It was only a matter of time. That Deirdre's been even more miserable than usual since Tracy-love got banged up, and poor Ken has occasionally been lost behind clouds of fag smoke, which can't be good when you've got that beautiful white hair to maintain. But Ken has finally discovered where his spine is, and is using it to disappear to - where? We don't know yet, but Blanche is upset.
In other news, Michelle is wondering if she's blown it with Steve (course she hasn't - my money is on a Christmas wedding).
And Claire is being horrified by the sight of a semi-naked Darryl at the other side of her garden fence. I'm surprised Claire is so easily shocked. I clearly remember Maxine telling anyone who would listen that Ashley is something of a Dr Lurve, so you'd think Claire would know her way round the male physique by now. Compared to the man who put the butch in butcher, Darryl is a mere skinny boy.
Liam watch - he was wearing black again. I'm offering up regular prayers to my voodoo soap effigy (it's made of soap!) that when Paul leaves the Street he will bequeath Liam his range of black shirts and suits. There is, of course, the vague hope that Liam will have to wear a suit for Michelle and Steve's wedding, which (as I said) I've already pencilled in for Christmas. Liam is almost perfect, but a good shave and a decent suit and - oooh, I need to lie down...
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