve my position as regards the other lot!!).

My dad was actually born in Prussia in 1907, before Poland rose again after the First World War - even though the family was Polish, the old country had not existed for over a hundred years, so his first language was German - consequently, it was only after the war had ended that he started learning his native tongue, Polish. After the Second World War, he was faced with learning another language, English, as he was a refugee fleeing from the Russian advances from the east - he had a choice of Canada, USA, or UK to emigrate to and I often wonder what would have happened, had he chosen one of the other two options. As he met my mother in the UK, no doubt, someone else would be doing these updates, as they never would have met and I would never have been born - wonderful is fate, isn't it!

At home, with both parents being Polish, that was the language we used, although I would listen to the radio, quite oblivious of the fact that I was listening to something in English. That situation subsequently led to some amusing consequences, though I didn't quite see it that way at the time!

Primary education in the UK starts at the age of 5, whereas it was at age 7 in Poland. Consequently, when I was about 6, there was a knock on the door and standing outside, there was the schools inspector, asking my folks why I wasn't at school - "because he's not 7, that's why" was my dad's helpful reply. Well, the following week, amends were made when I presented myself at the local primary school. I can still remember very clearly, the teacher asking me a question on the first day - I understood her perfectly well. However this was more than my class could say about me, because, apparently, my response consisted of a totally random mix of Polish and English words - now, ask yourself, how was *I* to know there were two different languages? It certainly didn't help my childhood shyness when the class just fell about in laughter as I made an unwitting prat of myself in front of them all.

Remember, in those days, I was Zbigniew - as I keep telling CP, there's a "BIG" Pole in me (certainly in the middle of my name) - Milewczyk, so not only could they not understand what the hell I was talking about, but they couldn't pronounce or spell either my first name or my surname. By the time a couple of years had elapsed, I'd had enough - I decided to adopt an English name, so I chose Alan, just to make it easy for the linguistically-challenged Brits. Alas, they still can't spell my name and I now get all sorts of variations including Allan, Allen, Alun, etc. etc. At times, you wonder why the hell you bother!

Anyway, following this kind of experience, I guess the national insecurity to which Greggy refers is something I can relate to - not that the Canucks have anything to worry about, as far as I'm concerned - as I said earlier, what a tremendous friendly bunch. Partway through typing this update, I joined the Friday night weekly quiz for the second time and thoroughly enjoyed myself even though my cybermate Roofy had deserted me and had decided to have an early night - you missed out on a good 'un R Kid. And CP (aka as Seepi), your ears must have been burning, if nothing else - by the way, I do hope the rash clears up soon! Forget your "Friday nights in" (ahem... ) with your boyfriend and get a real life, CP, join us - you'll enjoy it and I know that your presence will be appreciated and enjoyed by the others... Must be far better than the pleasures of the flesh to which you regularly succumb!

It was also good to spread a few Fred Elliott wave files across the net during the session and to extend my collection of wave files at this end. As some of the people out there were also fans of Father Ted and Red Dwarf, that was another of life's added bonuses!

One thing I must have a gripe about though, is that one of the joint winners of the quiz was our own anorak, Graham Allsopp - I am convinced it was a fix, through and through and always thought that the management and staff were not allowed to partake in these competitions! Anyway - well done, G and PK!

Yes, there was a real party atmosphere and I can thoroughly recommend anyone wanting a good time to tune in to the #coro_street channel on Dalnet Saturday morning at 0100 UK local time (Friday night 2000 Eastern Time). The climax of the evening was the girls treating me to a cyberspace initiation ceremony during which I had my pants removed and all sorts of unmentionable things done to me - they got me dressed in some skimpy outfit and dolled me up with garish lipstick, etc. etc. - now poncing about on a Friday night looking like a tart out for business isn't what I normally get up to, but, no doubt, CP would have felt very at home! That apart, suffice to say, I'll be back next week for more! In case, you are wondering, my wife missed it all as she was asleep snoring away on the room next door, only briefly woken up by a thunderstorm partway through the night - it is with good reason that she is called Snora Batty in this household - bless her!

The following night, I finally got round to something which I've been meaning to do for a while. I set up NetMeeting - this programme is part of the Internet Explorer 4 suite and enables you to talk to someone through the net - talk as in telephone, except you use a microphone to speak into and plug in a headset or loudspeakers. What prompted me was that the perfidious Perfidia (aka as Kathleen McBride), whom regulars on the corrie channel will know very well, had mentioned to me that she'd set it up on her system. Well, she's the first to admit she's technologically challenged (her quote about PCs was "wow - sound out of loudspeakers!"), so I thought that if she can get it going then it really was time I made a move. Pleased to report that all went swimmingly and in no time I was talking to the Sex Goddess herself.

Together with ICQ, which makes the connection process easy, this is a great way to talk to someone while you are on IRC. The only thing was that, periodically, I lost my Internet connection and found that I was unable to play sound waves but that's a minor problem really. I do hope those of you in IRC land will get a microphone and hook it into your PC sound system and join us - you do need to have a reasonably powerful PC, around Pentium 150 or upwards, running Windows 95. Although you are restricted to just two parties at any one time in this type of conversation, you can switch between others in the group. Many thanks, incidentally, to Yukon Mike, for his technical help on Sunday night. We certainly had a great time and NetMeeting has added to the quality of the experience - for heaven's sake, Kath, don't let Woody find out, as I am in enough trouble with my wife for having the sound system on at 1 o'clock in the morning and I really don't fancy having my teeth punched in by a jealous husband as well ......

Anyway, onto business. Friday's episode sponsored by Cadbury's TimeOut.

The episode starts with Tilly being woken up chez Maison Peacock, by Ashley - he has spent the night on the settee downstairs after being a real plonker and exposing Leanne to unwarranted risk. You will recall that he is obsessed with entrapping his father's killer and, unbeknown to Leanne, had sent a letter under her name to Prisoner Whately, enclosing Leanne's photo - she had previously written to Whately, at Nick's inisistence, saying that she felt sorry for him and the prisoner had subsequently written back all friendly like, also saying he didn't get many letters. Anyway, Leanne wasn't too chuffed and he spent the night in the doghouse, well, on the settee, anyway. Ashley tells him that Zoe is due out today and that she doesn't want any aggro, not to see Tilly and Leanne scrapping. Tilly is surprised that Zoe is being let out so early, but Ashley comments, in an exasperated manner, that they have obviously been too preoccupied to notice what's going on. Anyway, in his own masterful way, R Ash tells Tilly to "get it sorted, right?" Then, pulling out a trick from the housewife's book of "Really letting you know that you're in the doghouse", Ash puts on the vacuum cleaner, much to Tilly's annoyance.

We move to The Rovers, where Orangina is telling Vera that she owes Curly a large drink, as Curly was nearly ready to come round to the Rovers with a shotgun and give Vera a taste of her own medicine, after Jack had spent the night on Curly's sofa, sulking. She explains what's been happening to Nasty Spumante, who has just come in - you will remember that Jack had "enjoyed" pigeon pie the previous evening and was convinced he had eaten his own pigeons, apparently, duly slaughtered by Vera after she rumbled his "Lusty Jack" ruse. "Shocked him out of his trams, you should have seen his face" is V's jubilant recollection of when she told Jack what she'd done.

Nasty asks what V really did with them, as Jack enters, on cue, "that's what I want to know." "Oh, look what the cat's dragged in" is V's greeting to which Jack replies "beware Vera, you are drinking at the last chance saloon" - this said with a fag in his mouth (the British type not the North American). Vera comments on his lapse, likens him to a beagle and suggests that he might want to put one in each ear. He tells her that he'll need tranquillisers and reckons that, surely, even she could not be so callous as to have slaughtered the pigeons. Vera comes clean - they are with Jamie and Ray - now those names are blasts from the past! She suggests that they will have no problems finding their way back "they'll just follow the smoke signals" referring to Jack smoking again! Jack says this is not the end of the matter and storms out, while Nasty comments that he needs to watch his step otherwise he'll spend another night on Curly's sofa. Orangina expresses her horror "God, I hope not, he snores worse than........ you do!" "Hey, you cheeky mare, and here's me thinking you and me were mates again" is Spumante's reply. "We are" maintains Orangina, "it's the type of thing only a mate would tell you" to which Nasty interjects "like BO or spinach in your teeth". She then thanks Samantha for buying her and Des a drink last night, but Sammy makes light of the gesture and when Nasty says she wants things back to normal between them, Orangina agrees that this is what she wants... why do we get the feeling though, that there is a hidden agenda somewhere here?

R Ash is chez Middleton telling her that Zoe is due back and he wants her to feel normal again. He explains that Zoe has cut her own hair - Frosty Fiona doesn't actually grasp the full meaning behind the statement, thinking that it was just a trim of the "wonky fringe syndrome" or something like that, but Ash disabuses her of this notion. "Well, we all like a challenge, don't we, eh?" is her euphemistic reply when she realises the scope of the creativity which she will need to bring into play. She reassures him that Zoe will be in safe hands. She tells him that Zoe is "a lucky girl, you know, Ashley... to have you, I mean". At this point, it suddenly occurred to me that Ashley is actually the Street's male equivalent to St. Emilion - supporter of deadlegs and lost causes and someone who won't say a bad word about anyone.

As he goes out, Muppet 2 aka Mattress Maxine, begs Frosty not to make her do it, but Fiona insists that all Maxine has to do is to cut Zoe's hair and she will give Zoe a manicure herself when she's finished doing Vera - Max suggests a swap but Fi turns her down, saying that Zoe is just another customer. "But she's not though, is she?" is Max's reply "She's Zoe..... Mad Zoe!" in what is the night's most cutting bitchy remark. Fi points out that Zoe's daughter has died, she's had a week away, but when she comes through the door, they are going to treat her like any other customer. "All right! All right! Kind of limits the conversation, though, doesn't it, been anywhere nice on your holidays?" is Max's riposte, which has got to be the funniest parody of the conversational limit of the hairdressing fraternity I've come across in a long while. When Fi slaps her down and tells her that she is serious, Max knuckles under and tells her that she will be "sweetness and light". Maude Grimes is having her hair done and comments ruefully "Now that, I'd like to see!"

Des comes into The Kabin - Leanne is on her own, as Rita has gone to the wholesaler's. He jokingly suggests that she capitalises on her bit of peace, saying he'd have his feet up and his face full of sweets, if it were him. Leanne tells him that she can't because you never know who is going to walk through the door. He tells her to look on the bright side, it might be Brad Pitt and she comments sardonically that now she realises the reason for taking the job!

As he leaves the shop, Tilly comes in with humble pie, actually, with a bunch of flowers! She tells him not to waste his breath but he is full of remorse - he tells her that he just didn't think - now, for any parents of teenage sons, this will come as little surprise, it's their normal state of mind! For girls, we all know, are light years ahead in the maturity stakes at that stage in life, so when Leanne replies "yeah and you're not thinking now, so you can take these... and stick 'em" and throws the flowers back at his, you realise that Lesson One in "How to soft soap your partner" failed miserably and, it going to have to be a case of "back to the drawing board" for our Plank! "I could be murdered in me bed - a bunch of poxy flowers won't protect me" she continues. When Tilly accuses her of exaggerating and asks her why would Whately want to murder her, she plays the ace by telling him "'cos it's what murderers do!" He tries to reassure her that Whately is in prison and could be there for years, but Leanne suggests that equally, it could just be days, it has to be soon, otherwise they would not have let him visit his college. Tilly continues to try to make his case, suggesting that he might not come after her, that it was an old photo, but she points out that he just hasn't grasped what's been going on - he could come after her and she hasn't the faintest idea of what he looks like. She is very upset and tells him to leave.

We are at Weatherfield General and its the Reverse Lobotomy department - donor Steve "Plasticine Head" Hamburger comes in to join Frizzy Lizzie by Yer Wee Mon's bedside. She tells him that he was wrong about her last night - however, he doesn't think so, but she continues to try to persuade him otherwise telling him that she was upset. She doesn't want them to fall out, commenting that they are all Jim has got. Quite honestly, if I were in that position, I'd beg them to pull the plug, but there is a storyline to get across somewhere here, so the writers resist this piece of malicious temptation. In response to Steve's enquiry, Frizzie tells him that there is no change in Jimbo's condition. She then gets into sloppy sentimental mood recollecting how she first met him and the first thing she noticed about him swaggering down the street was his moustache - presumably the fact that he was allegedly hung like a baboon followed later. She reminisces about the twinkle in his eye - no twinkle, I think, I'd be reduced to tears if I espied La Mouton, but this, presumably, was when she was just a lamb! In a strange statement from a strange woman, she comments that he looks smaller, shorter, thinner, everything about him (presumably she's looked there as well).

The sick bowl is then passed around the room, as she asks Steve what was the first thing he can remember. You think he's going to tell her that Jimbo was obviously the character upon which Father "Drink!" Jack was based and his recollection of pa being permanently smashed, but we get the schmalzier version. He recalls him and Andy at the age of 4, playing horsey and the time when they went to Ireland for Christmas - when Jim and Uncle Bill fell into the Christmas tree. Frizzie tries to convince Steve that Jim was a good dad "you won't let yourself believe it, will you?". Steve tries to tells her that all he was doing was recalling his first memories - he's not slagging him off, adding that it was one of the best Christmases they had ever had. "But the only thing you can remember is him getting drunk and acting daft" is her annoyed response. He tells her that he is merely recalling what he remembers of him and that he is not trying to make him into a saint, but comments that, after all, she did divorce him "as you were so keen to remind me." She tells him that she's not going to let a piece of paper make her forget the good things - it brings to mind Dean Martin's statement on the biggest joy of life being the morning's bowel movement followed by the paper.... (well, I added the bit about the paper, anyway, just to complete a cheap jibe)..... Anyway, after this dose of saccharine, she points out that Steve and Jim had been at each others throats so much, even if he is Jim's next of kin, he is the last person they should be talking to about pulling the plug.

Ashley has brought Mad Zoe back home. She has had a personality transformation, obviously regressing back to another life and is cheerful and smiling. Tilly makes small talk as he welcomes her home, commenting that Ashley had been cracking the whip all morning to get the place tidied up. Ashley sees Tilly's flowers, the ones rejected by Leanne, and wrongly comes to the conclusion that Tilly has bought them for Zoe. He really is a saint, that lad, never a bad word for anyone. Leanne pops in from the Kabin to join the welcome party, commenting that she thought she heard the van, as Zoe takes on a sense of humour - "seen the men in white coats, as well?" she asks. Leanne corrects the reference explaining that it was St. Ashley's van to which she was referring. She asks how Zoe is - she comments that Zoe has lost weight and asks whether "they've been feeding you properly" which is the sort of mumsy thing that mums say to their sons after they've left home and got married. "Well, it's better than your cooking" is Zoe's jestful reply - I dunno what she's on, but I'm having some of that! Leanne suggests that Zoe might like to lie down but Zoe doesn't want to. She then asks what Zoe is going to be doing in the afternoon - Zoe's reply that she has taken up basket weaving, so she'll probably do a bit of that - this completely throws Leanne, until Zoe makes it clear that it was a joke. How we laughed! Leanne tells her that she must go back to work, suggesting that Zoe and St. Ashley must have lots of catching up to do, but Zoe clearly doesn't and asks what their news is..... pause for embarrassed silence as Leanne tries to skirt round their problems by laughing nervously and saying "oh well, you know! .... Nothing much!"

Back at "Fringes by Fiona", Vera is planning her revenge for Lusty Jack's stunt. She tells everyone she feels like Carole Lombard - she is told by Mattress the Muppet that she looks a million dollars and she replies that she needs to do so, where they are going tonight. "It's nine pound fifty for a starter... our Jack won't know what's hit him when he gets the bill in the morning...still, I'm owed it" is her determined statement.

When she leaves the salon, Fiona tells Zoe that she has put some conditioner on her hair and while they are waiting for that to work miracles, Maxine will sort out her manicure. Mattress is busy picking her nose, well, any excuse to get out of dealing with mad Zoe - Frosty buys the excuse. She decides to do the biz herself and brings Morgue (great name for a kid) over in his carrycot alongside Zoe. It's little things like this that make you realise that Frosty is a couple of sarnies short of a picnic as the happy duo go into baby talk mode. We then leap into banal manicure mode as the virtues of Cuban Jelly as well as the fine points of Quantum Mechanics and Particle Physics are explained to Zoe by Frosty with the recommendation that she needs to start looking after herself "even if it is just for Ashley's sake". Morgue is purring and simpering and whimpering and slowly coming to the boil - it's feeding time, so Frosty asks Mattress to take over while she takes Morgue upstairs to prepare his bottle, leaving Zoe in the care of Mindless Muppet.

"So, do you think you and Ashley will get a holiday this year" is the Mattresses opening gambit in her second classic one-liner of the night.

We are in The Rovers - Fred, I say, Fred, Elliott comes in and offers to buy Des a drink, oblivious of the fact that Lusty Jack has been rumbled. "Now then Tavernkeeper, a formian flagon of your finest ale for this trusty young vagabond... and a drop of Bonnie Prince Charlie's favourite for myself.. and at 1746 prices, if you can see your way clear" is Fred's order, as Jack tries to bring him up to date. "Fred, there is a polite notice up there, that says 'Please don't ask for drinks at 1746 prices because a punch in the mouth often offends'".... He tells Sam to serve a bewildered Fred "while he still has a full set of teeth".

Back at "Fringes by Fiona" it's coffee time - they are out of milk and Frosty decides to go out and get some. Mattress asks if she can get a doughnut while she is out, prompting Frosty to comment on her uncertainty as to who is actually the boss in the place. She offers to get something for Zoe, if she wishes .... Do I hear paraquat, deadly nightshade, arsenic, anyone? Ah well, never mind! Zoe's not bothered - but then she never was! Frosty temporarily leaves the shop, as Mattress has just finished putting on the undercoat, which now needs ten minutes to dry. Presumably, when the damp has dried out, we'll be ready to put on the wallpaper, or maybe even a paper bag round Zoe's head. She offers her something to read while the paint dries.....the phone rings. Mattress answers it to find that it's Mogadon Man, aka as Greg. "Long time no see - 24 hours without you, that's a century in my book." She turns her back on Zoe and starts discussing the finer points of shagging and whose turn it is to deal the cards in the next round of Strip Poker. She recommends an aromatherapy massage to clear the worries of a stressful day "the full works.... me, of course" is her reference to whose fingers will be doing the talking and walking. "Hey, people travel miles for my massage, well, actually, old biddies with chillblains... ohh Grrreggg, I'll pretend I didn't hear that" is her response to what is presumably an enquiry as to what optional "extras" are available from Mattress the Masseuse. She suggests a lovely Orange and Geranium Oil she could use, which appears to be particularly efficacious for those who have had a stressful day. She then whispers about the other potent options including one which is an aphrodisiac! You have to remember that she's a real goer and there's probably not many men that wouldn't, even if it wasn't particularly stimulating intellectually, but then, you know what they say about looking at mantelpieces and debating the finer points of Greek mythology, while stoking (or was it, poking) the fire. Anyway, during all of this, The Mad Zoe has been eyeing up Morgue. She picks him up, holds him and, after a few seconds, with Mattresses back still turned, she takes him out of the salon.
End of part 1

Nothing of any note here, but I must just mention probably the worst advert for years - this is the ad for Danish Bacon, featuring Peter Schmeichel, the Manchester United goalkeeper. Footballers have never been noted for their singing skills, but this particular Great Dane stars in what is probably the most painful example that I have had the misfortune to hear for years. Now my wife reliably informs me that he has one of the best backsides in football and when you get someone whose taste in men is as finely attuned as CP's, who am I to argue? It certainly explains an item regularly on her shopping list, i.e. a pound of best Smoked Danish Back... BTW, I would point out that just because my wife fancies me and Peter, I wouldn't want CP to show any similar interest in me. But, anyway, this advert is truly dreadful and must rank among the all-time grates (yes, I did spell that correctly)! It is worth seeking out, just to see and hear how awful it actually is, but something like kaolin and morphine is needed to settle the stomach first.

Part 2
Maxine is still on the phone gently working herself up to orgasm (so this is what telephone sex is all about?) as Frosty comes back. Being a particularly observant sort, Frosty notices that no aardvarks were involved in accidents on the M6 motorway today, but that "Morgue is Missing"! When she turns round, Mattress realises that something is seriously amiss - well, it's Morgue and he's not a Miss, he's a Master and he's missing - well, you get the drift anyway... She slams the phone down in what must be one of the most painful examples of coitus interruptus ever witnessed on television. Cut off in mid flow, as it were... poor Greg! Well, you know what I mean, fellas!

Frosty rushes out into The Street closely followed by the Mattress. It's the first question in the Intelligence Test "Where are they, Max?" and, yes, you've guessed it, Max fails miserably. She says she just turned her back on them for a moment, explaining she was on the phone to Greg. "Stuff Greg" is Frosty's frosty response. Maxine could and would give any opportunity and will, but clearly, not right now.

We are at the canal. Mad Zoe has Morgue in her arms. This is the place where Samir met his grizzly death, probably even the place where Des set fire to his boat, after being jilted by his ex-wife. The place carries the warning notice "nasty horrible things happen here to people and here comes Zoe who is going to do even more nasty horrible things because she's gone Lala into Tellytubbie Land". At this point, I must just mention a bright spark at my wife's Primary school who talked about enjoying Tellytubbles for his dinner - they didn't know whether it was his vegetables he was referring to, or Tellytubbies or what - obviously an inmate at Dame Edna's School for the Permanently Bewildered! Mad Zoe is rabbitting on about how much better it is here away from that stuffy shop - she is going to take Morgue to Shannon's favourite place. They are going to look at the ducks.

We are at Peacock Mansions - the two Muppets have burst in demanding to know whether the Mad Axewoman is, but Tilly, Leanne and Ashley don't know. Yep, the three wise monkeys "Hear no evil", "See no evil" and "Speak no evil"! Candidates for MENSA all three... Ashley says that Zoe wouldn't hurt Morgan. Mattress is saying that they can't have just disappeared - now when you know that this is exactly what has happened and that this statement is a load of crap, such a statement is bound to get you worked up - which it does. "Will you stop saying that" snaps Frosty as she decides to call the Police. St. Ashley is convinced that Zoe wouldn't harm the baby. Leanne adds to Zoe's character witness but Frosty doesn't quite see it that way. Accosting a baby is not fine in her book. She rings the Police to explain what's happened. She knows who took him "it was Zoe Ta..ersall", she explains in classic Manky glottal stop. Maxine is in auto-prat mode repeating statements that have previously caused upset - and guess what, she does it again! Frosty has had enough and after a further outburst of emotion, attributes the blame firmly at Mattresses door - she then rushes out into the street to look for said son. The remaining cast of the Famous Five stand around contemplating their navels and decide to join the hunt - St. Ashley panics as he realises that they need to find Zoe before the Police do!

Des is being served by Orangina, who is ever so polite and friendly. Des is, naturally, suspicious and, out of earshot asks Spumante whether Orangina had a bang on the head this morning. Alan laughs out loud at another classic witticism to be proposed for the "Quip of the Day" award. We know she's up to something is Tango Girl, but what? "You tell me" is Nasty's puzzled reply as Des explains "she's talking to me as though she likes me". "I know, hard to believe, isn't it?" is Nasty's riposte. She goes on tell Des that TG has given them her blessing "me and you". "But there is no me and you" is Des' reply. "Yes, I know... but it's not what she thinks" says our Nasty obviously deciding that you might as well be hung for Mutton as lamb. "Obviously!" concludes our testosterone-packed stud as he starts weighing up the possibilities.

Tilly rushes into The Rovers and accosts R Gareh and R Judeh - he tells them that Zoe has escaped - Judeh asks if she's done a runner from the hospital but Tilly explains that she was let out this morning. The police are on their way, but he needs to know whether Zoe had any mates or any special places she went with Shannon. Gareh, ever the masterful man, when his wife will let him, tells Judeh to stay there while he joins the search.

We are at the canalside again. Mad Zoe is explaining to Morgue that this was one of Shannon's favourite places - we know this, dear viewers because Shannon told us this herself!

Meanwhile St. Ashley is reunited with Leanne, Tilly and Gareh and they discuss where else they could look for Morgue. St. Ashley is still in "Speak no evil" monkey mode - he is upset that Zoe is being painted as if she were a baby batterer. Gareh is rattled with this and accuses him of making excuses for her, but St. Ashley denies this. "She's sick, they should have kept her in hospital" Gareh tells him. Leanne points out that squabbling will not help find Morgue and asks where they used to take Shannon. Ashley mentions "the park feeding ducks, the canal, I suppose, sometimes..." "You two take the canal, me and Nick we'll take the park" says R Gareh. Meanwhile St. Ashley's "She won't harm the baby, honest!" hit record is well and truly stuck in that familiar groove. "Let's just hope you're right" says R Leanne.

The police are at the Salon asking for the most recent photograph of Morgue. Frosty is exasperated because she's left three messages on his mobile for Plasticine Head and no reply. She explains to the Police that Steve is her partner, but no, he is not Morgan's dad. Now if you have followed some recent real-life cases where children have been murdered, quite often it has been by the mother's partner. You wonder whether we could just bribe the scriptwriters so that Steve goes down for this heinous crime as well, but, alas, this is Corrie and that sort of miracle is just too much to ask for! Frosty explains to the Police that the dad was one of "your lot" but declines to elaborate as it is "a long story". Mattress suddenly has a brainwave - well, there's always a first time in your life - how about contacting the hospital because Steve will be with Jim? Hurrah! However, too little, too late - no forgiveness from Frosty. "I'm sorry!" grinds on Mattress endlessly. "The words, they're like are silly little words rattling round that brainless little skull of yours" says Frosty as we recall similar conversations with our beloved son, who is equally fond of that word, judging by the amount of times it occurs in his vocabulary without any subsequent behavioural change. Frosty tells her in front of all and sundry that if Zoe harms Morgue, she will swing for her... and that when she's finished, she'll coming looking for Maxine. The point hits a bullseye! "Get out of my face" is Frosty's parting shot.

We are back at Weatherfield General again, so we are.. yep, Jimbo is still alive and Frizzie and Plasticine Head are maintaining their vigil. Frizzie tells her darling son that it's obvious that he doesn't want to be there - taking this as his cue with the quip that "one martyr's enough in the family" he takes the opportunity to leave. He lashes out saying that what angers him is that he is obviously being blamed for the accident - she says that they have been over and over this and it was an accident. He decides to come clean, sort of... he says that there wasn't a bolt out of place, it was Jim "he comes out of the pub drunk, comes up the scaffolding spoiling for a fight, he throws a punch at me, I back out of the way, I mean what else would you do and then he slips over the edge. Didn't even need a helping hand." Lizzie refuses to accept this rewritten piece of history but he insists it was exactly like that. He then makes out that he didn't want to tell her. He maintains that even though she thinks that he hates his father's guts, in reality he doesn't - there is just one thing which sticks out in his mind, if it wasn't Jim, it could be himself lying in that bed. Would that this were the case....

We are at the canalside. Zoe is talking to Morgue about him being cold and hungry and taking him back soon. She tells him that she wishes she had his pram. She lifts up the baby. Across the bridge we see Leanne and Tilly - they think she's going to drop the baby into the water and shout out to her not to do it. As the police sirens wail, we see a policeman running towards Zoe, with Gareh and Tilly close behind

Cue music and credits

Episode written by Phil Woods (so it said... but apparently not.) [Cock-up with the New Deal Credits trainee, and they played Wednesday's credits again. The writer was actually Jan McVerry - Graham]
Script Copyright ITV Television

Well, how was it for me? Well, first of all, some awards to hand out, namely:-

Bitchy Comment of the Week to the Mattress for the "Mad Zoe/holidays" theme. Runner-up award to Des Barnes "Bang on the head" reference to Orangina.

Bad acting award to The Plank, aka as Nick Tyldesley. He never fails to disappoint.

Vomit Bowl Award for Personal Looks to Frizzie Lizzie (permanent winner of this award).

Personality of the decade (not) to Steve "Plasticine Head" Hamburger (permanent winner of this category).

Services to Humanity (not) to the makers of the hard hat that the above uses to keep his brain inside his skull - wish they'd do us all a favour and just let it float away into the ozone, taking his peanut sized brain with it.

Mean woman of the week - Vera for making out that she'd served up Pigeon Pie as revenge for Lusty Jack's exploits.

Star of the Decade - Fred, I say Fred, Elliot, just for being him and brightening up our day. We could do with him being prescribed on the National Health as a cure for depression.

Cow of the week - Orangina - as false through and through as her tan, she cannot accept she screwed up her relationship with Des by screwing Studley and is now intent on wreaking havoc on Natalie and Des, in some, as yet, unknown way.

On a serious note, some fine acting from Joanne Froggatt as Zoe, flipping again in the mental health stakes - I might have made light of some situations in this episode, but as someone who has recently recognised that he is suffering from depression and has been for some time, I recognise that we all hang onto life and sanity by a slim thread at times. She plays the damaged individual exceptionally well - fine acting from the young actress, ably and sensitively supported by Steven Arnold as Ashley. Couple of fine young 'uns there.

How did it rate? Not bad at all, some drama, while not top notch stuff, all pretty well done and with some nice bits of humour in the episode.

And that's about it for now - see you same time, same place, a week from now.

Take care now.... Love and kisses from The Mad Polak

Alan (ICQ UIN 10440270)

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Sunday 10 May

So, there I was at the weekend, all fired up and ready to get this update done on Sunday evening, straight after the show. And what happens, me and the good Mrs L go out to see a date movie. Heavens, nearly 13 years married and I am still wooing the woman ! To save embarrassment, another couple come along too, but fortunately the cinema is not terribly busy, so I am spared a couple of hours in the presence of young lovebirds. Phew. Mind you, this is all a splendid excuse to spend a fair while pondering whether Gwyneth Paltrow is, as alleged, simply *too* beautiful. The answer is no. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Hurry along to see "Sliding Doors" if you get the chance - especially if you are currently exiled and need an update in genuine British swearing.

I tried again Monday night too, but this time the video was occupied taping the second half of "The Bodyguard". What drivel. SWMBO has only seen this about three times already, but no, we had to record that bit after the news that was on too late. I think she made me do this because I said "what's the point - we know the sister did it !".

Last week was local election week here in the UK. The way this works is that local government close down most of the primary schools and pay themselves extra salary to officiate therein, in order for 25% of the electorate to vote and the party officials to get all worked up about the significance of the results. To the average parent, it means an unpaid day off to child-mind. As the weather looked promising, we decided we'd both take the day off and take the kids to Alton Towers - that downmarket Disney World as described by CP last week ! Surprisingly, it was really quiet and everyone had a fab time. With hand on heart, I can now truthfully say that I have met my Nemesis, but did not feel inclined to try a ride into Oblivion. I also now know what it feels like not to take a single breath for over 30 seconds ! As they say, you should try everything once.

Our man high up on the slopes of Everest is not having much luck with the weather. Over the weekend, their advance camp blew away. It's easy to forget just how high 29,000 feet is - nearly 6 miles vertically upwards. This is well into the jetstream, at the height commercial airliners fly at. So we wait to see whether they will be able to carry on, or have to return home. Speaking of which, there was a rather grim tale of a middle-aged Japanese climber who died last week, and the attempts to carry his body back down - see http://www.independent.co.uk/everest/everest.htm if you're interested, it's not something for the faint-hearted.

So, we come back to Weatherfield for another Sunday showdown. Bear with me as I watch this for the first time, while trying to scribble notes in my own illegible shorthand.

Act 1
Zoe is standing on the middle of a bridge over the canal, holding baby Morgan, while Leanne and Ashley, and Gary, Nicky and a policeman arrive at either end, begging her not to harm the baby. Edging closer, the policeman asks her to put the baby down on the ground and to step back. She is obviously confused at their sudden arrival, and all the shouting, but sees Ashley nodding to her, and lays Morgan down, all the while telling everyone that she has done nothing wrong, and that the ground is cold and wet. The policeman rushes forward to pick the baby up. Zoe again protests that she has done nothing to harm him, and suddenly climbs onto the bridge parapet.

We cut to Fiona's salon, where the dozy Maxine has arrived back with the news that Mr Patel has sold a pack of nappies to a young blonde woman with a baby, "so she can't be meaning him any harm !". Fiona looks at her as if she is as stupid as she appears. Judy has some recent photos of the baby and (I think) Zoe, which she shows to a policewoman who is staying with Fiona.

Back at the canal, Zoe goes for the triple tuck with a forward roll. Splash! And disappears from sight. While the judges decide on scores, and Ashley points out that Zoe can't swim, Gary leaps in after her. He drags her to the bank, where she is dragged out, and Nicky puts her into the recovery position. The policeman has been rather useless throughout.

Meanwhile, in Weatherfield General, Martin is talking to Liz, who is worried about how little the nursing staff are telling her. She is also concerned about the likelihood of the doctors switching off life-support for patients who might have recovered later. Martin reassures her that these things only happen in the tabloid press, otherwise there'd be hordes of lawyers chasing every doctor about. There are plenty of checks, apparently. [They give the monitor a good bash on the top just in case the flat line is a wonky tube.] Anyway, Martin tells her that Jim is responding, which is a good sign. How much faster he would respond if they moved his bed to the Rovers Return, is something we may never know the answer to.

Back at Hair by Fiona, everyone is chipping in with their tuppence-worth about mad Zoe. Judy tells the policewoman how Zoe had stayed with them after Shannon was born, and Maxine points out how she had run off with a baby then. We hear that Zoe had no family to speak of, and how Ashley had taken her in, before her own baby died. The policewoman asks Fiona if she thinks it might have been a personal thing between her and Zoe. Everyone then proceeds to argue over whose fault it really was. [The Muppet, the Muppet !]

At the canal, Zoe comes round and coughs up half the canal after Nicky has presumably helped to resuscitate her. [Twenty Rothmans would've done the trick too... splutter, hack.]

News of Morgan comes over the PC's radio in the salon. He is OK, but has to be taken to hospital for a routine check-up. Fiona leaves, as Maxine once again tries to apologise, unsuccessfully, and blubs. Yawn, look, just clear off with Greg and don't come back. Ever.

Des enters the Rovers, and finds Natalie on t'other side of the bar for once, having a quick drink before she is off to the pictures. Samantha offers to get their drinks, and Des tells her to get one for herself too. As she brings the drinks over, there is a strange look on Sam's face. And it's not the fake tan, either. [Methinks we're in for some Fatal Attraction stuff soon, we'd better keep a careful eye on the contents of Betty's hotpot.] Sally and Janice appear, and hear of the snatching. Sally is shocked as this brings back memories of Rosie going missing. They are told that Zoe was responsible, as Steve arrives, oblivious to everything, wanting some drinks to take out. Vera presumes this is by way of celebrating Morgan's safe return, but as she starts to say so, Steve realises that all is not well, and rushes off to the salon to find Fiona.

Ashley is comforting Zoe, but he is also angry and confused at what she has done, and wants to know why. Zoe continues to protest that she meant no harm. As Ashley gets angrier, Leanne tells him to leave Zoe alone. An ambulance arrives to take Morgan and Zoe to hospital.

A strange episode tonight. I feel curiously uninvolved and unmoved. Perhaps it's the juxtaposition of the interesting characters with the undead ! Actually, I think it's because I only had the chance to watch it all through once, stopping and starting, so that's clearly not working. There's no chance of me being out next Sunday as well as this week, so look forward to more a normal update next week. Not fair to make a heap of awards on the back of this, so:

Overall rating (out of 5 stars): ***

Best line: Did Maxine really describe herself so well ?

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Monday 11 May

We'll drink a toast to absent ratucsers on Saturday, and hope you can join us in Blackpool in October.

It's Friday lunchtime, and I,ve just completed Monday's update. CP won't be posting Wednesday's until Monday earliest, so there'll probably be a flurry of update activity on Tuesday as we catch up.

Apart from some good Les lines, I couldn't get excited by this episode - I hope I've done it justice though.

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Wednesday 13 May

I was born in Birmingham, and so I know bad taste when I see it. Which is why the staging of this year's Eurovision Song Contest - the celebration of tackiness par excellence - in my home town was more than apt. And like all things tacky, camp and over-the-top, Eurovision always gets pride of place in my diary. When the old "Fanfare for Europe" sounds out, I simply have to drop everything. I often think that on Eurovision night, even if Denzel Washington, Christian Slater and Matt Dillon were lined up outside my bedroom ready for a game of "Sardines", I'd have to send them packing. I've watched the competition for longer than I care to remember. Indeed, my first memory of television was as a five-year old, glued to the box as a barefooted Sandie Shaw sang "Puppet On A String" in some exotic, faraway European capital. I still remember the tinny echo of foreign voices as they came down the wire with the votes of their national juries, and the fabulous frocks worn by Katie Boyle as she switched from English to French and back to English again with consummate ease. (Katie, as it happens, was the subject of the very first joke I told my mother. It was a joke I'd heard at school, and although I didn't have the faintest idea what it meant, I laughed because everyone else did. "Mum", I said, "Do you know why Katie Boyle is having a baby?" "No", said my mother, "Why is she having a baby?" "Max Factor," I replied. I stood there, waiting for the response. But instead of raucous laughter there was a sudden thwacking sound as her slipper met my head. "I'll give you 'Max Factor', you bugger!" she screeched, before frogmarching me up the stairs for an impromptu session of several hundred Our Fathers and countless more Hail Marys. I still can't see Katie Boyle on TV without reciting the entire rosary). I had a special affinity with the Eurovision Song Contest right from the outset, and in a sense we both immatured hand in hand: as it got louder, glitzier, more camp and more outrageously over-the-top, so did I. My chief ambition in life, apart from becoming the second Dusty Springfield, was to compere the contest. My plan was a simple one: join RADA, break into light entertainment, and then audition for Eurovision armed with my O-Levels in French, German and Italian. I used to mince around the sixth form common room shouting, "Pays Bas, un point! L'Italie, douze points! Good evening, Lisbon, can we have the votes of the Portuguese jury please?" until I was blue in the face and everyone was convinced that Katie's days as compere were numbered.

But of course it was not to be. My father would have no truck with the theatre ("all loose women and bumboys") and threatened to disinherit me if I joined RADA. Then, the day after I sat my final A-level, I ran away with a man twice my age and, taking the Orient Express, headed East. (I still have the diary I kept of my exploits, which I've always longed to publish under the title "Back Passage To India"). Hugh was everything I'd ever wanted, but by the time we'd got to Istanbul I realised that I was nothing more than his mid-life crisis. He returned to England and got married while I, bitten by the travel bug, carried on east. Most of what has happened to me since I attribute directly to that spur-of-the-moment decision to run away with Hugh. And so not only was he the indirect reason for my fall from grace, but he also stymied my Eurovision plans once and for all. Which is a shame, because I think I'd have made a better job of it than Terry Wogan does: my jokes are better than his and I don't wear a greasy syrup.

Anyway, together with the Oscars, the Eurovision Song Contest is usually one of the best dates in the calendar. (The main difference this time round was that we taped it and watched it the following evening. No matter that we'd already heard who'd won: after all, it's not the winning that matters, it's the taking people apart!) Carlo worked his usual culinary magic (sic) and produced a takeaway Balti for three, while Mark, my ex-flatmate, came up trumps with half a dozen bottles of red and two bottles of Mercier. And then, catty comments and bitch remarks at the ready, we were off!

However, I must admit that it wasn't the best Eurovision I've ever seen. There was something about it which didn't quite hit home like it usually does. But it definitely wasn't the fault of the songs: they were as delightfully dreadful as ever, ranging from the usual sub-standard imitations of that same Italian beat ballad from the early Seventies that seems to have served as a prototype for all Eurovision composers ever since; through songs which evoked scenes in a Bond movie; to feeble attempts at dance music.

But Eurovision is not about music; it is about high camp, and I'm afraid to say there wasn't a great deal of that on the show this year. The most ostensbibly outrageous performance was by the German entrant, Guildo, a middle-aged man in turquoise velvet (sic) who looked and acted like a cross between Russ Abbott on speed and some sleazy old paedophile, cavorting about the stage as though he had a fire-cracker up his arse. "Guildo loves you too," he rasped, while touching up the nearest available young men in the audience - proof, if any were needed, that Care In The Community simply isn't working. Knowing that it was pure parody - that some of the entrants themselves have finally realised what a shambolic affair the whole thing is - turned the event rather sour, robbing us of the vicarious pleasure of seeing other people submitting themselves unknowingly to ridicule, which is, after all, half the fun.

There were some countries, however, that still seemed to be taking the competition seriously, but their entries emerged as though from a time warp: most of the East European entrants performed their dire little ditties with an earnestness that was a joy to behold, their women wearing frocks so awful that the UN should have passed resolutions against them. The Polish woman, for example, seemed to be wearing a badly sewn green curtain that looked as though it had just been ripped down from the rail, while the Rumanian girl looked as though she'd been through the remnants basket at Oxfam with her eyes closed: the Ray Charles approach to accessorizing, I think they call it. She certainly gave 'mix and match' a new meaning. The worst costume of all, however, was worn by the Maltese entrant, a rather large lady who had plumped for an ankle-length grey smock, totally shapeless and featureless, which gave her the demeanour of a Victorian prison wardress. The poor poppet's hairdo was just as dire, which was a shame because her song was possible one of the best on offer.

As you no doubt know by now, the comptetition was eventually won by the Israeli entrant, a transsexual called Dana International. ("I prefer the 'real' Dana," my mother said, before proceeding to warble several choruses of 'All Kinds Of Everything' down the phone to me. "At least she could get through a good song without having to strap her 'tea and sugar' to her leg." I tried to explain to my mother that since Dana International was a male-to-female transsexual, she didn't have any 'tea and sugar', but trying to explain that to a woman of her limited experience would have been totally pointless, so I didn't). Anyway, the winning song was an anodyne little dance number entitled "Diva". That it will probably be very big in Fuengirola this summer says it all, really. I preferred the vastly superior "Where Are You?" by the UK entrant, Imaani, and indeed actually went out and bought it. (I'm nothing if not totally honest, you must admit, even if it does mean risking a severe drop in street cred as a result). The final mention must go to the Estonian pianist, far and away the hunkiest hunk of the night. (I wish I could play like he did, but then I've always suffered from pianist envy).

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Friday 15 May

Here we are again... Sunday morning, but not a fun start to the day.. switching on my PC this morning, I accidentally reset it partway through the boot up and ended up trashing large chunks of the C drive. After abortive attempts to try to salvage the situation, the only option was to reformat the drive, reinstall Windows 95 and then restore from my tape backups.... However, the system is still restoring as we speak and I've lost about 4 hours of time so far that I could ill afford.

Of course, none of this would have happened had I gone to the Ping in London yesterday. I would have had a sore head and, no doubt, some great memories of meeting the RATUCS crowd for the first time. Alas, not to be.. just a hard drive in need of file restoration. As the week has gone on, I have progressively begun to regret more and more my inability to be present - we're going away next weekend and I have lots of work to do on the caravan before that happens, but by the time, I sort out the computer I'll be way behind.. and probably not much more than if I'd gone to the ping.

We had some Pingers popping up on the IRC #coro_street channel last night after the do and it sounds as if a good time was had by all. It was at that point that I was told that the gang had tried to contact me on the phone - unfortunately, they called my business line, so I never heard the phone ring and the answerphone took the calls. The first call timed at 20:19 coincided with me doing the barbecue.. the second at 21:39 after we'd eaten - sure enough, when I dug into the system, I found a couple of boozy messages left by Roofy and Dewey and a raucous greeting from the gang. What a shame I missed the calls, but you lot certainly sounded to be having a good time - I love you all, gang, and am touched that you remembered me during the do....

Enough of these regrets, I have decided that I WILL go to the do at Blackpool in autumn... life is too short for regrets and I want to meet the rest of the friendly family I have been getting to know over the last few months. Not sure whether my wife will think it's some sad anorak thing, but that's another issue.....

It's been another good week on the IRC channel, meeting more of the lovely folk there - nice to see more RATUCSERS finding their way there. I also look forward to seeing some traffic in reverse as well, with IRCers dropping into RATUCS.. we're just different branches of the same family, so do drop by...

We have been making more moves on the Netmeeting front and it has been a great pleasure voice talking to Perfidia (Kathleen), PeterC, Greggy and Bazoooka, RAnnie and others. Some people are still having problems, so while I was able to establish computer contact with RLisa and RDoris, I couldn't hear them, although they could hear me.

We are building up our knowledge base on NetMeeting and I have decided to make an up-to-date version of a draft FAQ available on my web site at the following URL: www.prosper.demon.co.uk/netmeeting.htm. This will be updated regularly and notification of updates will be through RATUCS and my Friday updates. Anything you can add to this, please do not hesitate.. we are all on a learning curve, learning fast, cutting our fingers in the process, but these technological developments are but a taster of things to come.. exciting days! For those who have not tried this, the difference is that RATUCS can be compared to a fast open post system, IRC is immediate and interactive and NetMeeting is just like talking to a friend on the phone. Do try it.

On the subject of web sites, during the week there has been some cruel conjecture comparing me to one of the Teletubbies.... well, to dispel these vicious rumours, I finally got round to getting some my mugshots done. Very kindly, Roofy (Ruth Carey) has scanned them for me, so I've finally got a piccie up on my web-site at www.prosper.demon.co.uk - thanks Roofy for ya help...

I have also taken the liberty of posting a Teletubbie file put together by Chris Lines aka The Rattler - hopefully, this will enable this fatuous comparison to be shot down as a myth, once and for all. Just to knock the nail in the coffin, this scurrilous story also put about by The Rattler, comes from the same guy, who, you will recall, maintained that Jim McDonald was a Scot, not an Ulsterman.... just put that down as a marker of the quality of his judgement! Anyway, who am I to bear a grudge? I may not be Lala but Dollally, certainly... The file is a bit of a long one to download at over a meg, but all good fun and worth a laugh. BTW, Chris, I've got some Teletubbie wave files to throw at you next time you're on IRC.

I've also decided that I am going to start a page on my site with piccies of Update readers, RATUCSERS and IRCers, so please e-mail them to me and I'll get them up on the site.

What else.. oh yes, yesterday, I found a great program for recording and editing wave files called Cool Edit... been playing around with that a bit, so we'll have some new wave files for you on IRC over the next few days. Incidentally, do try, if you can, to join us for the Weekly IRC Quiz, Friday nights 2000 Eastern Time, Saturday morning 0100 UK local time - it lasts an hour and is great fun.... like a really nice family reunion. This week, Magyanne won with a score of 11, which I am told is some sort of a record - well done M. I ended up going to bed around 04:30 having got up at 06:30 the previous morning... this lark certainly wreaks havoc with your sleep patterns.

Finally, thanks again, for the continuing e-mail support regarding these updates... as I've said before, although they take some time to put together, I thoroughly enjoy doing them and it is very rewarding to get your notes of encouragement... keep 'em coming....

Well, how was it for me? Well, not one of life's most exciting episodes. One of those building up to the punchline - a lot of "will-they, won't-they". There's Jim and his spinal injuries, where he doesn't yet know the extent of the problems ahead of him. There's Ashley is his quandary as to how best to finish with Zoe.

Probably stars of the show for me were the following:

Ashley Peacock, for the sensitive protrayal of the dilemma facing him.

Les Battersby, scallywag extra-ordinaire... great comic touches and nice timing. A lovable rogue.

Witty comment of the episode from Toyah regarding seeing Les Batterby's lips moving as he's reading.

And that's it for another week. Now next week, we are going away for a few days, leaving the house in our son's capable hands - thank God for insurance - so the update will not appear until Thursday.

Until then.. take care now....

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Sunday 17 May

Greetings from sunny Stockport. It makes a pleasant change to be able to say something like that rather than "greetings from the grim North" which is more accurate through most of the year. Typically, having just written that, I glance outside and see that the sun has disappeared. The sky is doing its best to look moody and tough, but like Steve Macdonald we know this is just a poor act. Someone pressed the "Summer" button last week and we have been treated to a very fine spell indeed over the last few days. So much so that I have been spotted in shorts and very little else out and about bringing down the tone of the neighbourhood (we live in one of those streets where your social standing is judged on how frequently the local over-priced interior decorator's van is seen outside). Sending your hubby out to wash windows, cut grass, and wash cars does very little for Lady L, but as I've said to her many a time, if we have to have the holidays in Mustique every year, then something has to give.

No doubt many of you will have heard of the Spring Pingfest, which took place in London last Sunday. I couldn't make it - in any case I'm a bit of a shy retiring type and to be honest the big smoke isn't my cup of tea since we escaped many years ago. However, it sounds as if everyone had a great time and made many new friends. If you don't have Web access to visit the photo pages, I can truthfully say that they appear to be a completely normal looking bunch (I'm not sure you could say that about the regulars in some other newsgroups !).

While they were all sleeping off a pingful of hangovers, I was spending Sunday walking about the Peak District. It was an absolutely glorious day, topped off with a couple of hours in the garden of an excellent pub, whose location shall remain a closely guarded secret. A pint of well-kept Theakstons goes down a treat in the sun-drenched garden of a typical British country pub in a quiet river valley. Then the chef appeared mid-afternoon with the news that they had over-catered for Sunday lunch and would we care to finish off the surplus roasties and Yorkshire puds on the house. Does life get any better than this ?

On that note, it's time to sit down, relax, and let the opening bars of that famous theme tune gently introduce the latest goings-on in the terraced streets of Weatherfield...

(One last thing, if all the letters on the left side of the keyboard look a little faint this week, it's because my left arm's a bit wobbly after I gave blood on Monday and the nurse managed to lean most of her body weight on the vein after the needle came out. In true stiff upper-lip tradition, the whimper was barely audible. Anyway, the arm's still a bit funny. Just as well they don't use my beer-drinking side !!)

Another middling episode this week, with lots of different storylines all moving on, some involving, some just fluff. I think it's time Samantha just upped and left. After a reasonably promising start (the biker chick with the mystery past) she's now been turned into the psychotic ex-lover. Boring. (And the fake tan is irritating.) I can't make up my mind what I want to see happen to Jim. He's another character that lurches between the friendly happy-go-lucky mate, and the alcoholic soak. Or the suicidal paraplegic, as at the moment.

Overall rating (out of 5 stars): ***

Best line: Oops, I haven't noted much dialogue this week. There was a nice bit of repartee when Audreh prompted Ashley's rushed departure from the Rovers, saying "Young folk, I just can't understand them !". Natalie responded with "I think it works both ways, Audrey !", and turned to the till, leaving Audrey bemused.

Best scene: Well, best and worst this week. I really can't describe what Nick looked like on the phone to Darren, but if you can imagine he might have had something in one eye, was trying to look at the corner of his mouth with the other eye, while simultaneously straining against some particularly bad constipation, that's somewhere in the ball park ! It was hilarious.

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Monday 18 May

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Wednesday 20 May

Opera, someone once said, is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding to death, he starts to sing. Some people disparage opera because of the outlandish plots, while others find the 'talky bits' far too artificial for comfort. I've yet to find anyone, however, who doesn't like the odd dramatic aria every once in a while. Unlike my taste in men, which is pretty wide-ranging (i.e. anything with a pulse, basically - and even the pulse is optional), my taste in opera is selective, with Puccini and Verdi coming out on top every time. However, while opera has been a source of great joy for me down the years, recently it has started to become a right royal pain in the ass. Let me explain.

Someone once said: "Try everything once - apart from incest and folk-dancing." Well I would add another experience to avoid: don't go to bed with a second-generation Italian taxi-driver who, at the 'point of no return', suddenly starts singing at the top of his voice. Singing opera. And singing opera very badly indeed. Where others would grunt or groan, or shout "Yes, yes, YES!", C suddenly murders "Un Bel Di" from "Madame Butterfly", or mauls something from "Aida". And it carries on and on, right through the post-coital fag, into the shower and out again, before trailing away mercifully as the kettle whistles and the coffee is poured. (I ask myself, Is this how Kiri Te Kanawa did *her* training? Is that why Jose Carreras's growth is stunted? The mind boggles). But even worse than C's voice is the fact that the walls of his flat are paper-thin. Yet instead of banging on the wall to tell him to shut up, his irate nextdoor neighbour (a dead-ringer for RATUCS's very own Rattler) tries to drown out C's caterwauling by playing Abba music at full volume. And here am I in the middle, trapped in stereo terror, with "Dancing Queen" on one side and a hopelessly tuneless opera queen on the other. (A fact to which the awful pictures of me at the Ping will testify. Vivienne Smith got it spot on when she described me as a cross between Euan McGregor and Dracula. Add to which I was smashed out of my head and you'll see why, as Glenda Young herself admits, it's more a caricature of me than me myself in those photos. Ian Harding will be hearing from my solicitor shortly). Anyway, C has said that he'll try to curtail the long arias from "La Boheme" and go for short snatches of "Rigoletto" instead. It could be worse, I suppose. I just thank my lucky stars that he's not second-generation German, because fourteen hours of Wagner's "Ring" would definitely push me over the edge.

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Friday 22 May

Question: Where are you, if you go from New York to Boston to Gibraltar all in the space of one afternoon?

Clue 1: New York is a hamlet, just half a dozen or so houses..

Clue 2: Gibraltar has a nature trail but not an ape in sight..

Answer: In Lincolnshire, England.

Now I didnt know that the Pilgrim Fathers had their roots round that neck of the woods but its one of the many things you discover when you travel around the country, discovering pastures new. More on Gibraltar, a bit later

You also discover when you go away, that even though you enjoy living on the edge of the countryside, in practice, you are a townie. We went off on Saturday morning, for our break in the caravan to a site about 30 miles south east of Lincoln. We needed to get some bits and bobs the following day and figured that Lincoln, as the biggest place for miles around, was the best bet what we hadnt reckoned on was that the city would be shut! I suppose when you live on the edge of the massive Greater Manchester conurbation, you take things like Sunday opening for granted - when even sleepy places like Ashton-under-Lyne and Hyde are open, you certainly expect a tourist centre such as Lincoln to be ready for business. Sure enough the shops and cafes in the old city were open, but we were surprised that the majors in the High Street couldnt be bothered so, no doubt, were loads of other tourists who were around looking for somewhere to spend their money. Such is life!

Anyway, back to Gibraltar well, the nature trail at Gibraltar Point was like an oasis in a cultural desert.. first, you have to make your way through Skegness. Now I readily admit that I am not a great lover of the traditional garish British seaside resort and Skegness certainly lived up to its gruesome expectations. A mile or so of tacky shops, kiss-me-quick hats, string vests, beer-gut bellies and all-over body tattoos.. and the men were just as bad! Nope, you can keep this sort of place what was wonderful was driving just over three miles through the epicentre of this scene of devastation to come to an unspoilt deserted beach, not an ice-cream vendor in sight, no more than a dozen people as far as the eye could see and a lovely natural habitat for wild-life each to their own

Anyway, the whole break was superb we had a great time, very enjoyable, just the two of us, rediscovering each other life after Simon, as we call it.. Hes 17 and having spent a lot of time and energy bringing him up - none of which is resented - its rather nice to start thinking of the things WE want to do, for a change. So, both of us came back feeling a whole lot better than when we set out.

Mind you, it isnt entirely life AFTER Simon hes still around. Wed left him at home, with fridge and freezer well stocked and some ready cash for the essentials in life, namely, beer, beer, beer, and ermm, beer??? Those of you who are, or have been, parents to teenage sons, know a thing or two about lads and their voracious appetites He was inviting a mate or two round to do what teenage boys do best the Grand Slobathon!

We tried to ring home a few times from the site, but without any luck. Anyway, we finally caught up with him on the phone around Tuesday lunchtime, only to find that there had been a power failure at around 7pm on the Saturday evening. When that occurred, our youngest and dearest had phoned for a pizza to be delivered, quite forgetting that the simple fact that just because there was no electricity (therefore no microwave and no sandwich maker) didnt actually stop him cooking or warming up something using the gas cooker or the gas oven. (this, incidentally, is a lad who is an excellent and imaginative cook) But then commonsense isnt exactly a commodity in abundance with teenage lads. "I never thought!" was the excuse greeting us when we got back! Anyway, hed then run out of money, having spent virtually every last penny on beer, so he needed more so he calls on his Gran, who is 89, to borrow some money. He proceeds to tell her that he doesnt have enough money for food and, oh, by the way, he is not feeling very well - he omits to tell her that the cause of said impecuniary state and fragile nervous system is purely self-inflicted, as his illness is nothing more than a king-sized hangover.

So when we finally ring Gran, the heavens open up and a ton of sh*t pours all over us you know the stuff, "how could you leave my little sweetheart (hes the only grandchild) alone in the house, without sufficient food and money, and when he is ill, as well? And him coming to see me without a coat! What sort of parents are you?" Hmm, the sort that came pretty close to a murder charge once wed returned home! But, I suspect we are not the first to be in this situation and we ruefully put it down as another experience for the "Trials and Tribulations of being a Parent" handbook.

Trudes mum is the sort who would have invented worrying if someone had not done it before her. Accordingly, Rule 1 is that you tell Grannies nothing. Rule 2 is that you refer to Rule 1. Anyway, divine retribution was granted because for every morning after his visit to her, at 9:00 am sharp, shed ring him to ask if he was any better. As he doesnt do mornings voluntarily, this was self-inflicted injury number 2 and well deserved at that. To cap it all, as if on cue, I have just taken a call from her to him, asking whether hed like to go to Manchester tomorrow morning, so she can buy him a nice new coat - now he wouldnt be seen DEAD in a coat, so you can imagine how this gesture was received as he succinctly put it himself, "I dont do myself any f***ing favours, do I?" They say this is how we learn, through pain. Well we can only hope

So what else? Well, those of you who are RATUCSERS and ICRers will be aware that I decided to attend the Bollockpool (sorry, Blackpool) ping in October and together with Roofy, will also be organising a York Ping on August 1st. Er downstairs was duly informed and has agreed to make a state appearance at both events, as she put it "You know me, Im game for a pissup anytime" Great relief all round More details as and when

A couple of items regarding the Blackpool do. I am looking to organise some tours, particularly (but not necessarily exclusively) with the overseas visitors in mindIt will be an absolute joy to see you all. You may want to consider Manchester as a base for a few nights following the Ping - this would be a great place to enjoy and explore the delights of the friendly North.... Id be happy to help sort out accommodation in the Manchester area, if needed.

You guys will all have different ideas for what you want to do while you're over here and, I wouldn't presume to encroach on your personal space, but, if you are interested, I'd also be absolutely delighted to set up some or all of the following day trips:-

1. ITV Studios Tour
2. Around Manchester Centre and/or the new Dumplington Shopping Centre which should be open by then
3. Chester
4. York
5. Derbyshire Peak District..

If the numbers stack up, I could hire a minibus and we could split costs between us...

Perhaps prospective visitors could let me know what they think of this idea and whether it might be of interest...

In addition, for those looking to travel from North America, you might want to contact Sue Fisher shes an ex-pat Brit living and working in the US as a Travel Agent .. she seems to have carved out a niche arranging visits to the UK - I have no connection with her, other than she is a fellow Update Reader, so give her a call. Her e-mail address is sfisher@ismi.net - she is also on ICQ as "uklady" UIN 383023.

Finally, finally, before we get onto the business of the day, I was most amused to find that the Teletubbie saga has taken another bizarre twist - on my return, I received a number of puzzling e-mails commenting on how well I looked in purple. Well, the mystery was resolved when I found that my mugshot had been superimposed on the head of one of said tubbies and posted for all the world to see - this has caused much mirth in the family and you might as well share the fun by pointing your thingy (as Dewey put it so succinctly) at the following URL:- http://www.dur.ac.uk/~dlc4rjc/teletub.html. Its a good job I have no sense of shame.. Gee - thanks Dewey, MikeP and Roofy, you enjoy what is known as Corporate culpability. At the end of the day, I suppose, all publicity is. erm, publicity and with that, we move swiftly and, not before time, onto:

Well, how was it for me? Well, not one of life's most exciting episodes. For me the tender scene between Leanne and her father stood out.

Low points.. well, the two Muppets and the Plank couldn't act their way out of a paper bag again.

Thats it.. Im late, for which apologies again, so well post this one now - its 0045 on Saturday morning .. time for the quiz in a few minutes. See ya next week.

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Sunday 24 May

Serves me right. No sooner do I mention how summer looks to have arrived, and, well, I'm sure you can fill the rest in yourselves. It struggled to 50 degrees here in Manchester on Wednesday. 50 !! We all blame Alan M and his inopportune caravanning break. He has snaffled all the sunshine over in his parallel universe, Teletubby-land. Bring it back, you bounder...

Our man atop Everest narrowly failed to make it. His small team ran out of rope at a critical point about an hour short of the summit, and decided to turn back rather than risk getting stuck in a log-jam of impatient climbers forming a disorderly queue (something similar happened a few years back and a considerable number of fatalities resulted). One wonders how frustrating this must feel, having spent weeks getting to a point about 100m below the top, and then having to give up. I'll stick to the giddy heights of about 1000m or so here in the UK.

In a similar vein, the Kitchen expedition of 97 is still somewhere just above Base Camp after week (consults calendar) 39. I am under threat of having the contract annulled and a "proper man" brought in. My deadline is week 52, so wish me luck !

It's been a quite time recently, so without further ado we'll make straight for the streets of Weatherfield, where Leanne has an unwelcome visitor...

Not all bad tonight at all. Darren and Leanne were both excellent - he was genuinely scary and she looked terrified by the time he eventually left. On most other fronts, things merely plodded on. We are promised more developments in the Des/Natalie/Samantha triangle - let's wait and see. I'm really warming to Denise Welch in the Natalie role, I think she has potential to be a Corrie long-runner. Samantha is past her sell-by date.

Overall rating (out of 5 stars): ***1/2

Best line: Nothing I've made a note of, is worthy of the title this week.

Best scene: I have updater's block ! What shall I go for ? After a little thought, probably any of the scenes where Darren is cornering Leanne. Very well done drama.

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Monday 25 May

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Wednesday 27 May

I'm not overly fond of having my teeth fixed, even when the dentist is an old friend. (The dentist in question is known in certain circles as "The Tooth Fairy", for reasons that should be glaringly obvious). I'm not a great lover of needles at the best of times - which is probably why I never learned how to knit - and definitely not when they're directed at the gum. ("Now there's nothing to worry about," the dentist assures me. "You'll just feel a little prick in your mouth, that's all." I almost tell him that men have been saying that to me for most of my life and it's never reassured me, so why should this? But I say nothing. When you're confronted by a man in a mask with a syringe in his hand, you don't argue, you just lie back and think of the England Under-23 squad).

But I don't think it's the actual treatment that puts me off going to the dentist. As you've probably twigged by now, I've had more pricks than a second-hand dartboard, so a few needles every now and again is par for the course. No, what really nauseates me about visiting the dentist is (a) the waiting-room decor; and (b) the waiting-room reading material.

Why, oh why, are dentists' waiting-rooms so white and clinical and uninviting? It's as though the dentist is trying to say, "Look, sucker, this is all about blood and pain and deep decay, so don't get comfortable." Dentists always floor me when they tell you, "This isn't going to hurt you", because from the way they've just crucified you with the waiting-room decor, you just know they're lying. Don't they teach them any social psychology at dental school? And have they never heard of Laura Ashley? (Which reminds me: I have to change our stair carpet because it's frayed at the edges and possibly quite dangerous). Okay, so I don't expect velvet curtains, soft wall lighting and acres of tufted shag, but they could perk the place up a bit. A nice burgundy carpet, a few potted plants and some pictures on the wall (Christian Slater, DS Wyatt, Darren Whately, Kim Basinger, Les Ferdinand perhaps? Anything but close-ups of toothbrushes and dental floss).

Marginally worse than the decor - but only marginally - is the waiting-room reading material. "Homes and Gardens", "Tatler", "People's Friend" and, wait for it, "Cosmopolitan". (More about "Cosmopolitan" later, and that's a promise). Not only is the stuff execrable in it's own right, but given the location of my dentist, it's also ridiculously inapt. You see, my dentist's surgery is located just on the edge of the Sherburn Road estate. Still none the wiser? Well, think inner-city deprivation. Think war zones. Think a place that makes Bosnia look like Disneyland.

Oh, so you thought Durham was all river banks and lofty spires and cricket-on-the-lawn, did you? Well that's probably down to the rose-tinted portrait of Durham that Glenda Young and Ruth Carey have been painting of the place. It's funny, really, because neither of them is from Durham and thus they simply cannot talk about the place with any authority. Although Glenda spent some time in America and subsequently tells everyone she meets that she's from New York, NY (the city so good they named it twice), in actual fact she is from the wilds of Sunderland (the city so sodding awful that they didn't even want to name it at all). Ruth Carey is from Swindon, a town so drab, delapidated and depressing that the Germans refused to blitz it during World War II on account of the fact that it would have been a total waste of a good bomb; after all, you couldn't make it any worse than it already is. You're also forgetting, dear readers, that Ms Young moves in the "Pimms and cucumber sandwich" circles of the city, and sees nothing of the real social wasteland that is Durham proper. Ruth Carey, too, is one of the Guardian-reading cocktail set (even if she does take her cocktails without the tails), and thus cannot really comment on the vicissitudes of life in one of Durham's sprawling 'sink estates'.

And believe me, Sherburn Road is a sink estate to end all sink estates. Cocktails? The only cocktails they have there are of the Molotov variety. Guardian readers? Ask for a Guardian in Sherburn Road and you'll be beaten senseless with a cudgel - possibly by the newsagent herself. Gary (the Tooth Fairy) opened his surgery there simply because the overheads were cheaper than in the middle of town, but obviously he'd forgotten about the protection money he'd have to pay. He tells me that the only time that Sherburn Road men visit the dentist is on Saturday mornings - after they've had half their teeth knocked down their throats the night before. He still remembers the first day he started practising there. "This guy sat down and I reached for the needle to deaden his gums. 'Is that anaesthetic?', he asked. 'Cause if it is, forget it! I don't want no anaesthetic, me. Anaes-f******-thetic? What do you think I am, a f****** poof?' And so he sat there, tough as nails, rougher than a badger's arse, and tolerated the pain." The women are even tougher. Recently I was in Woolworth's when I overheard a woman from Sherburn Road asking the assistant whether the shop stocked Barbie dolls. *Klaus* Barbie dolls. That should give you some idea of Sherburn Road. As Ruth Carey will attest, my boyfriend is a big tough skinhead with tattooed arms and half a dozen ear-rings, but even he refuses to venture into Sherburn Road. Social workers go there in groups of three or more, with several Rottweilers in tow, while postmen refuse to go there at all. Why, then, does the Tooth Fairy continue to stock his waiting-room with such relatively erudite material? I'm sorry to have to say it, but even the "Ladybird Guide to A-B-C" goes way over the heads of most Sherburnites.

But apart from being inapt, the material on offer in most dentists' waiting-rooms is highly dangerous stuff. Take "Cosmopolitan", for instance. A friend of mine once described "Cosmpolitan" as a "mine of information for the liberated female". What rubbish! Unless, of course, by information she means a step-by-step guide on how to talk knowledgeably about nuclear physics while changing the wheel of your boyfriend's car and giving him a blowjob at the same time. Liberating? I think not. Cosmopolitan doesn't liberate; it enslaves. It enslaves because, like all gender-specific magazines, it traps the reader into stereotypes and pigeonholes. All those pseudo-trendy articles and anecdotes for the 'woman of today', all of which revolve, when you get right down to it, around the perennial problem of how to get a man - and when you've got him, how to keep him. That and, of course, clothes and cooking. We are in the Nineties, for God's sake, and we are still being fed this bilge which tells us that female identity consists in nothing more than the holy trinity of 'dresses, dishes and dicks' (or 'frocks, food and f*****', or 'costumes, cooking and cocks': whatever alliterative permutation you choose, the sad underlying truth remains the same). And it's oh so witty, so humourous, so chic, so sexy. And so sphincter-puckeringly tedious. I used to think that the Guardian was so self-consciously avante-garde and 'dangerous' that it ran the risk of disappearing up its own ideological bunghole - endless articles focusing on traumatic personal experiences, all of which seemed to begin with the words "I had a breast off last week" - but "Cosmopolitan" takes the biscuit. Are women not thoroughly cheesed off with these ceaseless directives on sex? How many times does the distaff side of humanity need to be told that anything less than nine inches is an insult? Or, in the very next issue, that size is not everything? (Rubbish: size is the *only* thing). And how much balsamic vinegar can a girl take?

Having said that, I have "Cosmopolitan" to thank for one thing and one thing only. When I was at the dentist's last Thursday, I read a rather edifying little article on the calorific value of seminal fluid. (I bet Delia Smith doesn't talk about *that* in her bloody books). Some woman had written in to say that she had just embarked on a diet and wanted to know whether her daily session of oral sex would push her over her carefully worked-out quota of calories. Well it wouldn't, as it happens, but that's not the point. (I must admit, however, that I was a little perturbed by the revelation that seminal fluid is packed with protein. Does this mean that my muscles are only partly the result of working out in the gym?). Anyway, the article got me to thinking about diets in general, and my need to diet in particular. That and, of course, the Ping photographs. The Ping piccies taught me one important thing. Never have your photograph taken when (a) you've not had any sleep for forty-eight hours; (b) you've been drinking for the past six hours and are totally smashed; and (c) you're one-and-a-half stones overweight. Actually, the pics were a blessing in disguise, because they motivated me to start dieting again. In 1996, when James and I broke up after almost four years together, I started to eat for comfort. (Actually I was 50% bulimic: 50% in the sense that I got the bingeing part down to a fine art, but never quite mastered the throwing up bit). Hitting the scales at a colossal fifteen stone, I decided to go on a strict diet. This took me down to 12 and a half stones, but the ups-and-downs of my private life over this past year have taken their toll and pushed me back up to 13. Hence my need to lose at least another stone and a half.

But dieting is difficult, and exercising is even more of a pain. I do walk quite a lot - but usually it's just to and from the fridge to fetch more cheesecake. And I don't believe the old adage that sex helps you to lose weight: if that were the case, I'd be anorexic. And so, dear readers, I have opted for the FF plan. (And no, before anyone asks, it does not involve the use of fists. FF stands for 'fish and fruit'). I adore fish, as it happens, so long as it is well grilled. (The smell of raw fish does nothing for me, which is probably why I was always a lousy straight). And the amount of fruit I eat would put Carmen Miranda to shame. All I have to do now is cut out the chocolate and I'm home.

But enough of this blethering and onto the update:

And that's about all for this week, I'm afraid. Last week, I promised to dish the dirt re: the London Ping. But in reality, there was no dirt: only laughter, comradeship and joy. It would be invidious of me to single anyone out: everyone I met there was wonderful, and although much of it thannkfully remains a blur, I had an excellent time. Roll on the next one! (Sorry to disappoint those of you who thought I was about to come clean with the revelation that Mike Plowman is a secret cross-dresser, or that Glenda Young isn't actually a Dettol addict, but I can't. The simple truth is that he isn't and she is, and the Ping did nothing to disprove it!)

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Friday 29 May

Well, here we are again... it's time for apologies...these updates seem to get later and later. No excuses to offer there, just had problems getting round to it. And if I'm in trouble from you lot, it's nothing compared to what's been happening at home! You see before you a guy, who is chastened and contrite, complete with tin helmet.....

It all started when Roofy (Ruth Carey) and I got together yesterday for our pre-ping sussing out session at York. We had an absolutely brilliant time dishing the dirt and swapping scandal stories and to make it more remarkable, we'd never met before (even though we've spoken on the phone). Roofy adds that extra dimension to life.. how do we explain.. well, an example may illustrate the picture.

We were in a tea shop in York and the waitress asked what she wanted and the order went along the lines of "six foot four, blue eyes, body of a love god....!" And, as for her appetite for alcohol, well let's put it this way... if she were ever to go to Canada, then I can promise that she would bring a new meaning to the phrase "Drink Canada Dry"..... Like I say, a lovely gal and we had a great time.

We surprised my fellow Updater rang CP, by ringing him up... really nice to talk to the guy for the first time. Obviously the guy has amazing abilities as can be testified by the fact that, five minutes into our conversation, we'd cleared the café (from which we'd made the call) of all its customers and CP wasn't even in the room.. such is the force with which we contend...

On and by the way, we also found a pub which serves great beer and great food, of which more in due course....

Anyway, Roofy and I were pretty diligent in our approach to researching suitable hostelries, as can be confirmed by the extra unscheduled deliveries of replacement fluid, which the various houses have had to organise...

So, I was poured onto my train at 1938 hours having initially been at the wrong platform, unbeknown to me, staring across the line at what was actually my train... fortuately, I realised my mistake with only seconds to go before the departure. Anyway, I rang up her downstairs to say what time I'd be at Stalybridge station, as she'd agreed to give me a lift back home. For those who don't know the geography, Stalybridge is some 6 miles from home and is on the line to York.

Well, let's put it this way... I do remember Huddersfield station, which is about 30 minutes away from Stalybridge..... the next thing, I wake up and we are about 35 minutes on, speeding towards Manchester, which is about a further 8 miles on from Stalybridge. Thank heavens, I woke up when I did, because the ultimate destination of the train was Liverpool, some 30 miles further on yet again.... Well, I ring home from my mobile to talk to my son, but what can he do? ... my wife doesn't have mobile phone hers elf, so there is no way to contact her!

Anyway, I get to Manchester and I have a decision to make. I could go back on the line on which I came and get off at Stalybridge, hoping that Trude has waited or even called home to see if there was a delay....... Alternatively, as Stalybridge is a fair way from home, I can take another line, this one leading direct home to Glossop, where the station is only about a mile away. I decide on the latter option... I keep making anxious calls home to my son, but no, my wife has not rung in! Oh dear. Anyway about 90 minutes after I should have got home had I done it all properly, I finally arrive back home.. to find Trude's car on the drive and my son greeting me with the news that she's had a sense of humour breakdown, ... So I am well and truly in the doghouse about my thoughtlessness and spending too much time on the computer, etc. etc. What can you say??? Not a lot! Just hoping that the bullet proof clothing has been adequately tested.......

So, I should have finished typing up this episode last night, but was too tired to do so.... I guess that in the interests of getting this one out, then, as prologues go, it will be a short one, not so much a pole-logue, more of a stump-logue, I guess....

The notable feature was the last in the Renault Clio "Papa and Nicole" series, with a highly amusing and unexpected climax, featuring Bob Mortimer and Viv Reeves. I can't believe that I as the only one who smiled at this witty ending to this highly successful campaign.....

Well, how was it for me?

A nice mix of drama and comedy.

The comedy provided by Les and Toyah, who continue to have some great lines.....

The drama by some moving scenes, firstly with Sally, portraying so accurately the guilt following a bereavement, the regret for opportunities lost. Secondly, a classic performance from Jim, as he realises the implications of his disability, loses hope and snaps... Tear-provoking scenes from both.....

And that's about it, apart from the fact that the Teletubbie saga continues at home... last week my wife bought me a purple dressing gown. Also, my son saw some Teletubbie bath sponges at the local chemists and proceeded to tell them the whole story and they thought the whole thing was a real scream... I can see I'm going to be in for some merciless ribbing when I go there again. Anyway, after that, my wife got me a Tinky Winky sponge..... I asked her how far the saga would run, and her reply was that "it'l l run and run and run....."

So, without further ado, I suppose that I'm now to be officially known in ratucs/irc-land as Tinky^.....

...so until I see ya next week, take care...

Hugs and kisses from Tinky^

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Sunday 31 May

Good morning, campers !! Yes, we've been to Butlins. Well, not really Butlins, more Center Parcs. Same idea but a little more panache, and a lot more cash. With my debts, I will be joining the league of third world nations soon. Just as long as I can reschedule the repayments for the 22nd century, I can live with the shame.

In keeping with the now austere regime at Laird Towers, this will be a suitably meagre introduction. (Actually, it's mostly because we're running late at the moment, and I do not intend to be held to blame any more than strictly necessary. So, no lengthy recap of the backwaters of East Anglia, or the sexual preferences of most of Durham.)

So, arm yourself with some stale dry biscuits and a glass of tepid tap-water as we settle down to view the latest goings-on down our favourite Street...

Getting better again, imho. The producers are really packing in scenes at the moment (although I have sometimes taken liberties and compressed a few together or left others out), and the "pace" is picking up as a result.

Overall rating (out of 5 stars): ***1/2

Best line: As Janice cops Les one in the shins after his remark to Sally, she adds "I wish the doctor had given you something for your mouth, not your back !". Delivered in a wonderfully rounded Lancashire accent. (In the not-far-north-of-Manchester area, but some anorak will supply a more precise locality I'm sure !)

Best scene: Leanne with Darren. Jane Danson put in a terrific display of looking truly petrified before finally bursting into tears.

And that's yer lot, as they say. I'll be back in a more timely fashion later this week, all being well with the rest of the updaters.

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