Off His Trolley

So Mike Baldwin's gonna bite the dust. His heart's gonna give out and he's gonna fall into the arms of several times love rival, former angry young man Ken Barlow. Mike's gonna say, "Deirdre always loved ME." Then he'll pop his clogs. It won't be such a long, drawn out death in the end, not your typical dementia case. Mike'll die in the street, with his suit on.

And if you've been affected by Johnny Briggs' acting, here's the number of the SHIT PLOTS HELPLINE where you can donate money to the Alzheimer's Society. Give them a ring and tell them how much Mike forgetting that his son had shagged his missus made you cry. Tell them how you've been crying for the arsehole head of a dynasty torn apart by men's infidelity. Tell them how your sorrow translates into you caring about the thousands of poor sods who remember their first kiss but don't know the current Prime Minister's name - IT RHYMES WITH PRAYER. They might suggest you make a donation out of your meagre pension which has been increased in line with the price of bread rather than wages since the self-serving Tories moved poorer pensioners' goalposts in the eighties. Fancy making a donation? £2 a month? £5 a month? Come on, you can afford a fiver a month! Cut down on those bloody toffees for a start, they're not doing you any good, there's no real dietary value in them.

Come on, a fiver a month. It might be an investment in your own future, after all.