Thursday, September 22, 2005

Coronation Street

I'm nearing the end of the second and final week of my holiday. I have a cold and a toothache. I've just been to the dentist for the second time this week. He's filed my teeth down again and prescribed me some antibiotics.

I always seem to store illnesses up for when I'm off work. I am a model employee. I don't see why my work should suffer just because I do. Isn't that a very 21st century attitude?

So I am waiting at the dentist's and the receptionist is explaining to someone on the telephone that the dentist who does NHS work only works on Wednesdays. And that he is not in again until a week next Wednesday. And that she finds that Nurofen Extra is the most effective painkiller.

And I feel gulity because I've been with my dentist for 38 years. And I'm NHS and he doesn't take NHS patients any more. 38 years? Christ, he must be 90. He looks about 55.

And I'm lying in the chair and he says, "Are you allergic to any tomatoes?"
"Sorry?" I say.
"Are you allergic to antibiotics?"

So, Coronation Street. In the slim chance that there's any Corrie fans from Canada reading this, don't worry, I'm not going to give away any big storylines, the big serious things that matter. Besides, Corrie isn't about the big serious plotlines, no matter what TV Choice, TV Quick, TV Now!, TV Yeah!, TV Cor!, TV Wow!, TV Great!, TV Uh? say. Corrie's about the little things that make it the best comedy on the telly.

Little things like Kirk's photograph of Jimmy Savile jogging in the Red Rec. Except it's only Kirk who thinks it's Jimmy Savile. Because to anyone who's frequented the £1 shop in the precinct, it's clearly a photograph of the woman who works in the £1 shop in the precinct. But Kirk is convinced it's Jimmy Savile. In a police line-up including Jimmy Savile and the woman who works in the £1 shop in the precinct, Kirk would point to Jimmy Savile and say, "It's him". And of course it would be him: Jimmy Savile.

I know this post isn't going to get any comments. If I was to write about Star Wars or Doctor Who, however...
Who was the best Who? Who indeed? Maybe we should look in Who's Who? Who do you think? Come on, bloggers, who the fuck do we think was the best Who? Who who who to wit to who? Come on, bloggers. Bring it on!

This post is not about last night's Corrie, however. It's about tomorrow's. And it will be concluded on Saturday. Why tomorrow? Because tomorrow The Mighty Quo visit The Street.

The Quo are Les Battersby's favourite band. They were the favourite band of the hardest kids in my school who lightly bullied me for a short time in my early teens. But my school wasn't hard and the hardest kids in my school weren't hard. So I had it pretty easy, really.

A few years ago The Quo were banned from Radio 1 for being too old. That was when Britpop was at its height and the future looked bright for bright young shit-hot bands like Sleeper and Menswear.

But The Quo had the last laugh. Britpop keeps going but the bands are ten a penny. None of these young bucks will last as long as The Quo.

60 years! 60 years at the top! And to celebrate, last week they played their latest single on Top of the Pops, something about them still rocking after 60 years. And tomorrow, they meet their most famous fan. Les Battersby, Coronation Street's resident working class oik.

Will Francis and Rick enjoy a pint in The Rover's? Will they enjoy a line of coke with Steve and Dev in the bogs?

When two institutions clash, anything could happen. And probably won't.

10 comments:

  1. A highly irascible post and all the more entertaining for it.





















    Pertwee.

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  2. Heh. Bloggers. They can't help it, it's genetic.

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  3. Oh, well. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
    EXTERMINATE EXTERMINATE EXTERMINATE.

    By the way, I've been told I have a voice like Paul Robeson today (one day only due to my cold). Those Daleks, they just keep rolling, they keep on rolling...

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  4. Perhaps you should do an audio clip for all tha laydeez who are reading, Geoff

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  5. Was it Paul Robeson who went into sleep therapy for several weeks and then when he woke up he wasn't the same person, and then he died.

    Or am I thinking of Mario Lanza?

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  6. All it tells me via Google is that The Mafia wanted to kill Mario Lanza but he got there first by eating and drinking himself to death.
    Don't know how Paul Robeson died but he lived a reasonably long life.
    I do know he was going to do a gig for Welsh miners once and was stuck in London. He sang down the telephone line.
    And my voice is getting higher by the minute. By tomorrow I'll be Jimmy Somerville.

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  7. This is bugging me now. Someone from the 50s, a singer, I think, portly, like Robeson or Lanza, had depression. A doctor comes along and says: "I can cure your depression by sending you to sleep for three or four months. That'll be $10,000. So he goes to sleep, the singer, not the doctor, then wakes up and dies. Of depression or something. I didn't just make it up, I heard it somewhere, I'm sure I did. In the immortal words of Shaw: "Keep 'em peeled."

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  8. Sounds like the plot of a quite good '50's b-movie. Are you sure that reality and the movies are not blurring together? Not that I'm suggesting you're facing mental meltdown or anything like that.

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  9. I'm going for a lie down. Wake me up in February.

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