Clinkers to Riddle

What's the Point?

2012-02-04T08:37:00.000-08:00

Admittedly, I'm a sucker for a TV studio. This is probably because I am quite nosy and like to see what's going on. Over the years, I've been lucky enough to visit on or two studios and have seen life there from both sides of the camera. Oh yes, I've rubbed shoulders with the great and the good.I also met Gloria Hunniford. Away from the stars though, there are the usual studio 'types' to contend with. You will always find a semi-demented researcher with a clipboard stapled to her hands, juggling a coffee and getting your name wrong. There is usually an overly-jolly make-up woman who insists on telling you who she 'did' last week, thinkking that you'll be impressed by the mere mention of Judith Chalmers. Also on the roster is the floor manager, balancing the technical requirements of the studio with the 'loves' and 'darlings' taking part in the production. It's a fascinating and, often, bizarre world.

Armstrong & Osman making a Point

Last night I dragged myself off to BBC Television Centre to see a recording of the cosy tea-time quiz show, Pointless. True to form, the audience was kept waiting on a desperately cold Wood Lane until it was time to be herded in the direction of the BBC Shop. Fifteen minutes later we were rounded up again and shoved in the direction of Studio 4. Amongst the assorted grannies and student-types, there was the usual screeching about how tiny the set was. On came the warm-up guy, a nervous but likeable comic called Josh who kept reassuring us that he wasn't gay. Whatever. He was funny though even when he had to coach us in cheering and whooping like loonies for the contestants. Ah - the contestants!

No one had realised that this was a celebrity edition of Pointless. Necks were craned to get a glimpse of the glitterati. OK so it was Lionel Blair, Angela Rippon, Steve Pemberton, Colin and Justin (do they have surnames?), Konnie Huq, Anjellica Bell and some actor called Sam. Sorry but I have not a clue as to who he is. Presenter Alexander Armstrong entered to much applause but not quite as much as his sidekick Richard Osman. He is one heck of a tall man!

Anyway, a jolly old time was had by all. There were one or two re-takes due to fluffed lines and Angela Rippon continually moving out of shot or even walking off the set. What I really liked though was the manner in which Armstrong and Osman chatted with their guests between takes and even laughed along and aplauded warm-up Josh. I've been at other productions where the presenters smile and courtesy has disappeared as soon as the camera lights went off.

We'lll miss it when it's gone . . . perhaps

A fun old night then and of course, I didn't pay a penny for the ticket. I for one will be a bit sad when TV Centre closes for good. There is something special about the Concrete Donut in Wood Lane.

Tales from Denmark . . .

2012-01-15T07:04:00.000-08:00

How are we all coping with January then? We're halfway through and Christmas now seems like a distant memory. The weather is wavering between brisk, cold, bright days and rather overcast stuffy ones. I'm currently feasting on the books that came my way on December 25th. David Downing's Potsdam Station is the latest in a series of books set in Germany before, during and after the last war. Downing ratchets up the suspense with each chapter but does so in a believable way. I found myself rooting for the central characters, John Russell and Effi Koenen at the turn of every page.

My latest read is A Visit from the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan's Pulizer Prize winning tale of, and I quote, "... moments where lives interact and where fortunes ebb and flow". Fair enough.

Musically I'm reconnecting with Northern Soul at the moment. Not everyone's cuppa I guess but January is definitely the month for hearty tunes. Fine purveyors of such fare include April Stevens, Dottie Cambridge and Muriel Day. April, Dottie & Muriel. You hear of many doting parents lavisihing such names on their kids these days do you? I'd love it for a beaming new Mum to say "Meet baby Mavis!"

I can't see the scoreboard from here . . .

The long road to Eurovision 2012 unwinds before me too. This year's festival of song is being held in Baku, Azerbaijan where the president and his family seem to be 'guiding' preparations along. A venue is being built from scratch and we are promised that the ambitiously named Crystal Hall will be ready by May. Not sure which year though. Anyway entrants to date include the intriguingly named Rambo Amadeus (Montenegro) whose music seems a little . . . err, challenging. Spain have opted for Pastora Soler, a woman whose name sounds like something from a Dulux colour chart. No sign of the BBC's challenger yet but the usual worrying names of Katherine Jenkins, Pixie Lott and JLS abound.

No nonsense Danish PM (ficticious . . .)

Denmark chooses it's Eurovision entry next week but for the moment it is their drama output that seems to proving popular. Although I missed The Killing, I am hooked on the latest Danish froth to wash ashore on BBC4. Borgen is the tale of politics, Copenhagen-style which may sound a bit dry but is far from it. Hero of the hour is Birgitte Nyborg, leader of the Moderate Party who is unexpectedly catapulted into the job of Prime Minister. She is played by the excellent Sidse Babett Knudsen who chooses to portray her as a normal human being as opposed to some manic, disorganised career mum. Special mention should also be made of Birgitte Hjort Sørensen who takes on the role of ambitious (i.e. a bit of a bitch) TV news anchor, Katrine Fønsmark. She may tun out to be a bit of a bad 'un. Anyway, this is certainly a classy production and compelling viewing. Not a woolly jumper in sight either.

Reality check . . .

2012-01-07T08:44:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over. There. That's now dealt with. I know a great many people fear January with a passion. The empty month looming ahead. The undecorated living room. Food that doesn't contain 90% lard. It makes you want to weep. YOU maybe but, for the moment at least, not me. Having dragged the tree and tinsel back to the furthest reaches of the garden shed, I slapped my hands together and prepared for 2012. By visiting a nuclear bunker. Yes, I could think of no better way to greet the new year other than by descending into Mother Earth and reliving every nightmare brought on by the BBC's Threads in the 1980s.

Wish you were here? No . . .

Kelvedon Hatch was the bunker in which Thatcher et al would have hunkered down as the rest of the nation was vaporised. Not so much a bunker, more a small town was the impression that I got. It was equipped with a small hospital, offices galore, a massive industrial kitchen and even a BBC studio. As the remnants of humanity were breathing in fallout on the surface, at least they could have done so knowing that Gloria Hunniford was spinning discs in safety.

There is always a need for a bit of comfort telly first thing in January. For a couple of years, this was provided by Celebrity Big Brother. Having seen the line-up for 2012, I visibly sagged and my brain went into standby mode. I've managed to ween myself off most God-awful TV. The last series of the X Factor was definitely (probably . . .) the last one I'll bother with. Celeb BB seems to be peoopled by the usual rent-a-blondes with the ratty hair and black eyes. Add to that a non-entity rapper, a Corrie barmaid and Sonia Jackson from EastEnders and you can feel, the will to watch draining from the nation.

She's gorne forever, ain't she?

Speaking of Enders, I tuned in to the old nonsense on New Year's Day. Now I haven't watched it for a few years so was saddened to discover that Michelle Fowler and Doctor Legg are no longer residents. The only reason I switched it on was to see Pat Butcher in her death throws. Fat Pat. I remember her joining the show back in 1947 (well, it was quite a few years ago), with her peroxide 'biker's helmet' hairdo and M & S flasher mack. For the first year Pat was, if we're being honest, a bit of an old slag. She was the type of woman who lit one fag from the dying embers of her last one and drank the dregs from glasses at parties. However twelve months of being a right old cow began to wear thin, so the producers had Pat beaten up and left for dead. She emerged from her coma as the matriach who snuffed it last week. A nifty bit of re-writing saved us from twenty five years of having to view some clapped out tart propping up the bar at the Queen Vic. She just served from the other side instead.

I'm greeting 2012 then with a pile of books to read, some interesting music to discover (check out Michael Kiwanuka and Bry Webb) plus a few visits to the gym. Already the place is being overrun by chub-armed women and middle managers in corporate gymwear (You work for JP Morgan? Well done you!) I may just escape to a nuclear bunker for a few weeks. Happy New Year!

The halls have been decked . . .

2011-12-24T05:48:00.000-08:00

Well, here we are folks. The final few hours of madness before we can all sink into a rosy glow, knowing that the shops are closed and if we ain't got it by now, then we ain't 'avin it. Sorry, I came over all 'Albert Square' there.

Lots of madness to view in Waitrose this morning. Plenty of hyperventilating lunatics. Enough of me for the moment though. I wheeled my trolley past a puce-faced woman instructing her husband to "Just go and look at the Madeira. Now please!" The prize for worst selection of festive fare went to the glum looking couple with a trolley full of Fosters lager and parsnips. Someone's in for a treat tomorrow.

For me, the lead up to Christmas has probably been the same as that of many others. Each year I promise myself that I will not trundle down Oxford Street in December. Failed. I was particularly amazed by the desperation of some of the shopping in John Lewis where some people operated a kind of 'auto grab' method, whereby they just scooped up anything that lay in their path. Oh the joy of opening a festive pannetone and Union Jack tea tray tomorrow.

Last night I was out at a meal in south east London. The restaurant was lovely and the food wonderful. The floor show came courtesy of one of the chefs who made John Barrowman look like Danny Dyer. He glided across the floor, clasping his hands and brandishing a tart (ooh Matron!), advising us that he had made his own mincemeat. Not a snigger from any of us. I opted for a coffee . . .

Anyway, I've ploughed through the Radio Times to see what Christmas Day has to offer. Here are my recommendations:

8.20 a.m. Blue Peter Christmas Special (BBC1)

Here's one we rescued from a bin . . . (8.20 a.m.)

Join the team, well Helen, as she crashes into the scenery in the show's new micro bijou studio in Salford. No crib, no tree, no advent crown and a couple of carols sung by a woman from the production team and Shep. Plus photographs from the Summer Expedition to Belgium.

11.00 a.m. Songs of Praise (BBC1)
Pews that don't see a bum in a month of Sundays are now filled with ugly people in hats. Expect several carols to be desecrated beyond belief by a dubious chorister.

12.30 p.m Film: Panda Feet versus Aliens (ITV2)
Heart-warming festive animation voiced by Joan Rivers and Chuck Norris.

2.00 p.m Top of the Pops (BBC1)

Join a host of nobodys and Fearne Cotton as you try to remember anything that charted in 2011. Probably contains a scene with Cher Lloyd in a santa suit.

3.00 p.m. The Queen (Every channel)
Usual sour-faced meanderings topped off with that wintry grimace.

4.00 p.m. Panorama special (BBC News 24)
Is TV journalism dumbing down? Hosted by Dale Winton and Amy Childs.

7.00 p.m. Emmerdale (ITV1)
Marlon tells Sam that Andy Sugden is Amos Brearley's dad. Val Pollard eats Lisa Dingle's heroin and jumps off the Woolpack. In a shock revelation, Cain confesses to Mr Wilks that he was only responsible for 8 of the 14 disasters that hit the village this year. Edna eats dynamite and is shot from a cannon across a large expanse of the Nile delta.

8.00 p.m. Coronation Street (ITV1)

A bad hair day for Rita (8.00 p.m.)

Emily Bishop tells husband Ernie that Nick Tilsley is really Rita Sullivan's love child by Albert Tatlock. Meanwhile, Dev sings "I'm just an old fashioned girl" in full drag at the Rovers party just as the police arrive and shoot Eileen dead in the snug. Tyrone jumps off the factory roof on to a large spike.

9.00 p.m. EastEnders (BBC i-player if you are desperate)
Dirty Den confesses to Ethel's dog that Pete Beale is the father of punk Mary who hasn't been seen since 1988. Derek Branning gives Fat Boy a lesbian kiss in the laundrette and in a fit of jealousy, Dot Cotton jumps 80 feet from the roof of the Queen Vic, through a flaming hoop and lands in a bath of acid. Meanwhile a phonecall brings unwelcome news for Shirley.

10.00 p.m. Last of the Birds of a Grave and Horses (BBC3)
Two hours of festive comedy from the BBC, proving that they haven't managed to come up with any new formats for over a quarter of a century. Probably narrated by Alexander Armstrong.

11.20 p.m. Non-Celebrity Come Dine in Essex (ITV2)

Christmas pudding? (11.20 p.m.)

The perma-tanned uglies are invited to the remains of a festive slap-up meal hosted by Arg and the fat one who looks like Diana Dors. Living the reem.

Merry Christmas from Clinkers to Riddle!

A feast of fine music?

2011-12-10T08:54:00.000-08:00

It's time to let off the party-poppers and celebrate like there is no tomorrow. The end of the X Factor is nigh! I shouldn't really moan, having followed it from underwhelming week to underwhelming week. My heart has not really been in it this year and I guess I'm only watching the old nonsense out of slavish duty.

Bored . . .

I won't miss Dead-Eyes Dermot, a man who lights up a room every time he leaves it. If ever anyone was going through the motions, it's Derm. Still, we should pause for a moment to remember his predecessor, the automaton known as Kate Thornton. Weep for her.

Hapless old Uncle Louis

I will also not be missing the panel of judges. Tulisa just about redemmed herself when she suddenly remembered that she wasn't actually a beer-swilling chav but a middle class girl who had a private education. Louis Walsh now appears to be played by some camp, elderly, confused uncle who shouts out at inopportune moments. Should he come back next year, then the producers will dump the over 25s category on him again. Watch him wail and moan under thity grand's worth of wig.

I will definitely not miss Kelly Rowland. She's a riotous joy of over-emphasing ridiculousness, every utterance some contrived 'east side' nonsense. "Go momma" is often followed by the same lines but bellowed at some ear-shattering level. She's a foghorn in a frock. Laugh as she sits there, dabbing at dry eyes, attempting to squeeze emotion from somewhere. Time for that momma to take a hike.

Let's feel sorry for Gary Barlow. He seems like a decent bloke but Mr Nasty he is not. I get the feeling that he won't be back in 2012. Barlow's career is pretty rock solid at the moment and he doesn't need to take part in an end-of-the-pier show.

As for the finalists? Well let's forget Amelia Lily. She's definitely a competent singer but bland in a Julie Andrews kind of way. If you heard her on the radio, you wouldn't hurl the set out of the window but you wouldn't batter down the doors of HMV for a copy of her CD.

Err . . . no idea

Little Misfits, or whatever they are, may just win. They have a decent singer (the blonde one - does she have a name?) but are saddled with the odd-looking one. You know, the one who sounds as though she is trying to force her lungs out of her nostrils. The other two could be anyone. It might as well be Yootha Joyce and Peggy Mount up there or a couple of wooden spoons. Not a clue who they are.

Which brings us on to the probable winner, Marcus Collins. When he's not channelling Bruno Mars, he's quite a decent singer. However, you just know that twelve months on, he'll be brandishing a top hat and a cane in cabaret somewhere. A West End career beckons and why not? The guy seems to have stage presence and a good voice. Let's wish him well.

Has Lys got the Swiss Factor?

Meanwhile over in Switzerland, musical hysteria of a different kind. Several thousand people will pack into an arena in Kreuzlingen tonight for that traditional festive event, a qualifying competition for next year's Eurovision Song Contest. Yes, the contest that will be held at the end of May. Not that I'm accusing them of overdoing it but six months of preparation for the 2011 contest resulted in a less than joyful 25th place for Anna Rossinelli. Or 'last' as it is often known. Tonight's show is the culmination of months of qualifying rounds which featured X Factor rejects Maria Lawson (who?), Same Difference plus international star Ultra Naté. None of them made the final. One person who did though is 87 year old Lys Assia. She has been to Eurovision before - in 1956. Back then she emerged as the winner and tonight, armed with a schmaltzy, calorie-laden pudding of a ballad, she is expected to win again. You can almost hear Kelly Rowland's cry of "Go momma" . . .

Oh Christmas tree . . .

2011-11-27T09:22:00.000-08:00

Anyone got any tinsel?

The inevitability of it is now upon me. I can't escape the fact that by next weekend, a jaded old fairy will be staring at me in the living room. No, I'm not talking about Louis Walsh on The X Factor. I'm preparing myself for the journey to the shed. Once there, I will battle my way past the lawn mower, the half tins of paint and the gently rusting garden implements in order to locate a series of elderly cases and boxes. With in these boxes of delights lies Christmas. Yes, the entire festive works, save for the turkey. Tree, tinsel, lights, worried looking fairy for the top of the tree - the lot.

I gave up on having a real tree after several years of disasters. One Christmastide, I left it all a bit late and was actually about to leave the house for New York when I hurriedly went and bought a tree from Sainsburys. Back at home, I snipped the netting open only for an entire pine forest to burst forth and fill the room. This monster of a tree blocked out all natural daylight and, more importantly, the telly. Back from the Big Apple the following week, I dragged the thing out to the garden and stamped on it.

The following year I made my purchase from a local shopkeeper who became forever known as "that thieving witch". Basically, she saw me coming. They usually do. The tree didn't seem to fit in any stand I had. I considered stapling it to the curtains but then thought better and decided to saw the bottom off. With no saw to hand ( I know, what a desperate household) I took a bread knife to the thing. How I laughed with festive bonhomie as the blood poured down my hands several minutes later.

My problems were resolved by a quick visit to John Lewis who then delivered Christmas in the back of a van. All I now have to do is find the tree, cleanse it of spiders/grass cuttings and hey presto - it's Christmas!

Feeling excited yet? No . . .

At least I'm getting in the mood. Yesterday saw me at Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland, a Christmas cornucopia of loveliness. Brandishing a turkey bap, I pushed my way through crowds of bemused looking tourists heaving into cups of gluhwein. Seriously, the scent of mulled vino was everywhere. Fair play to the organisers though. The whole thing could have been ridiculously tacky but surprisingly, the idea seems to work.

Just don't be tempted by the gluhwein before going on the fairground . . .

Soup on a tray . . .

2011-11-19T09:03:00.000-08:00

I've staggered to the keyboard. Yes, this brave little soldier marches on despite suffering from (weep for me dear reader . . .) man flu. This scourge of the eighteen plus male finally hit home and layed me low for at least, ooh, forty eight hours.

Of course being ill now is nothing like being ill when you are a kid. A sickness day in the 1970s had a certain kind of format to it. I would be transferred from bed to sofa just as Jimmy Young was piping up on Radio 2. Once there, I would be covered with The Sickness Blanket, a cholera-ridden piece of cloth handed down by my great-grandma. Accompanying this would be The Sickness Bucket. Whatever the illness, the blue plastic bucket, liberally filled with Dettol-infused water would slosh around within vomiting range. Also arranged nearby would be a copy of The Beano and a bottle of Lucozade, complete with crinkly yellow cellophane.

Even though school was obviously out of the question, schools programmes would be served up. And so, semi-awake, I would peer at Seeing & Doing, Picture Box and the eerie Experiment ("Write that down".) Mum would later make an appearance with the Official Sickness Meal - tomato soup on a tray. Why she never put it in a bowl is anyone's guess. This would be served against a backdrop of Pebble Mill at One, the seven year old me being entranced by Peter Seabrook's gardening tips and a song from Patti Boulaye. By the time Crown Court came on I would be feverish and demented.

Two hours that I'll never get back . . .

Anyway, that's in the past. The adult sickness day saw me slumped over this keyboard, hating myself for reading inane tweets (note to celebs: if the only thing you have to talk about is your up and coming tour dates, then please don't bother). The 'feverish' moment came courtesy of Radio 2's Jeremy Vine Show which appears to be a spoken version of the Daily Mail, a forum for the 'nuts and sluts' brigade who usually meander on to the Jeremy Kyle Show. Must be something about the name Jeremy. Faced with a TV schedule filled with greedy pensioners grubbing around at antique fairs or rotund campsters tarting up derelict terraces in Stoke, I kept the telly switched off and sweated away in a corner. With The Sickness Blanket. Great-grandma would be proud.

I heard a Rumer . . .

2011-11-14T11:29:00.000-08:00

Yawn . . .

My search for quality music goes on. I've decided that I'm never going to find it courtesy of the X Factor which I am now, after seven years, officially giving up on. Try as I might, I am unable to summon up any interest in this year's woeful contestants namely the Pislbury Do-Boy, the four munchkins, some bint with a loaf of bread on her head, a gasping 'theatrical' type who thinks he's Bruno Mars . . . oh you get the picture. Add to that the dead-eyed Dreary O'Leary, Auntie Louie and Kelly Girlfriend. Enough already. Or ENOUGH ALREADY as Kelly would probably bellow while trying to read the name of her acts on a cue card.

Mum's gone to Iceland

I found a little solace in thirty quids worth of Icelandic CD, the joyous Gleðibankinn. This celebrates, as if anything could, twenty five years of Icelandic participation on the Eurovision Song Contest. Feast on delights such as Hægt og hljótt by Halla Margret or the finger-clicking goodness offered up by Anna Mjöll's Sjubidu (it translates as Shoobedoo by the way).

Rumer-monger

Maybe musical perfection came in the shape of singer-songwriter Rumer. On Saturday night I made my way to Sheffield's City Hall, to join the throng of weak-bladdered, middle-aged people who had turned out to to be comforted by Rumer's songs. Battling through the queue outside the tea kiosk ("We've got no milk") and the grey-headed men in discomfort outise the gents, I settled down for the musical action. Rumer wafter on in a brown mumsy frock and launched into the first of many tracks from her debut album. The next ninety minutes were an absolute joy. Aided by an excellent backing band and two well-built backing singers, Rumer eased us through a world of middle-of-the-road mid-tempo songs, soft jazz and bossa nova rhythms. Her cover of Laura Nyro's American Dove topped off a rather lovely evening.

Musical excellence was, therefore, found. I embraced the middle-aged-ness of it all and, aftr rushing for the loo, floated home on a cloud of . . . well, Ovaltine probably.

Missed World

2011-11-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

If it wasn't for a small article in The Guardian this week, I would have been none the wiser that London was playing host to this year's Miss World competition. I felt slightly sad and nostalgic. Back in the day, Miss World was one of the annual television highlights, along with Children in Need and the Eurovision Song Contest, which caught people's interest.

Yes, a child I was always aware that, like a visit to the funfair, the search for the planet's best-looking woman was a tacky treat. On the big day we would glance at the 'runners and riders' lists in the tabloids. Miss United Kingdom would have been installed as favourite to win, even if she looked like Janet Street-Porter. By 8 p.m., the household would be seated and glued to the screen as shots of the Royal Albert Hall were replaced by a dazzling array of mismatched hosts. Would it be Michael Aspel in a dickie-bow, Esther Rantzen in a chiffon tent or Judith Chalmers with her lacquered skin?

Then the real fun began as the 'bevvy of international beauties' clomped on stage to sing an ill-judged anthem. For several years this was the nauseating 'For only a day', a ditty so inane that it actually finished last in A Song for Europe. Of course, it was always fun to spot the non-English speakers opening and closing their mouths on the back row but enough of Miss Australia.

The national dress parade was always a laugh. Poor old Miss UK would lumber out in a Beefeater outfit, the country lacking so much cohesion that it couldn't even agree on a frock. This part of the show was educational. We learned that the national dress of Malta is a coal sack and that all African women are forced to wear wicker baskets on their heads. How we chuckled as the gangly seven foot tall Miss Netherlands struggled onstage looking like a fifteenth century milk maid. The representative of the USA (never Miss USA, note) would be resplendent with toombstone teeth and Miss Mexico would look like a bad joke from Ugly Betty. Miss Iceland, even when she won, remained a dry-eyed Stepford Wife and curiously unsexual. Our household would always indulge in the 'is she a man?' competition, won on one notable occasion by Miss Turkey.

After the girls had been crooned at by Sacha Distel (usually 'The Most Beautiful Girl in the World'), Esther, Judith or someone would ask each contestant something non-threatening ('So Miss Israel, what's it like to be a beautiful girl in the army?') whereas we wanted Judith to smile and ask Miss South Africa what she thought of the oppressive regime of her homeland.

Then it was time to meet the jury (usually of the Bruce Forsyth ilk) before the forever seedy looking chairman, Eric Morley, announced the results in reverse order. At this point, a no-show for Miss UK was always rated a disaster. Would we never get to see that Beefeater suit again? There would usually be a surprised runner-up (Miss Guam 1980 - but revenge would be hers) followed by either a bizarre winner who no one had rated (UK 1983, Austria 1987) or some glacial automaton from Venezuela. Cut to winner attempting to walk, arrange her sash and hang on to the ridiculous crown that had been forcibly jammed on to her Farrah Fawcett hairdo by the previous year's winner.

This year's contest isn't being shown on either terrestrial or satellite TV in the UK but we wish Miss England well as she steps out at Earls Court dressed in our national costume, protective armoured battledress.

Ta-ra duck . . .

2011-10-23T07:06:00.000-07:00

The passing of Coronation Street legend Betty Driver marks the end of an era down Weatherfield way. Many of us grew up with the character of Betty Turpin. There she was, bustling around behind the bar of the Rovers Return, often sharp of tongue and breathing fire. Yet for all that, she always seemed to be the kind of character who would have had a quarter of sweets in her handbag. She was the Nation's Nan, hankie poised up the sleeve of her cardigan, a reassuring word at the ready.

Betty Driver the actress was, for many, Betty Driver the film star and singer of the 1930s and 40s. It almost seems incredible that she came out of retirement to accept the Corrie role back in 1969. Some newspaeers have referred to her characterisation as that of a battleaxe. Yet she was no Ena Sharples and nor was she a harridan in the Ivy Tilsley mode. Betty was one of a kind. For me she will forever be remembered rolling towards a lake in a second hand Rover with Bet Lynch. She will be ferrying hotpots from kitchen to bar, locking horns with Alec Gilroy and delivering that deep, wicked chuckle.

Striking the right note

2011-10-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

I think that filing any kind of critique about the pros and cons of ITV1's The X Factor is a little like pushing at an open door. Is there really any point? For me, the show has been a guilty pleasure for many years. I've always enjoyed the pantomime judging panel and have sometimes been surprised by decent performers. This week's instalment was something else though. The panel had obviously had a rocket up the backside courtesy of Simon Cowell, no doubt in full histrionic Dame Maggie mode. All Gary Barlow needed was a black cape and a cackle to make him the ideal villain. Not that any of his criticisms rang true. He merely seemed to be going through the motions. Tulisa looked uncomfortable with the entire show and Kelly was all over the place. She needs to go home, 'girlfriend'. As for Louis? You might as well have Dot Cotton on the panel.

The lovely Frankie Coccoza

The acts this year are, on the whole, not good. I was pleased to see Brookside's Bev Dixon on stage, looking a bit bigger but belting out a Cher number. Jane MacDonald would have been proud. Rythmix were there again, a messy hotch-potch of looks and sounds. Boy band muppets The Risk looked distracted, as were their vocals at times, but still remain favourites. Weep for Frankie Coccoza with his 1970s ladies hairdo and weak vocal. Go on, cry bitter tears for this most over-rated of performers.

I'm beginning to think that the Great British Public are falling out of love with Dame Cowell and his circus. Which leads me to believe that camp Eric Sykes lookalike Johnny will be this year's winner. Tripping around the stage like an embarrassing uncle on acid, he is however very likeable - something his fellow contestants (step forward Misha B - what does the B stand for? Bint?) are not. Viewers may well decide to punish Cowell and sink The X Factor forever by bestowing a victory on Johnny.

Like a Rhinestone cowboy . . .

Having recorded last night's show, I set off for the Royal Festival Hall and the farewell concert from Glen Campbell. As recently reported, Campbell is now living with Alzheimer's and made the decision to do one final tour before retiring. The evening was a delight, although quite emotional for some. Campbell's backing band included several of his children who supported him in every sense of the word. As for the music, well each song was a classic and was greeted with warm applause. Campbell joked "Without the songwriter Jimmy Webb, I probably wouldn't be up here doing this now!" From the joy of "Galveston" to the melancholy "Wichita Lineman", Campbell gave his all and given that he is 75 years old, this was impressive. A performer who has the X Factor plus a whole lot more.

Making a meal of it

2011-10-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

When it comes to reviewing restaurants, I'm hardly Fay Maschler. I'm not even Faye from Steps. However, there comes a point when a disgruntled diner (that's me by the way) has to speak out. Yet again, I'm going to be jolly English and polite about it all and not even name the offending restaurant. I can confirm that this cheerless dump is situated on London's Charlotte Street.

Enter if you will, a restaurant devoid of any personality. This should have been a warning. The clientel were less than inspiring; a middle-aged couple sat in companionable, dreary silence, two excitable Italians and a smiling Japanese couple trying to make sense of the impossibly small tables. I thought I could hear someone weeping in the background but it just turned out be an elderly recording of Marianne Faithfull singing "As tears go by".

What onion soup SHOULD look like!

On to the menu then and I opted for a tasteless onion soup, topped off with a slab of lard masquerading as gruyere cheese. Removing this from the soup was akin to prizing a manhole cover up. Not to worry, I though, sea bass to follow. I wasn't quite prepared for the transparent remnant of fish that was hurried to my table, accompanied by four undercooked new (what? In 1985?) potatoes and a shaving of something which might have been ginger. I washed this delicacy down with the delightfully warm sauvignon blanc and waited for the 'fresh' bread which "might take some time because the electric oven has to warm up".

I shuffled off home and made a sandwich, the melody of "As tears go by" reverberating in my mind long into the night.

Sky's the Limit . . .

2011-10-08T08:26:00.000-07:00

Thank you British weather. One minute I'm sat outside enjoying a mellow evening, the next I'm jammed up against a radiator. Still, being indoors gave me a chance to catch up on the all the telly I've been storing on my Sky box. It really is time to have a clear out. I reckon if I page back far enough, I'll find episodes of Pebble Mill at One on there.

Dumbed-down Abbey?

Lots in the papers this week about Downton Abbey and the disgruntled viewing public. I agree, the ad breaks are numerous and littered about the show in a random fashion. The characterisations seem to have gone a bit mad too. Mrs Crawley, loveable in the last series for sticking up to Dame Maggie, now comes across as some meddlesome ratbag. Cora's facelift (surely not in 1917?) has not been remarked upon and the rushed storyline concerning the Irish valet was poor. However, on the positive side, Thomas the footman is less 'pantomime camp' than he was last year.

Be afraid . . .

I always record Location Location Location, basically because I'm nosy and like to shout when people even consider moving to a cottage. Anywhere. The latest episode I watched (which was probably originally transmitted in 2008 - I'm that far behind . . .) showed signs of the whole thing lurching towards parody. The first victims . . . err potential buyers were a lesbian couple, both of whom were played by Radclyffe Hall. This duo spent days wittering on about whether or not their cats would like each house and weeping in unfinished utility rooms. The other couple were dull married accountants who shuffled around the Home Counties droning on about kerb appeal and whether or not the coffee shops were any good. The vox pop with a group of twee yummy mummies would have had me running a mile.

Supervising the whole circus was Kirstie Allsop, now firmly in bellowing Rodean head girl mode and Phil Spencer, who seems to have morphed into a chortling would-be Sid James. However, they do get results and both are far richer than yours truly will ever be.

Queen of Quiche - Jo Wheatley

Highlight of the week was, naturally, the climax of Great British Bake Off. This has been a joy from start to finish. Hurrah for Jo Wheatley and her perfect mini Victoria sponges and congratulations to this most unassuming of winners. I will celebrate with an M & S jam bake a little later. Co-host Sue Perkins excelled although I notice that she is becoming, a little like Alexander Armstrong, omnipresent on our TV screens. One moment she was stuffing macaroons down her throat and the next she was yomping across Dartmoor with Alison Steadman. I am, of course, jealous.

If you're tuning into X Factor tonight, enjoy. If you're settling down in front of Strictly - I ain't interested.

The long week is over . . .

2011-09-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

It's been a long but on the whole lovely week. Yes, the weather has been a bit freaky but wonderfully so. It has enabled me to sit outside in the garden for three consecutive evenings. Mind you, this is England and we could be drifting around in snow this time next month.

Not related to Noel . . .

Food of the week came courtesy of the excellent Anrew Edmunds on Lexington Street, London. It's something of a hidden gem and there is the issue of being crammed on to hard church pews but believe me, it's worth it!

Person of the week has to be, as mentioned before, the joy that is Jo on Great British Bake Off. She thinks she can't do it. She has a 'moment'. She realises that she is a damned fine baker after all. I would happily scoff one of her mousse cakes to the point of vomiting. Maybe not quite the ringing endorsement she's after.

Song of the week for me has been the addictive 'Ouch that hurt' by Dionne Bromfield. Until this little gem burst out of the wireless set, I'd given la Bromfield a wide berth because of the Amy Winehouse connection. I was wrong. Dionne is a class act in her own right and good luck to her.

Grandma we love you . . . as long as you don't sing

Mis-placed optimism of the week came courtesy of 278 year old singer Lys Assia, winner of the first Eurovision Song Contest in 1956. With a grim chanson that would have Vera Lynn gagging, Ms Assia is attempting to represent Switzerland again next year. I think the UK should retaliate by sending Dora Bryan or Anita Harris. Facebook campaign anyone? Thought not . . .

Baking for Britain!

2011-09-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

Too many cooks? Never!

It's official. I'm obsessed with a bunch of women baking scones in a tent. OK, perhaps I'm not being fair on the domestic goddesses who are conjuring up pastry-based magic on the outskirts of Ilford. "The Great British Bake Off" has been a Great British success this autumn. Next week will see Jo, Mary Anne and Holly will battle it out in the final. Will souffles rise? Can a surprise pie point a contestant towards the winner's rostrum?

The final trio are as different as any finalists could be. There's Mary Anne (maverick baker), Holly (driven, professional, air of desperation) and Jo (lovely, never more than thirty seconds from a total pastry-induced breakdown). These women know exactly how to make a cup cake runneth over with goodness and I've no idea which one of them will be victorious.

I wonder which one of them is baking the celebration cake?

Great British Bake Off Final 2011
Tuesday 4 October
8.00 pm BBC2

2011-09-17T08:54:00.000-07:00

On your marks . . .

Like a moth to a flame, yours truly found himself drawn to the Central Line and the inevitable visit to Europe's largest and possibly most monstrous high altar of retail therapy. I speak of Stratford City East where it's a case of 'come one come all' - and spend.

That was certainly the case today as I wove around gaggles of shouting teenage girls (note: if your gut is hanging over your trousers like a flabby spacehopper, maybe try a skirt?), slow moving Benidorm Madges, lads with camp Justin Beiber hairdos and the weary and puzzled (me). I'm hardly representative of the crowd Westfield are hoping to pull in but come on, who are half of these 'high street names'. Which 'high street' are they talking about? Bratislava?

She's lovin' it . . .

The food courts are interesting though. Sadly the most popular franchise seemed to be McDonalds (oh look, it's the lumpy teenage girls again) but there were some interesting looking Lebanese, Moroccan and Vietnamese places. Not that I went to any of them. There's always next time.

One of the best bits of the expedition was having the chance to view the Olympic Park from the comfort of John Lewis. Apparently it's the official Olympic shop of choice or something. Hurrah for that. And hurrah for the shop that managed to make me part with one hundred and forty quid on things I never knew I needed. I think they saw me coming . . .

A Pointless exercise . . .

2011-09-16T12:35:00.000-07:00

Premature late middle age is setting in. I find myself settling down to, nay looking forward to, the lightest of late afternoon light entertainment. Take a bow "Pointless", BBC1's slice of comfiness, best served with a warm scone and a cup of milky tea.

"Oh what's the point?"

The show is ridiculously simple and barely a distant relative to BBC4's scary "Only Connect". In "Pointless" we are presented with four competing duos - usually a middle-aged husband and wife, a couple of camp young men with bad hair, two overweight sisters and a couple of clueless students. The hapless contestants then battle to provide the least likely answer to a given question. The team with the lowest score proceeds to the next round and so on ad infinitum.

Hosting this cosy interlude is comedian/actor Alexander Armstrong who peers at the contestants through screwed up eyes, possibly wondering what on earth brought him to this juncture in his career. Still, the thing works in a mild, uncomplicated way and is much more palatable than having Anne Robinson snarling at you.

Go on - give it a try! Reach for the malt loaf, your favourite slippers and something totally "Pointless".

Strictly Not Watching . . .

2011-09-08T11:32:00.000-07:00

Show us a leg Edwina! On second thoughts . . .

I've never seen "Star Wars". I've never purchased a Bob Dylan CD. I've never hurtled down Mount Snowdon on a tea-tray bellowing Celine Dion's greatest hits. Surprisingly, to some people at any rate, I've never seen an episode of "Strictly Come Dancing". It's not that I've gone out of my way to avoid it or that I start fizzing at he gills everytime 'Sir' Bruce clatters into view. Or that northern woman. No, it's just the suffocatingly. cosy, twee world of has-beens in big frocks isn't a big enough draw. I suspect that the BBC kicks off each year with a list of stereotypes to be included in the show - magazine show presenter, fat 'comedy value' entertainer, fruity sixty something woman, sports star nearing the end of a career, faintly recognisable totty from a soap . . check this year's bunch. They are all there. All we need for a full house is Colonel Gaddaffi and the bloke from the Go Compare adverts.

For me, eventually, it will be an evening in front of "X Factor". Yes, I know it's a load of old nonsense too and admittedly, I haven't watched any of the 'nuts and sluts' auditions so far. However, as the dark nights creep in and the mellow fruits have been harvested, whatever that means, yours truly will be found open-mouthed and ranting at Louis Walsh and co. There is no hope . . .

To Twitter or not to Twitter?

2011-09-07T11:28:00.000-07:00

Charlie Brooker - ranting on a page near you

Ok, so I've been hooked up to Twitter for a wee while now and admittedly, I'm a bit bored. That's probably my own fault given the eclectic nay random selection of people who I decided to follow. Some of them have really got the hang of tweeting - step forward Charlie Brooker, Julie Hesmondhalgh (Hayley from 'Corrie') and even the slightly acerbic Lord Sugar. Sue Perkins is a joy as is Clare Balding. However, there seem to be a whole bunch of 'celebs' who think that "Hi!!!!!!!" constitutes a conversation. Also guilty of such behaviour is a well-known BBC radio presenter, another down-to-earth soap bloke & a comedy actress.

There are some nuggets of gold though. One reknowned playwright often provides a minute-by-minute analysis of 'Big Brother' and a 'grand dame' of British TV acting reckons she might just end up in the high court because of the content of her tweets.

Any tips for entertaining Tweeters? I'm all ears (although not in a 'Martin Clunes' way . . .)

Hooked on Downton . . .

2011-09-05T11:20:00.000-07:00

Have I chilled out too early in the year? OK so autumn seems to have been thrust upon us but does this mean that I should be allowing myself to cosy down with a box set? Oddly though, I've picked a couple of ITV1 shows to ease me into the season of mellow fruits and harvest festivals. Currently I'm knee-deep in 'Downton Abbey', the stirring tale of life in't big house where her ladyship rings the bell for tea and below stairs, three hundred extras start lobbing macaroons on to cake stands.

"Where's Mrs Bridges? Sorry, wrong show . . ."

Her from 'Benidorm'

The latter, of course, never happened and therein lies the problem. Prior to settling down with the Downton mob, I watched the Red Nose Day version, 'Upstairs Downton Abbey'. Not the best of ideas as I now snigger my way through the real thing, hoping to see the footman fall over, the blind cook chuck flour everywhere and her from 'Benidorm' sporting knitted hair.

If you love the series proper and have never seen the spoof, treat yourself to a viewing on You Tube. I'll bet a pantry girl's wage that you will watch series two in a very different light.

All hail Mary Berry!

2011-09-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

Don't mess with Mary . . .

I have a new heroine. Ladies & gentlemen I give you Mary Berry, cook extraordinaire. Here's a woman who can get me salivating over a lump of foccacia bread. She's currently wrinkling her nose at some of the offering (many of them burnt) on BBC2's 'The Great British Bake Off'. Our Mary may look like a gentle old dear but get the consistency of your quiche wrong and she's in for the kill. Hats off too to the contestants on the show who rise (unlike some of the cakes) to the occasion and for whom I have the greatest admiration. Anyone who can knock up a batch of twenty four cup cakes under duress gets my vote.

Anyway, inspired by the shenanigans on Beeb 2, I've gone out and purchased a quiche tin. I have Mary's cooking bible and now all I have to do is assemble the ingredients. Wish me well . . .

Mads about the boy . . .

2011-08-17T14:53:00.000-07:00

Have I got to the age where some music leaves me cold? maybe. I really, honestly, truthfully don't understand and don't actually want to understand Cher Lloyd's "Swagger Jagger". Is it supposed to be a nursery rhyme? Anyway, if you fancy something a little more chilled on these balmy (?) summer evenings, why not give Mads Langer a try? He's a 27 year old singer-songwriter from Denmark who cites his influences as including Prince, Neil Young & Ray Lamontagne! Don't worry - he's not trying to cram all of these styles into the excellent album "Behold".

Best taken with a glass of white at the end of a long week at work. Enjoy.

More theatre darlings!

2011-08-07T07:05:00.000-07:00

"We must have got our Wires crossed . . ."

To the tiny Duchess Theatre near Drury Lane to see Simon Gray's wonderfully dark comedy "Butley". I previously saw this on Broadway back in 2006 where Nathan Lane took the lead role. The West End revival has "The Wire" star Dominic West as the decaying, whisky-soaked university don. For every dark moment there is something to chuckle at, whether it be Butley's exaggerated Yorkshire accident or his camp outrageous humiliation of colleague Joseph. Paul 'Doctor Who' McGann gives a brooding performance as Joseph's lover.

I was surprised that the play is showing at such a tiny theatre as the Duchess. Maybe a transfer is in the offing. A great night out though, plus a lovely if expensive meal in Covent Garden.

Something for the weekend . . .

2011-07-24T11:54:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a bit of a terrible one hasn't it? The shocking atrocities in Norway and the untimely but, sad to say, often-predicted death of Amy Winehouse have given much cause for reflection. Therefore I was happy of a bit of a distraction tonight and it came in the unexpected shape of Paul O'Grady. His Sunday afternoon Radio 2 show is a little gem and I recommend it for anyone feeling those Sunday evening blues. There are usually a cuple of featured artists and a generous helping of Northern Soul. The e-mails and letters from listeners are usually barking mad but for a couple of hours, indulge yourself.

Theatre darlings!

2011-07-17T05:34:00.000-07:00

OK so I took myself off to Theatreland last night and in particular, deepest, darkest Soho. The Soho Theatre always feels as though it forces the audience to suffer for art. The theatre areas are sometimes small and filled with the kind of chairs that usually get strewn around village halls. However, the productions are usually worth the hardship. "Hundreds and Thousands" was a a darkly comedic piece with a cast of four including Nadine Lewington. Fans of medicated soap may remember her as irritating doctor Maddie in "Holby City". Her performance last night was excellent. Mention should also be made of Stuart Laing (ex-"EastEnders") for his chilling portayal of Alan. Also of note were the bizarre elderly Italian couple who appeared to have wnadered into the wrong play, quite possibly in the wrong city.

Nasty Street furniture . . .

2011-06-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I last blogged. Blame the summer holidays . . .

"Is there anything else we can cram in?"

I often find myself becoming mildly annoyed by some of the tatty old furniture that seems to appear in Weatherfield. There's plenty to chose from. Deirdre's horrid chaise longue, squahed in between that debating table and the never-seen telly box. Or that grotty sofa in the Stape household. However, my current bugbear is that ridiculous table owned by Leanne & Peter. It's about the same size as a dustbin lid and yet we are expected to believe that the Barlows were going to entertain Stella and Karl to a delicious banquet whilst crouching around this offending article. There again, they probably needed some form of reward after entering the flat like demented crabs through that slit of a door.

That's it then. Leanne & Peter quite possibly live in the worst dwelling on't cobbles. Weep for them.

Go away Graham . . .

2011-05-26T11:12:00.000-07:00

I think you'd better leave right now . . .

One of my fave characters is being dragged through his final, tedious storyline at the moment. Let us gather in silence for the passing of Graham Proctor for he is, to all intent and purpose, an ex-character. How I loathe the day he ever agreed to do a favour for that permanently smiling "Blue Peter" auditionee with her nodding figurines aqnd understanding nature.

Feel a pang of sadness as Graham plays happy families with the cuckoo in the nest while poor Tina gathers dust in a corner. Weep for him.

In all seriousness, I will be glad when Graham is put out of his - and indeed my misery. As a leaving present, could he take wifey with him? Please? Pretty please??

Dennis returns!

2011-05-14T06:39:00.000-07:00

"Remember me? No? OK . . ."

OK, so he's only featured in a couple of episodes to date but I'm liking Dennis Tanner already. Phillip Lowrie seems to have stepped comfortably into the shoes he vacated an incredible forty three years ago. Plus Dennis brought us up ton date with the Elsie Tanner story, a wonderful gesture by the storyliners which helps to clear up the non-ending to her character.

Time will tell how Dennis interacts with the Corrie characters of 2011. He's already renewed his friendship with Rita but how will Ken reacft to his return? Dennis has also locked horns with Sylvia Goodwin which could be interesting and seems to have a genuine connection with Sophie Webster.

Of course, I want to know whether or not Dennis had any family himself. I'm betting that he has. He left with wife Jenny in 1968 and certainly seems to have been with her up to around 1973.

Welcom back our kid!

Leg it Liz!

2011-04-06T11:13:00.000-07:00

She won't be missed . . .

Sorry folks! I apologise before I write another word but this particular blogger is looking forward to the disappearance of Liz MacDonald. For over twenty years we've had to put up with this shrieking Harvester barmaid, her bizarre 'northern' accent and her dodgy moralising. Mother, one-time landlady and full-time slapper, she's staggered across the cobbles in a variety of ill-fitting skirts for far too long.

Having said all that, Corrie does seem to be dispatching the old trout with more of a whimper than a bang. Poor Liz is currently embroiled in a ridiculous plot which will see former hubby Jim incarcerated in the Big House for the rest of his natural.

Too harsh to be a Bet Lynch 'tart-with-a-heart', too mouthy to make many other female friends (only Deirdre & Eileen since 1989) and with a string of useless romances behind her, Liz has finally come to the end of her useful life. Enjoy your retirement, hang up your cheap frocks and sun yourself on a Spanish beach. And please stay there.

The ruin of Graeme Proctor . . .

2011-03-18T04:08:00.000-07:00

"I see before me a rubbish storyline . . ."

Sorry folks but I am really not enjoying the latest shenanigans involving Graeme and his fake love, Xin. Graeme may be a little soft at times (and unintentionally camp) but he's no fool! Would he really go along with such a barmy idea, even for the sake of harridan-in-the-making Tina Mc? The Xin character really doesn't work for me either. She's been bolted on to the stoyline as Tina's never-mentioned-before bezzy mate. As a viewer I have no relationship with Xin and have no invested loyalty towards the character.

Well, even Corrie gets it wrong at times. For me, this is one of those times.

Cheer up Corrie!

2011-02-26T07:42:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you but I've found the last couple of weeks a drag on Corrie. The whole Peter/Liane/Nick thing burned itself out despite the fine acting of Chris Gascoyne. This week it's been all Horrible Owen, Becky on one of her increasingly bizarre mood swings, Dev looking teary for a few moments before BELLOWING at inopportune moments, Tyrone wallowing (literally) in a filty pit of misery . . . aghh!

"So what do you think of my supportive brassiere Ty?"

On the plus side I've enjoyed Julie and her barmy bra capers, a selection of Steve's comedy faces and Eddie gasping fag smoke into his cake mix. Also we haven't had to put up with Fiz the Mis for a while. Fingers crossed it stays that way!

Fiz bombed-out . . .

2011-02-04T07:28:00.000-08:00

Fiz the frizz . . .

Whatever happened to Fiz Brown? OK, I don't mean literally - we all know what's happened to her over the past few months. No, what I'm getting at is that the essence of Fiz seems to have evaporated. She was always loud, mouthy and a bit rough around the edges but that's what we loved about her. Nowadays all we seem to be presented with is a hand-wringing drudge with a permanent 'woe is me' look. Fiz has a lot on her plate but wouldn't it be good to see her in fine fettle again?

Come back Fiz!

Work for all in Weatherfield!

2011-02-02T11:46:00.000-08:00

"Come one, come all!"

I'm starting to believe that Weatherfield is some kind of employment hotspot. There aren't that many people out of work and this week we've seen the hapless Eileen join Carla Connor's band of desperados. Is anyone totally sure what Eileen's role is yet? She seems to wander around with a bit of cloth, offering sardonic asides. Still, they could hardly keep her cooped up in the taxi office forever. Plus it her defection to Underworld means that Cheryl can make the huge jump from lap dancer to phone operator. Give her a year and she'll be sewing knickers rather than taking them off . . .

Away from the Street . . .

2011-01-31T11:17:00.000-08:00

"Weatherfield, douze points!"

Other than Corrie, the other great slice of joy in my life is the annual festival of horror that is the Eurovision Song Contest. I've racked my brains and can't really come up with any decent links between the two, apart from Keith Duffy (Ciaran) having performed during the interval at the 1997 contest in Dublin.

Maybe I'm missing something obvious. Perhaps Sandie Shaw once worked in the Corner Shop. Or Katie Boyle pulled pints in the Rovers. Agnetha from ABBA sewed knickers in the factory. If you are able to link Weatherfield and Eurovision, please let me know!

Shobna legs it!

2011-01-21T09:17:00.000-08:00

The new corner shop uniform was interesting . . .

A bit of fun for a Friday! I found this picture tucked away in a folder. It shows the lovely Shobna Gulati at last year's Manchester Pride parade. I reckon if you have a pair of pins like that, then why not show 'em off?

In praise of Mikey North . . .

2011-01-21T09:09:00.000-08:00

Gary Windass is fast becoming one of my favourite Corrie characters. Thanks to the excellent Mikey North, Gary has evolved from being a one dimensional thug into a young man plunged into self-doubt. North's performance in the 20 January episode of the Street was emotional and riveting. Here's hoping the storyliners have much more in store for Gary.

It has to be said that North's performance was in marked contrast to that of Ben Price, playing the latest elderly incarnation of Nick Tilsley. Price gave us several of his frequent pained facial expressions, grimaces and standard arm-folding routine. For me, this characterisation just does not work and maybe it's time that the character of Nick was sent on another long vacation to Canada.

John Stape kills Mrs Warboys!

2011-01-15T07:33:00.000-08:00

Mrs Warboys - both feet in the grave

It was with a little grim satisfaction that I bore witness to the murder of One Foot in the Grave's Mrs Warboys this week. Victor Meldrew's erstwhile neighbour breathed her last, accompanied by a bowl of Freshco soup, an inhaler plus a rather dodgy photo of her 'son' which was either a thirty year old picture of John Duttine or a doctored snap of John Stape with a stick-on moustache.

However, the episode got me thinking. After disposing of Mrs Warboys, maybe John could also re-visit some other old sitcoms and bump off a selection of supporting characters. How about ...

Nora Batty - John arrives in Holmfirth and mistakenly strangles Nora with her own stockings . . .

"John Stape played havoc with my . . ."

Mrs Slocombe - there's trouble for John when he comes face to face with the blue-rinsed one's pussy and traps it in the lift doors of Grace Brothers . . .

Thelma Ferris - Bob's wife from The Likely Lads comes a cropper when John, slipping out from the bookies for 'five minutes', turns up on Tyneside . . .

Olive - like the back-end of a bus . . .

Olive - more like under the buses than On the Buses as John takes to the wheel of a London routemaster - with devestating consequences.

John's Murderous Adventures in Sitcom Land could just be the ratings winner that ITV1 is looking for. Then again . . .

Food glorious food!

2011-01-13T11:14:00.000-08:00

The joy of a Weatherfield fish supper

Let's face it - Corrie is not exactly known for its cuisine. Down the years we have been presented with some, frankly, horrific meals. The Ogdens were forever emptying portions of flabby fish and chips on to dinner plates. Early 1980s Gail was often 'treating' Our Brian to some hideous leftover from the café. The Rovers always sported that cabinet full of insipid pies and you could always pop over to the corner shop were someone would be blowing fag smoke over the freshly prepared ham barms.

Deirdre dusts off her recipe for faggots in rum sauce

Jackson's chippy, Prima Doner, Wong's chippy, Liane's cheerless Italian restaurant - they have all provided comfort and, probably, botulism for the fair folk of Weatherfield. You can understand why eating out is so popular given Deirdre's recipe for success this week. No, I'm not speaking of her legendary smoked ham. In fairness it's not smoked when she takes it out of the packet but after Deirdre's exhaled on it . . . No, I speak of her offer of providing Ciaran with his tea on Monday - chicken pie with peas and ready salted crisps. I kid you not! Deirdre - a woman so idle that she can't even be bothered to peel a potato. We salute you Deirdre Barlow, domestic goddess of Weatherfield!

Sean Egan - 50 Years of Coronation Street

2011-01-08T04:25:00.000-08:00

Like many Corrie fans I was fascinated by the prospect of a warts-and-all stroll through the history of the show, courtesy of journalist and author Sean Egan. He billed this as a 'very unofficial history' which is a fair comment, as it includes selected opinions of some of the people responsible for the programme since 1960.

Some of the stories are well-known. There were attempts at various times to reign in the excesses of Pat Phoenix, especially in light of the somewhat harsh treatment she meted out to any other actors who crossed her. However, of more interest is the tittle tattle that receives little exposure. Back in 1968 there were plans for several Corrie spin-offs, one of which would have seen Jack and Annie Walker running a country pub with Ena Sharples as their housekeeper. Or how about the lengthy three day conference on how to keep the character of Curly Watts in the programme.

Egan also lists, perhaps with a little venom, the many inconsistencies that have sprung up over the years. He particularly disliked the emerging back story of Mike Baldwin, as history was re-written in order to provide him with a family. Egan also flags up one of the current moans of many Corrie fans regarding the bizarre personality change of Tracy Barlow from forthright young woman into a murderous hussy.

Perhaps most interesting are Egan's interviews with various writers and producers, many of whom seem to have barely tolerated each other. John Stevenson in particular comes across as a man who put heart and soul into his relationship with the programme. Overtures to the likes of Stan Barstow in the 1960s failed, in part, as he felt that he could not write within the restrictive nature demanded of him. As an ideas man, he provided producers with a number of potential storylines, including Jerry Booth becoming the Street's first gay character and a pregnant single mum in the shape of Emily Nugent!

There are one or two sloppy errors in the book, most notably mention of Sally Webster marrying Danny Hargreaves but overall this an engaging, thought-provoking and highly titilating romp through half a century of drama both in front of and behind the camera.

A very Corrie Christmas! The Noughties

2010-12-24T10:55:00.000-08:00

We arrive in the twenty first century, one which began in Weatherfield with the clatter of Raquel Watts returning to the cobbles for one night only. It was a sensational decade for the Street in more ways than one but you coulod always count on Christmas to bring the residents together. Couldn't you?

Eileen? Miserable? Never!

It's Christmas 2000 and Jason Grimshaw makes his debut and is introduced to Eileen's latest squeeze, Dennis. Ken and Deirdre serve up a tense festive meal made worse by Peter's comments and Liz storming out. Kevin admits to feeling guilty about Alison's death, Andrea Clayton visits Jack and Vera and over at the café, Roy and Hayley play host to young Wayne.

"Do you think I'm sexy?" No

2001 gave us, arguably, one of the most repulsive festive spectacles (therein lies a clue) ever witnessed. Other things were afoot though. Roy and Hayley attempt to run a free food service for the homeless but no one turns up at the café. However all is not lost as, due to a gas problem, Fred, Eve, Sally, Ashley and Maxine all end up there for lunch. A drunken Peter lashes out at Deirdre. She storms out of number one and into the arms of Dev Alahan. A nation shuddered.

By 2002, Emily is front and centre of Christmas celebrations. She hosts Norris, Rita, Audrey and Archie. A later visit from Richard Hillman almost cost Emily her life. Elsewhere, Blanche deserts the Barlows and turns up at Emily's for lunch. Unhappy with the throng there, she returns home where, joy oh joy, Tracy shows up.

Poor old Norris wrecks dinner for Emily and Rita by forgetting to switch the oven on. Even worse, Betty travels to 'my Gordon' only to find him gone! She spends Christmas at the Rovers. Blanche, in generous mood, buys number 7 for mum-to-be Tracy. Father-to-be Steve threatens to kill Tracy if she ever mentions that he is the dad. Oh and Tyrone has a drunken snog with Fiz.

A rose between two thorns?

It all kicked off with Tracy, Steve and Karen at Christmas 2004. After trying to mow Karen down in a car, Tracy faces her nemesis on the factory roof. There can be only one winner and Steve eventually sends Karen packing. Ashley marries Claire, with Joshua wearing his Spiderman outfit. Kirk confuses his gifts and presents Cilla with a bone and Schmeichel with a pair of tights.

2005 was the year when Cilla and Yana attempted to deep fry a turkey. Result? One burnt-out chip shop! Mike's health gives cause for concern, especially when he fails to remember that his brother is dead. Vera buys Jack a burial plot for Christmas and Claire's present to Ashley is her announcement that she is pregnant.

There's another memorable Christmas at Gail's home in 2006. Audrery is not only tucking into turkey but also Bill Webster. However, his wife Maureen arrives and manages to destroy a table and a plum pudding within minutes. Over at the Grimshaw's, a young girl dumps a baby on Eileen claiming that it is Jason's. Molly trains Jack and Tyrone to tidy up, much to Vera's surprise. At the Rovers, Steve provides dinner for Ken, Deirdre and Blanche!

Festive punch ups for all at Christmas 2007. Kevin floors John Stape for having a relationship with the ditzy Rosie. Roy faces the festive season without Hayley and makes do with Becky instead. Sarah thinks that moving to Italy could be a new start for her, Jason and Bethany but David seethes at the injustice of it all. Over tat the Rovers Michelle pretends to be having a good time for the sake of Ryan.

Santa Claus isn't coming to town . . .

There's a new Mr Nasty in town by 2008. Tony Gordon thinks he has killed Jed Stone but the old man has survived. Gail and Joe's Christmas is invaded by the Windasses who cause mayhem. Joe eventually leaves his own party. Becky and Steve continue their secret relationship amidst the Santa's grotto that is Street Cars.

A whirl of emotions hit the Street as the decade ended. Kevin decided to make a go of things with Molly but on Christmas Day, Sally announces that she has breast cancer. This seems to act as a wake up call to Kevin but Molly is not happy. There is tension at the Barlows too thanks to the Battle of the Grandads as Ken and George square up to each other. Nick Tilsley returns, looking at least ten years older than Gail but his arrival is less than popular with Tina. At the Rovers, Steve decides that Amy needs a new brother or sister. Becky isn't so sure.

We arrive then at Christmas 2010 and a Street peopled by the bereaved and confused. Claire is a widow, Molly is dead and Kevin has become a figure of hatred. Add to this the return of the whirl of destruction that is Tracy Barlow and you have all the ingredients for another classic Corrie Christmas!

A very Corrie Christmas. The 90s

2010-12-23T12:12:00.000-08:00

A decade of illegal raves, Cool Britannia and the death of a Princess. In Weatherfield the Queen of the Rovers bade farewell and we saw the last of Ivy, Des, Mavis and Derek. Memorable years but how memorable were the Christmas celebrations?

Like mother, like daughter

Santa must have been in a bad mood in 1990 as he managed to deliver both Rosie Webster and David Platt. Thanks for that. Meanwhile Jack & Vera's dog Boomer eats their turkey and traps them in their bedroom!

1991 was a lonely Christmas for Reg and Curly so they raided Bettabuys for champagne and caviar. Alma decides that she doesn't realy love Ken - much to Mike's delight. Spoilt little rich girl Vicky suspects Bet of having an affair with Des. Now that would have been a disgusting storyline.

Spiral perm anyone?

Bet threw a Christmas Day lunch for Raquel, Rita, Phyllis and Denise - a kind of low level version of 'Loose Women'. Meanwhile on the Baldwin-Barlow merry-go-round, Ken is now spending Christmas with Mike's ex, the sour Maggie.

All hell broke loose at the Duckworth household in 1993 as Terry sold his own son to the Hortons. Jack rewarded him with a punch on the face. Vera sobbed over the presents. Ivy fears that Don may be on the verge of suicide (well, she was a boring woman . . .). At the Rovers, Audrey gets drunk at an after hours party and passes out.

Salaam, duck . . .

The 1994 rubbish gift award goes to Vera who presented Jack with a packet of fags. Phyllis hunts Percy down with her mistletoe, Deirdre decides to emigrate to Morocco with her young man and Curly presents Raquel with her own star.

By Christmas 1995 the Duckworths are owners of the Rovers and Vera finds the festive season exhausting. Andy goes out on a date with Maxine, Don buys Josie a bike for Christmas whereas Audrey refuses to buy Alf anything. The whacked out Duckworths have soup and a sandwich for Christmas Dinner!

It's another round of fun and joy in 1996 as Don tries to kill himself and rebukes Martin for having saved him. Vera flirts with Alec behind the bar and delights in making Jack jealous. An even more repulsive sexual encounter takes place - Curly and Maureen! She was driven to it by a tedious Christmas dinner with Percy and Maud.

Well and truly stuffed . . .

1997 sees the Battersbys sitting down to their road kill turkey. Toyah refuses to eat even a slice. Kevin is allowed across the threshold of number 13 for the day and later Sally agrees to take him back. Natalie takes this news badly but Alec, reassuring as ever, tells her that she will get over it.

The Battle of the Rovers commences at Christmas 1998. Alec rules downstairs while the beleagured Duckworths remain trapped upstairs. Blanche tells Deirdre that she wishes she had a daughter to be proud of. Judy gives birth to twins, Leanne has a fit of jealousy over Nick's lovely new jumper and Sally warns Maxine to be careful around Greg.

Happy never after . . .

It's the end of the decade and widower Gary spends Christmas Day with Jack and Vera, He even partakes in the annual tradition of thumping Terry. Doreen and Audrey flirt with a Russian sailor (what?) and Natalie invites Kevin, Jim and Curly for a depressing dinner. Ashley buys Maxine a kitten for Christmas - Fred gives the pair of them a house!

Another decade comes to pass, seemingly dominated by the Duckworths hitting each other, shouting at each other, gaining a pub and then losing it. Happy days!

A very Corrie Christmas! The 80s

2010-12-22T06:26:00.000-08:00

It was the decade of greed and high camp, as made popular by Margaret Thatcher and Alexis Colby. Not that any of this affected our little corner of Weatherfield, save for Bet Lynch's shoulder pads getting bigger. Christmases come and go on the Street. Here's a potted history of the festive highlights . . .

"Are you sure you wouldn't sooner be in 'Crossroads'?"

1980 sees Emily wallowing in misery thanks to her bigamist husband Arnold. Poor old Elsie was saddled with her Brummier grandson Martin and his girlfriend. Decked out in a bad wig and a new frock, Hilda hosts a Christmas party which ends ups with Fred Gee scrapping with a binman for the affections of Audrey Potter.

Let's all gather around he yuletide table of newlywed Deirdre Barlow as she entertains Albert, Alf and (lock up yur sherry) Emily. Top of the 1981 gift list has to be Stan's show of appreciation for Hilda - he bought her an air freshener!

1982 brought scenes of an horrific nature at the Community Centre dance. Victor Pendlebury marched Emily around the dance floor whilst Chalkie Whiteley helped himself to a handful of Elsie. Jack and Vera sang a duet whereas Deirdre and Mike duetted in a very different manner.

A miserable Christmas on the Street in 1983. Len is dead and Rita reels from revelations about his affair. Elsie has a lonely yuletide but the arrival of old flame Bill Gregory gives her the possibility of a happy new year. Curly Watts declares his love for Sharon 'kennels' Gaskell in a poem.

A pre-tache Kev

More strife at Christmas 1984 as Bill Webster decides to leave but young Kevin refuses to pack his bags. Jack hacks a piece from Percy's Christmas tree and takes it home to Vera. At the Rovers, Gordon Lewis laughs at the notion of Bet as manager. You won't be laughing for long Mr Lewis . . .

1985 sees Emily play host to Percy and Phyllis who manage to call a truce for the day. Susan Barlow upsets Christmas at number one by going out for a drink with Mike. Meanwhile Sam TIndall is unaware that his prize plum pudding has been squahed by Alf Roberts' backside.

Gail tells 'our Brian' that can have access to 'our Nicky' over the holidays. Mike decides not to make any attempt to see his son Mark again. Bet emties the staff tips box at the Rovers to find it full of small change. Jack is devestated.

"Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye . . ."

1987 and most of the UK is tuned into see Hilda wave farewell to her Muriel but not before a sentimental fireside chat with Sally Webster. Audrey opts for a lazy Christmas day much to the chagrin of Ivy and Gail. Mavis gets maudlin and drunk at Rita's.

A frantic Christmas for Ken in 1988 when Deirdre goes missing. He suspects her of having an affair but, incredibly, Deirdre and her perm have been kidnapped. She eventually escapes but 'Tracy luv' is traumatised. That could explain a lot. In a fit of Christian charity, Emily plays host to Mavis, Derek, Bet, Alec and Phyllis.

"It's either Wendy or me!" Answers on a postcard . . .

1989 and another case of 'it's all about me', courtesy of Deirdre. Ken's affair with town hall trollop Wendy Crozier is now out in the open. Jack sobers up after seeing Father Christmas on a factory roof, little knowing that it is actually Derek. Gail gives Ivy a "move on, girlfriend" message by consigning Brian's photo to the back of a drawer.

Full marks to Emily then for assembling stranger and stranger combinations of people around her Christmas table. Give the woman a Babycham!

A very Corrie Christmas! The 70s

2010-12-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

Aah - a 1970s British Christmas! Garish foil decorations, festive TV adverts for Woolworths, Hi-Karate gift sets for the men, something by Yardley for the ladies and Ker-Plunk for the kids. Against this backdrop of cheap scent and rickety plastic toys, Corrie celebrated its own Christmas. Let us take a journey through the decade that taste forgot with Annie, Elsie, Deirdre and co . . .

It's 1970 and Albert Tatlock cancels the Christmas panto as there has been a suicide in the Street! Two former American GIs throw a farewell party in the Rovers. Maggie Clegg is sad to see them go.

By 1971, Albert is spending Christmas alone. Ken decides to visit his children and their Scottish accents in Glasgow. Ena takes pity on Albert and invites him to lunch. Stan sells his cocktail bar in order to buy some Christmas booze. I wonder what he served it from. Hilda's sideboard?

Not so much Girls Aloud as just Loud Girls

The Rovers hosts a 1940s show at Christmas 1972. Stand by for fun and frolics as Rita 'does' Marlene Dietrich, Norma, Bet and Betty appear as the Andrews Sisters and Emily balances some old fruit on her head (a-hem) and passes herself off as Carmen Miranda.

1973 was obviously the season of bad will. Emily and Ernie Bishop make Ena homeless (had Emily been at the 'whisky and tranquilisers' combo again?) but the good fairy, Deirdre, persuades Len and Ray to make Jerry Booth a partner in their business.

"Well Minnie Caldwell, if the turkey's off, we can always eat that cat!"

Eddie Yeats makes his first appearance on Christmas Day 1974 and cooks lunch for Ena and Minnie. Blanche's dinner outdoes Annie Walker's high tea and, oh decadent seventies, we are treated to a shot of Deirdre smoking a cigar. Now we know where she got that voice from . . .

1975 and it's Cinderella at the Community Centre. Tricia appears in the title role with a black eyes, courtesy of Deirdre, Pipe Smoker of the Year. Alf and Hilda play the Ugly Sisters and Betty is the fairy.

Scenes of a disturbing sexual nature at Christmas 1976 as Vera Duckworth tries to undress Ernie Bishop. Terry Bradshaw calls Gail a tart and slaps her face. A nation cheered. Mike Baldwin gives Bet the keys to number 5.

1977 sees Annie throw a laugh-a-minute festive lunch with Albert and Fred Gee. Elsie and Rita have a bitching session over the turkey and sprouts whereas the Ogdens just settle for getting legless.

"Ooh I do like a man with a nice bouffant . . ."

It's the Winter of Discontent in the UK but hamster chops Gail snares 'our Brian'. Emily enhances her reputation as a lush and a deviant by getting sozzled on Eddie's home-made vino. Some bloke called Tim sets his cap at Suzie Birchall but finds himself going home with the lovely Deirdre.

Christmas 1979 arrives and Rita is underwhelmed with her gift from Len - a box of chocolates. In a rare display of good will to . . . well, anyone, Ivy invites Audrey for Boxing Day. Meanwhile the Ogdens face the holiday season with no food.

For the second decade running then, Emily lurches from one drunken party to the next. Will anything or anyone slow down this perennial good time girl in a tweed skirt? All will be revealed in our next instalment.

A very Corrie Christmas!

2010-12-19T08:22:00.000-08:00

One of the many things that I have loved about Corrie over the years, is the use of the Christmas episodes for either a bit of fun or something sentimental and heart-warming. Not for them the site of a main character dropping dead under a Christmas tree or the revelation of a squalid affair. Maybe I'm looking at things through rose (or eve Rosie) tinted glasses. Let's join the Ghost of Weatherfield Christmas Past to learn the truth . . .

1960 - a less than jolly holiday for Ena Sharples. She collapses after being caught boozing in the Rovers by Leonard Swindley.

More misery for Ena in 1961 when she chokes on sixpences hidden in Minnie Caldwell's Christmas pudding.

"And a pint of whisky for Miss Nugent . . ."

It's 1962 and, in what one can only hope is a long-forgotten storyline, Emily is plied with tranquilisers and whisky. Well, it was the swinging sixties . . .

Residents gather in the Mission Hall for a special Christmas 1963 staging of "This is Your Life" with Annie Walker as the guest. There are rare appearances from Joan and Billy Walker.

1964 - and it's pantomime time! Oh no it isn't! Yes it is actually, and Len Fairclough gets a custard pie in the face. The whole cast sing the Beatles hit "She loves you" at the close of proceedings. What, even Ena?

The highlight of Christmas 1965 is David Barlow's torn knee ligament. I kid you not.

Ooh heck! With a storyline worthy of Walford, Ena Sharples looks on as her daughter dies. Merry Christmas 1966.

"Now who knows the chorus to 'Smack my Bitch Up'?"

1967 brings the warm glow of nostalgia and a Rovers singsong. That's more like it!

Free from her early tranquiliser hell, Emily throws herself at the vicar. Everyone else gets drunk in the Rovers and the usual singsong ensues, 1968 style.

"By crikey Emily Nugent you're a dark horse!"

It's the end of the decade and there is a concert in the Rovers Select. Ena and Emily sing "Cockles and Mussels", Minnie recites "The Owl and the Pussycat" and Val strips down to her bra. That last one wasn't true . . .

A decade then filled with Ena either being ill or leading drunken carousing at the piano. All hail Emily Nugent too, drug-taking, whisky-swilling, vicar-baiting floozy that she was.

Coming soon - The Seventies!

Summing up the week

2010-12-10T08:09:00.000-08:00

Ta chuck! It's been a great week . . .

Excuse the pun - but this week has been a blast! I can't remember any TV programme having ever drained my emotions in such an exhaustive manner. I can only echo the sentiments of so many people in the many reports that have praised the production values and superb acting that we have been treated to. Is it fair to be critical of any aspects of the storyline though? Personally - and this really is only my opinion - I though that some of the dialogue was a little clunky in Monday's first episode, the knowing comments and the declarations of love. However, it did help to set the scene. Like pretty much the rest of the nation, I gasped as the tram hurtled over the viaduct but couldn't resist a smile as it glided down as though on a magic carpet. I also admit to a quiet giggle as Rita disappeared under a shower of soft centres.

The live episode was unbelievably good. I was worried that it might turn out to be as laugh-out-loud as the "EastEnders" effort back in February. Last night taught me to have more faith. Fulsome praise has to go to Sally Dynevor, Vicky Binns, Jane Danson and Chris Gascoyne for outstanding performances. I hope they had a few drinks post broadcast! Vicky Binns in particular must be delighted at having signed off with such a powerful storyline. I still hold the view that Molly was a character who could have gone far and who was ruined by the horrendous Molvin storyline. I think nerves may have got the better of one actor last night (no names) but the performance was greeted with some laughter in my household. As the grin faded from my face though I thought, "Could I have performed live in front of 14 million people?" Answer? No.

For me, Corrie has, this week, cemented its tradition for fine, character-led stories. Let's face it, there were so many personal stories to choose from Part of me would be happy to sacrifice a couple of episodes a week if we were to get such richly produced scenes in future. However, the commercial needs of ITV are first and foremost.

I think we are in for an interesting time in 2011. Corrie will have new characters and no doubt lots of new situations for the surviving characters. Bring it on!

When is a soap death a good death?

2010-12-08T12:39:00.000-08:00

This may sound like an odd question to pose but this week's high drama in Weatherfield causes it to be debated one more time. For the story editor, it's a chance to plunder our emotional reserves and, if handled correctly, have as much impact on surving characters as possible.

Martha meets her maker

Corrie doesn't always get it right though. Step forward Martha Longhurst (well she would if she wasn't already dead). Back in 1964 producer Tim Aspinall decided to rid himself of the Rovers' charlady. As many fans know, she was dispatched in the Rovers' snug, clutching her passport. The fallout, initially, was immense even to the point where viewers were sending floral tributes to the Granada studios. Before long though, the reality soon became apparent. The trio of elderly harridans, Ena, Martha and Minnie had now been reduced to a rather sad duo. Was Martha's death a mistake? Probably.

"I'm sure this isn't the best way to get a home perm . . ."

Some Weatherfield deaths have been for the good. The dreary Renee Roberts was killed off in 1980 when the producer, together with actress Madge Hindle, decided that the character had served its purpose. Likewise, a decade earlier, Anne Reid had asked producer June Howson to get rid of Valerie Barlow forever. The character's death opened up new possibilities for single dad Ken. Well, it proved that he was never going to be Father of the Year at any rate.

The wonderful Jack Howarth

Sadly, necessity some calls for a character to be written out when the actor portraying the part dies. Corrie has handled such deaths with sensitivity. In the case of Arthur Leslie, who played Jack Walker until 1970, the character died off screen. The actor's family were spared further upset and when Annie Walker returned, it was apparent that her grieving had been done elsewhere. In 1984, following the death of Bernard Youens, Stan Ogden was discretely moved to a hospital where he died. Albert Tatlock was staying with his daughter when he passed away, some months after the death of actor Jack Howarth.

Elsie - possibly still alive, somewhere . . .

Some characters, oddly, have never died. Ena Sharples and Elsie Tanner's deaths have never been officially mentioned in the series, yet they are usually referred to in the past tense.

As of yet, we the viewing public do not know for definite who will perish in Weatherfield by the end of the week. What we can expect though is a winter of discontent for those left behind.

After the Lord Mayor's Show . . .

2010-11-30T11:53:00.000-08:00

Oh for God's sake, someone throw away the key . . .

Is it just me (and it probably is) who really isn't looking forward to the return of Tracy Barlow? After what promises to be an emotionally draining couple of weeks on the cobbles (will anyone find Rita in the rubble?) we are being served up the tired old Tracy storyline in time for Christmas. Now, had Tracy emerged as a more contrite, sympathetic character, battling her demons and trying to make a new start, then this couldn have been a far more engaging storyline. Instead we are faced with another slice of her 'bitch-on-wheels' antics as she, yet again, makes life difficult for Steve, confronts Becky . . . We've seen it all before. If only she had been released from prison on December 6th, her taxi pulling up outside the Joinery . . . at about 8.30 p.m.

Good golly Miss Molly!

2010-11-21T05:43:00.000-08:00

"Me? Confused? Never . . ."

I may be alone in thinking that the manner in which Molly Dobbs has been dealt with over the years can best be described as clumsy! Her character seems to have veered every which way. Back in 2005 she was a bit of a snide madam, intent on revenge against Fiz-bomb. Before long she was a dutiful daughter, reliable girlfriend and an asset to the business. Not that she remained in this frame of mind. She shed this persona like a snake sheds a skin and hey presto, welcome Molly the conniving trollop and all-round liar. No - sorry, I got that wrong. Another change, this time emerging as a loving wife and mother, home-maker and carer of poor old Jack Duckworth. Then on Friday - back to her 'confused tart' script.

I always thought, and indeed expected, Molly to become one of the cornerstone characters of the Street. Like many others, I feel that she was badly served by the Molvin story which now creaks up a gear. Whatever lies ahead for the character, it seems a shame that Molly, once a breath of fresh air, has become something of a backstreet bore.

Preparing for disaster!

2010-11-19T05:35:00.000-08:00

With a few hours to spare, I decided to get myself in the mood for the impending Corrie tram crash by digging around in the archives for disasters of old. Over a bowl of tomato soup I watched the 1969 coach crash. Ploughing through this some forty one years after the event, I have to admit that these episodes are a little odd!

Hilda's tea leaves didn't predict this . . .

The real problem lies with the filming of the episodes. Having been shot largely in the Lake District, they were meant to welcome the glorious ages of colour TV to Corrie. However, it soon transpired that the legendary H.V. Kershaw didn't have enough colour film and so reverted to black and white. Bizarrely, the next episode, set mainly in the hospital, careers between monochrome and colour. Rather than the majesty of the gardens at Brockhole, viewers first taste of colour was a shot of a bloodied Hilda Ogden scurrying down a hospital corridor.

The action itself is quite gripping and builds nicely with the usual mixture of comedy and drama. Annie Walker comes over all imperious as she wanders the gardens, Emily dances a strange drunken jig with Stan Ogden and Ray Langton, with a curiously shifting accent, attempts to lure Audrey Bright away from her husband.

Ena spots Elsie's lipstick . . .

As for the hospital scenes? Well, the nursing staff were played as demonic Hattie Jacques types. Most of the cast appeared injured but with a fresh coat of make-up, including Elsie Tanner sporting vivid pink lipstick. Overall though, these vintage episodes reflect the Corrie style of the time and the fight to save the coach from crashing is both realistic and dramatic. Unlike the drama to come though, there was no need for a funeral director . . .

A Royal Street Wedding?

2010-11-18T11:01:00.000-08:00

Off to the Rovers for a pie and a pint

It seems to me that every time the UK is thrust into the joy of a royal wedding, "Corrie" steals the limelight with a big day for two of it's characters. Usually Ken and Deirdre . . . The grusome twosome managed to attract a bigger audience on ITV for their 1981 marriage than Charles and Diana. The Barlow's 2005 re-run also did significantly beter in the ratings than the Charles and Camilla fixture.

Ken & Deirdre - round one!

The big question is - who can we marry off in Weatherfield next spring? How about Graham and Tina? Anything to put a smile on her face! Or maybe the lovely Rita "Save R Rita" Sullivan can trip down the aisle for a third time? What do you think?

In the beginning . . .

2010-11-16T08:07:00.000-08:00

The 'alternative universe' Martha, Minnie & Ena

This is perhaps my favourite picture from the pre-history of "Corrie"! It shows what might have been had the casting of some characters taken a different turn. The scene is taken from the dry run (or pilot episode) of episode three and shows Nan Marriott-Watson in the role of Ena Sharples. Sitcom fans will relish seeing the legendary Doris Hare as Martha Longhurst. In Daran Little's book, "The Coronation Street Story", Hare recalls being approached by Tony Warren to play Martha but casting supremo Margaret Morris decided that Doris was wasted in the role. Morris offered her the Ena Sharples role instead but Doris was busy with RSC committments.

Larry Dann - the alternative Dennis Tanner!

Alison Bayley played Minnie Caldwell in the dry run prior to Margot Bryant being cast. Neither Minnie nor Martha appeared in the other dry run. However, there were other casting anomalies. Ruth Holden, eventually Ena's put upon daughter Vera Lomax, was padded up for the role of Ida Barlow. Larry Dann was Dennis Tanner and, as we know from the wonderful "The Road to Coronation Street", Nita Valerie was Ena. Also amongst the cast was Peter 'Len Fairclough' Adamson as insurance man Harry Bailey. This particular character surfaced some years later, played by Ray Mort. Nora Gordon took the role of Elsie Lappin and Victor Tandy acted the part of Albert Tatlock. How different it all might have been!

Those not so golden moments . . .

2010-11-12T12:38:00.000-08:00

Like many Corrie fans, I'm preparing to wallow in nostalgia as the golden jubilee month approaches. It's going to be a great time to indulge our love of all things Weatherfield and recall some of the memorable moments from the past fifty years. However, this got me thinking. What about the storylines that I really didn't like? The ones that had me gnashing my teeth or stifling a yawn as soon as they went on air. As they say, one man's meat is another man's poison so this little list represents the five storylines that drove me to distraction . . .

1 - The return of Linda Cheveski
1984 was a big year for the Street. Many well-loved faces disappeared from the cobbles including the legendary Elsie Tanner. Parachuted into her place was her long-forgotten daughter Linda who had last appeared way back in 1968. Sixteen years later she returned as an embittered middle-aged woman, hoping to keep her mother's house and snare Bill Webster into the bargain. For me, it all felt wrong especially as actress Ann Cunningham played the part with little conviction and later said that going back had been a "nightmare". Thankfully, Linda was soon gone for good!

2 - The Cult of Nirab

Perhaps one of the most nonsensical stoylines ever to surface on the Street. During 1997 we were dragged kikcking and screaming through a plot featuring Ashley Peacock and the grim Zoe Tattersall. Her life on the Street was fairly bleak at the best of times. She drank, she partyed, she gave her baby away, she stole it back and then went off the rails. Fresh out of a psychiatric unit, she embarked upon a new life with a pseudo religious cult named after one Nirab (or Corrie producer Brian Park, the butt of all the jokes). After various attempts by Ashley to 'save' her, Zoe and her dreary plotine, disappeared to the USA. Sadly for Ashley, years of relationships with slightly unhinged women would follow.

3 - Alison Wakefield snares our Kev

Fresh out of a loveless marriage, Kevin returned to life as a single man. Well, for a while. Another woman with 'dreary' for a middle name, Alison fell for Kev and eventually married him. Alison was never a dynamic character and, to me, seemed totally wrong for not only Kev but the entire series. She didn't last too long and was evenutally squashed under a lorry leaving Kev free to ravish a brace of Mollys and of course, the lovely Sally.

4 - Brendan Scott buys the Corner Shop

Having hung around the sidelines for a couple of years, the starchy Brendan bought the Corner Shop from Alf Roberts in 1993. Scott was a charm-free zone and heaven knows how he was supposed to fit into Alfie's comfy shoes. He revamped the shop and employed Emily Bishop as his servant, sorry, assistant, although she was made to dress like Ruby from "Upstairs Downstairs" circa 1912. Brendan Scott was a workaholic and eventually worked himself into an early grave, dying in the shop in front of poor old Emily. Luckily for viewers, Alf was soon back behind the counter.

5 - Michelle Connor and her boys

Was Michelle really deserving of this story? Suddenly she discovered that her son wasn't really her son and that there had been a 'mix-up' at th'ospickle. Enter the new son who proved to be even more annoying than the original. Then let's forget about the new one and never mention him again. An odd, unsatisfactory storyline and one best consigned to history!

These then are some of the storylines that didn't really play out for me. Did any have you reaching for the 'OFF' button?

Keep our Connie!

2010-11-11T14:53:00.000-08:00

Is it just me or does anyone else think that the lovely Connie Rathbone ought to become a permanent fixture in the Street? The show needs a new late middle age woman and Connie fits the bill. She's got a bit of money so why not have her move into one of the new flats? Rita May is a great actress. Those of us old enough will recall her performance in the chillingly horrific "Threads" back in 1984 plus the short-lived (but sharply observational) comedy "Early Doors". So what about it Mr Collinson? You know it makes sense!

Goodbye Jack!

2010-11-10T11:19:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm not sure that I can say anything about Monday's episodes that hasn't already been said! I feared a mawkish demise for old Jack, especially given the news that Vera was to re-appear. What unfolded though was a memorable piece of drama and yes, it worked well. It was lump-in-the-throat stuff as Vera came to collect Jack and dance a final dance before Jack's spirit left number nine forever. The death was handled in a warm, nostalgic and thoughtful manner. It was an ideal exit for a long-standing character and I found myself comparing it with the horrendous way in which Pauline Fowler was dispatched in "EastEnders" a few years ago.

Mind you, some residents of "Coronation Street" do deserve to be squashed by a runaway tram . . .

BAFTA salutes Corrie!

2010-11-10T11:13:00.000-08:00

The great and the good of Corrie!

Like many others I braved the chill of london's South Bank last night for an evening of Corrie par excellence. In all honestly I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Would sitting through the first three episodes of my favourite soap be a case of overkill? I need not have worried. Firstly, it was wonderful to see these black and white beginnings on the big screen. As an audience, our affection for the characters was evident immediately. A warm murumur of "aah" went up as Annie Walker appeared. There was a cheer and plenty of laughs as Ena Sharples strode into the Corner Shop for the first time, with her machine gun delivery telling a tale of crematoriums, bay windows and bleach - and no eclairs!

Later it was the turn of the Corrie panel, consisting of Executive Producer Kieran Roberts, current producer Phil Collinson, David Neilson (Roy), Kym Marsh (Michelle)and the Grande Dame of all things Corrie, Tony Warren. Indeed, Warren ruled the roost in a manner that would have had Annie Walker applauding from the sidelines.

This latter stage of the evening kicked off with a wonderful montage of some of the most memorable events and faces from the past half century. I found this oddly moving and had a bit of a lump in my throat, especially the final scene of Ken Barlow walking down the Street in reflective mood.

Chaired by Radio 4's Dominic Lawson, the panel discussion was a good-natured meander down the years. Phil Collinson, who came across as a man who obviously loves is work, spoke about his reception as the new producer. He mentioned that actors did their very best to avoid in, probably fearing his tabloid persona of "Killer Cull-inson".

Tony Warren had a wealth of stories, many of them known to the masses already, but made that bit more special by having him chat about them in person. There was a lovely anecdote about his never-ending search for the 'right' Ena Sharples, concerning some woman who was whisked from reception at Granada and was made to stand in front of a camera for a screen test. "But I only popped in to meet my daughter" she told the director!

Each panel member chose a favourite scene from the past and so, amongst others, the audience relived Hilda's grief at losing Stan and poor old Roy trying to escape from the Barlows following his "night of passion" with Tracy.

I got the feeling that both the audience and the panel would have happily remained in the theatre until midnight. Perosnally, I loved being amongst a crowd of people who had such great affection for the show and who recognised the in-jokes. It was a cold walk back across the Thames to Embankment station but the memory of an evening full of warmth stayed with me on the journey home.

Boom bang-a-bang!

2010-11-02T09:37:00.000-07:00

Well, judging by the pics released on the ITV1 website, Hilda Ogden's old home at number 13 is going to be a victim of the explosion in December. No doubt one or two of us will be hoping that dreary harridan Claire Peacock will be blasted as far as the French coast.

More disturbing are rumours - and they are only rumours - about the demise of dear old Rita "th'wholesalers" Sullivan. Will she be lucky enough to escape the carnage or will the train land in her bouffant?

Ciaran is the new Ida Clough . . .

2010-09-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

Not literally of course! That would just be silly. No, on tonight's first episode I was struck by the general blandness of Ciaran as he bade farewell to that other piece of boredom in rowdy bloom, Michelle. In the same way that dour old Ida Clough was used to pad out a scene back in the 1980s, we now have the likes of Ciaran and Michelle. I don't particularly care if they are there or not. On they come, inconsequential and they waft back out again. Of course, not everyone can be at the centre of the action all of the time and Ciaran follows in the footsteps of fine scene fillers such as Tricia Hopkins, Phyllis Pearce, Samantha Failsworth . . . and Ida Clough. We salute you!

Corrie Conventions?

2010-09-24T15:40:00.000-07:00

"Doctor Who" fans do it. "The Archers" fans do it. Even fans of the "Eurovision Song Contest" do it! I'm talking conventions of course. Maybe I'm not looking in the right places but I was wondering if and when "Corrie" fans gather together to celebrate all things Weatherfield.

If so, is it a case of a mass viewing of old episodes, a few quizzes and the odd star guest. Does it follow the "Star Trek" theme where people arrived in character? I'm not totally sure I'd want to spend a day in the company of 120 Bet Lynches . . .

Maybe a national convention would be a bit of a nightmare to organise but do fans get together locally? Let me know - it would be great to hear what you think!

Who was Nita Valerie?

2010-09-24T15:27:00.000-07:00

Harking back to "The Road to Coronation Street" I was fascinated to the point of delerium by the mention of actress Nita Valerie, the Ena Sharples who never was.

Ms Valerie was something of a name in theatre circles. She is also listed as something of a supporting actress, including a one episode appearance in "Corrie" in 1966 as cleaner Polly Sagan.

The "Other Ena", Nan Marriott-Watson seemingly was a star on Broadway so it would have been an interesting journey to the cobbles of Weatherfield.

If anyone knows more about these two unsung heroes, please let me know!

Countdown to the 50th!

2010-09-24T15:20:00.000-07:00

Well, here at "Clinkers" we are delerious with anticipation to discover the full details of what will be happening down Weatherfield way in the next few months. The questions I want answering are:

Will Rita get a new carpet in her bathroom?

Will Gail manage to find even more hideous jackets?

Can Gail come to terms with the fact that her eldest son is now ten years older than she is?

Is there a Michelle Connor related storyline that I can actually take an interest in?

Will Owen admit to being Ricky Gervais?

Can David find his electric shaver?

Oh I could go on and no doubt will.

2010-09-14T08:09:00.001-07:00

Ready for the big night?

2010-09-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

Only a couple of days to go now until BBC4 unveils "The Road to Coronation Street". Judging by the available previews, this one-off drama looks to be of the same standard as previous forays into the world of "Steptoe & Son" and Kenneth Williams. No doubt all eyes will be on Jessie 'Kat Moon' Wallace as she dons a northern accent and 'does' Pat Phoenix. Personally I'm looking forward to seeing Lynda Baron sail into battle as Violet Carson/Ena Sharples. Oh and let's spare a thought for poor old Nan Marriott-Watson who was Ena in the pilot episode - but who wasn't quite 'Ena' enough!

The journey begins . . .

2010-09-03T11:53:00.000-07:00

Hello! A warm welcome to my world, a world devoted to all things "Coronation Street". Yes, the aim of this blog is to celebrate the best continuing drama on British television. "Corrie" has kept me entertained since the early 1970s so it's time to give a little back. Actors, characters, storylines - there's a wealth of information to enjoy.

Oh and as for the blog name? Anyone who saw the wonderful Victoria Wood homage to "Corrie" back in the 1980s will know exactly what I'm talking about!