this is not our street.
people talk to each other,
die exciting deaths.
Today, feeling the urge to get creative in the kitchen for a change I went to off to the Big Tescoes (as opposed to the small Tescoes) for ingredients.
I met my mate Steve on the way home, who has just finished filming a Horror Movie.
‘It’s great!’ he said. ‘I get stuck in a bear trap and get me head pulled off!’
So, once home, I mooched about for a while, reading approved rational literature and watching ‘Doctor Who.’
Later, I cooked jerk chicken, anchovy and roasted pepper salad, and rice. It was lurvely, and put us in the right mood to catch up with the goings on in Coronation Street.
The one thing I like about Coronation Street is that they aren’t afraid to go with the big storylines. Some people may remember Sinbad from Brookside, who has now changed his name to Jerry, moved to Weatherfield with a shedload (literally) of assorted gormless children and opened a kebab shop. As if that weren’t excitement enough, Jerry has erected a giant shed in his back garden. Sinbad is sandwiched (but not in a nasty way) by Gail Platt and Clurr Peacock who consequently are doing a lot of armfolding and bosom-adjusting over their garden fences in order to discuss ‘the shed’.
Meanwhile, Ken, ousted from his ancestral family home by Diedre (all staring eyes and smoke pluming from her flaring nostrils) is in hiding at a secret B&B, being given extra breakfast eggs by a no-nonsense landlady.
I can’t cope with all this suspense.