Why does Leanne Battersby bother with weddings? For the first one, she went to Gretna Green in a shoplifted dress and plastic tiara. Nuptials number two were accompanied by the sound of Peter’s life-support machine flatlining. And tonight we had Nick cancelling mid-ceremony and copping off with his sister-in-law.
Not that Leanne knows about this last bit yet. She’s still trying to get her head round the fact that Peter has turned from a tattooed alky love god into a tanned, zenned-out sage with teeth that look like they could glow in the dark.
Quite frankly they all deserve each other. The only person anyone should have any sympathy for is Simon, that poor Leo Sayer lookalike who thus far has had a terrible life. His biological mum’s dead, as is his pet rabbit, he nearly burned to death and every school nativity play he’s been in has ended in a brawl. It’s no wonder he runs away from Bessie Street Primary every five minutes.
If I were Simon, I’d now be barricading myself in the guest bedroom at No 1, stockpiling a supply of Deirdre’s stuffed marrow and pleading to be home-schooled by Granddad Ken.
So who can we blame for this sorry state of affairs? Well, usually, Norris is the one responsible for blabbing secrets but he was more preoccupied by the towel bale he’d bought as a wedding gift. No, on this occasion it was spiteful Eva who put the kibosh on the big day after coming on like a Poundland Alexis Colby. There she was, with twitching scowl and goose-down-pillow-cleavage, revelling in the torment she was causing her long-lost sister.
The result, it has to be said, wasn’t as tense as, say, turkey dinner with the Brannings on EastEnders or even time spent in the company of Cameron and his shovel on Emmerdale. Asking Leanne to have a successful wedding day is like expecting Dev to put the intonation on the correct word in a sentence or Gail to pick a life partner who doesn’t have a death wish. It’s never going to happen.
So, yes, there was a certain inevitability to the way events panned out. But it’s the comedy on Corrie for which we’d crawl over hot cobbles. And there were a few moments tonight that came precious close to providing a belly laugh: most notably, the sight of Eva and Stella in curlers and an unusually caustic Audrey getting territorial over the North West: “Do you know, if you lived in Liverpool, you’d have had these in since Saturday, done your weekly shop and gone clubbing!” I think she’d be wise to strike off any hairdressing clients from Merseyside after that wisecrack.