The Doctor Is In

Aah the joys of Saturday Night TV. 

I sometimes read people remembering a sort of golden age of Saturday night telly - but I contend there hasn't been one, certainly not in my telly watching lifetime. The best my Seventies childhood could offer was The Mike Yarwood Show, which isn't saying much, Dad watched it only under duress because 'every impression sounds the same' which was true; by the time Mike shed his personas and sang 'And this ME!' we really couldn't tell the difference.

Dad was similarly allergic to The Generation Game, both Brucie and Larry versions. 

He didn't like anything mainstream really. I remember many a not so jolly Saturday evening watching a BBC2 documentary on some random dry subject, waiting for bedtime and wishing TV didn't have to be anything but silly.

There was Doctor Who of course, but he never rescued me from my bedroom, that I shared with my brother,with its telling-the-time bears wallpaper that wasn't replaced til I was about nine when I got my own room. He didn't turn up demanding fish fingers and c*st*rd (the work of the devil but that's another story) and promising to come back to me. I think I've never forgiven him for that.

Of course since 2005 the good Doctor has been restored to us, thanks to the vision of Russell T Davies and the all-too-short-a -tenure Christopher Ecclestone. 

There were the giddy days of Ten and Rose , through to the lovely, unrequited love of  Martha,  and my favourite all time companion, Donna. 

Then Steven Moffatt took over and despite the major talents and appeal of the brilliant Matt Smith, it all changed. It just wasn't the same anymore. In fact in recent times my daughter and I , if we say his name, accompany "Moffatt!" with a shake of the fist. 

Doctor Who was back last night (BBC1 6.15pm) . Note to Moffatt: that isn't his name, stop getting characters to say it thank you.

Freed from the cloying presence of the stagnant Ponds it's got a new lease of life. 

Clara is cute and funny and The Doctor likes her. And I do too.

The plot was standard stuff; Celia Imrie had Googled 'Google' and broken the Internet so that only a select few could be chosen to do something to something and take over the world. Or something. I don't think it really mattered. Matt Smith bounded around like a partially trained labrador, being endearing and we even got a glimpse of the fez. 

"Don't 'ship Clara and the Doctor," warned my daughter. "Ships always sink."

I confess I care about the characters more than the plot, which to me is just the window dressing, the frame to the portraits. But that said The Bells of Saint John was jolly good fun, and I look forward to next week. 

No, Rosie, It Doesn't Go There ...

I am very seldom if ever rendered speechless, but Channel 4 managed to silence me while watching The 40-Year Old Virgins (C4 Thursday 28 March.)

As with other Channel 4 documentaries its title is a misnomer (eg the patients on Embarrassing Bodies don't usually seem that embarrassed; The Undateables is an unfair, cruel name ) as neither virgin was actually 40. In fact Rosie was a mere 29 years old.

Two people who for various reasons had never gone All The Way as it were, were taken to the US for special therapy sessions. Fair enough. Only these sessions involved them becoming very, very intimate with the therapist. 

Rosie was unimpressed from the off ,which she was never going to get with her 'therapist'. Given his fondness for wearing white socks with denim and him being about 30 years her senior, I can't say I blame her.

Rosie had never shall we say, 'explored' her body or her own sexuality. She was despatched to a local Ann Summers type store where she purchased the and I quote "smallest sex toy in the shop", which she inserted in her ear. No Rosie, it doesn't go there, honey. 
Having 'played' with it she was still bemused by the whole idea of using it and it seemed , by the whole process she was in.

But we're not here to talk about Rosie.

Let's come to Clive. 

Clive clearly was a man battling demons; there was a hint of a 'childhood incident'.
Enter Cheryl, his 68 year old therapist slash 'sex surrogate' (who by the way had the same throw on her couch as Marie in Everybody Loves Raymond, and whose house looks shocked - go back and take a look at the exterior scenes).

After a lot of canoodling and crying and Clive munching a panini in a taxi ,the next thing I knew , Clive was 'cured'. 
You didn't actually see much - just Cheryl's ample white behind jiggling around - so I can't say it was 'graphic' - but I did find it unnecessary for the camera to linger. Where was the blazing fire to pan over to ? Such an important moment for Clive (not that he had too much to do with it except lie back and think of England) and he's sharing it with a camera crew and a million startled sudden voyeurs.
Clive was delighted ,  so much so that he stuck his head out of the taxi window on the way back to his hotel and screamed "I've had seeexxxx!" 

It's hard to know quite what the aim of this programmed was if I'm honest. I felt a surprising lack of empathy for the two participants and I am not sure who it helped - it didn't seem to help Rosie much (although the post script did mention she now has a relationship, but I feel she would probably have worked that out for herself) and not viewers in this situation either. 
The film makers say it was 'tasteful and respectful'. I'm not sure it was either. I feel it reflected the lack of respect for himself that Clive seemed to have.
It made for uncomfortable viewing all in all. Pushing the boundaries of documentary making may be the rationale but I for one won't be watching again.

A final thought goes to the show that followed, Gogglebox (10pm), the highlight of my TV week.
Worth watching anyway- for example, the Siddiqui boys reacting to the piece on the news about curbing immigrants , the teen boy disagreeing with his mum - but  the moment perma-pickled Steph & Dom flipped all the way back on their sofa and disappeared was gold. Catch it if you can.

Infinite Mirror

I haven't blogged in a few days. 

Being a sensitive soul I felt a bit sheepish after being called 'Unkind, unfair' following a throwaway remark I made on Twitter while watching Home Delivery (ITV1, Thursday 9pm).
I'm a mother, and so is my mum, funnily enough. It's a tough role and it's a permanent position.
I follow what I consider quality mummy bloggers on Twitter and I like them because of their refreshing humour, honesty and lack of up-themselves-ness.

I first gave birth in 1994, and last gave birth in 1999. Now you can call me an out of touch dinosaur (some of the new things The Book says you mustn't do in pregnancy/early babyhood confound me) or someone who has experience and has watched new mums come and go with an amused eye. I am now battling The Teenage Years and they kids are teaching me more than I can teach them.
Anyway I said something like 'why doesnt she stop mooing and banging on about how magical giving birth is and stop making normal women feel inadequate because they didn't have a doula and just get the baby out'. Only in 140 characters. 
It probably was a bit harsh, but oh, the cow sounds seemed such a waste of energy. 

Now I love One Born Every Minute (C4) because of its honesty and how it has demystified birth. It would be good if OBEM could cover the fact that many women can and do have NHS home births if they want and if it is appropriate.
I thought of my Mum - for whose generation or at least not much before her time -home birth was the norm. I can imagine her reaction if she was told she'd be having my brother in my paddling pool with me watching. 
All in all I'll stick to #OBEM thanks. I'm all for choice, goodness yes - but I'm a down to Earth, let's get on with it kind of girl. And I'm not sure what this new show brings to the table other than ITV1 jumping on the bandwagon.
But then maybe I am holding a mirror up to my own failings and finding myself wanting.

Anyway I reckon next week's Home Delivery is brought to us by Boden.

Speaking of holding up a mirror to reality, my new favourite show is Gogglebox (C4 Thursday 10pm).

If you haven't seen it yet, and if you love telly I strongly suggest you find it on 4OD, the idea is you take a selection of the public - the same ones each week - and film them watching highlights of the week's telly. It is (in a stroke a genius) narrated by the creator of that famous telly watching family , the Royles, Caroline Aherne, and the characters that have been chosen to commentate for us couldn't be better.
Sandy and friend Sandra down in Brixton are delightful ; how many people now want a No Regret In Jesus sticker on their TV set, I wonder ? "Look at Lenny! He's big and fat !" "Dermot - you have enough money - why ask us!" 

I love the Siddiqui boys, especially the one whose spot is far right on the sofa always in his workday suit and tie. Stephanie and Dominic , awfully posh in their country house, are never, ever seen without a drink in their hands. Steph is often berated by hubby for being p!$$ed. I think I spotted her with orange juice this week but I suspect there may have been a large voddie in it. 

Comic Relief provoked strong reactions one way or another from all the viewers, not least the younger ones, particularly with the appearance of One Direction.
Little Sister had been looking very much forward to seeing the boys and was naturally deliberately wound up by her big brother, and screaming the usual BE QUIET type stuff when her idols graced the screen. I remember feeling that way very, very well, but about Duran Duran or Spandau.
The Teens were especially teenly cynical. "They're only there (Africa) because they were told they had to go," observes one of the kids.

"I gave £30," says  the retired teacher fella, for the millionth time.

The tragic story of Victor the toddler who starved to death had them all reaching for the Kleenex though and Teen Boy left the room.
I noticed Sandy & Sandra had set aside the Guylian while they watched Bill Nighy's harrowing film; but as Sandy ranted that we just don't get to see this kind of reminder of world hunger enough, Sandra opened a packet of Wotsits and Sandy gratefully ate a handful. 

I could go on and on about my love for the 'cast' of Gogglebox but I urge you to discover this wonderful cross section of the Great British Public for yourself, and see what unites us - the good old telly.

Finally I have to mention Goodbye Television Centre and particularly , Madness Live:Goodbye Television Centre (both BBC4). 
It saddens me very much as a child of the Seventies to see the iconic building abandoned by the Beeb. 
In my early teens my friends and I would race up to White City tube - on a Saturday morning if say, Duran Duran were on Saturday Superstore, or on a Thursday afternoon for the live Top of the Pops if it was half term. We could pass the security barriers as many of the guards seemed sweet fellas who indulged us. I am the proud possessor of the autographs of most of Kajagoogoo and Neville from The Fun Boy Three, not to mention David Icke ...

Once (in my absence) my friends snuck through a gap in security and actually got into the corridor next to the TOTP studio, and made a phone call call from a wall phone (like we had back in the day) right next to a Thompson Twin !
Whether they really did get in that evening I'm not sure but either way, TV Centre was a big part of my formative years and important as a chronic telly addict.

Suggs and crew manfully played all the hits through the unseasonable icy sleet and showed us why Madness have endured.

So bye bye TV Centre; I'm sad to see you go.

The I 'Don't Enjoy Call the Midwife' Confession

Sunday night is chewing gum for the eyes telly night. Although eventually some of it loses its flavour on the bedpost overnight - see (or rather stop seeing as so many millions did) Dancing On Ice ,or as I started to see it, 'Being carried about by a bloke on ice'. 

Over the years the Beeb have done a good line in gentle all's eventually right with the world drama for Sundays. I'm going back to the 70s here when we used to get a decent children's serial adaptation at teatime and then watch All Creatures Great & Small after our baths, smelling of Palmolive soap and Silvikrin shampoo.

I never really took to Call the Midwife, which is a kind of human equivalent to Christopher Timothy in a barn helping cows calve. My Mum grew up in a very happy and not at all deprived East London family in the 50s and I find vaguely offensive the implication that all East End women were poorly educated simpletons, probably beaten by their husbands, just waiting for a jolly midwife or nun to come along and sort their lives out for them. 

Miranda pretending to give birth had me cringing. Not because of Chummy's placental haemorrhage (and that's easy for you to spell) but because she's ,well, Miranda. Although I'm not surprised she burst things trying to wear that girdle. I was out of my comfort zone there.

The lead girl 'the main one' Jenny is distant, unremarkable. Then we have The Plain One and The Tarty One, stock characters, alongside the Head Nun (Jenny Agutter) who is always sensible and the Nutty Nun (Pam Ferris).

Oh no! They want to knock down the nunnery! What a cliff hanger ! 

Maybe they should send some of this lot across to Downton Abbey where they need nurses and midwives. Every time a baby is born a member of the immediate family pops their clogs. Might take a while to get there on a bike though. 

This weekend we were served with a slice of The Lady Vanishes (BBC1). Now I always thought that this was an Agatha Christie story but apparently not. Although the cast on a train and a mystery with lots of posh Brits fibbing awfully to protect their own interests was pretty much standard Christie plot. 

Now on a Sunday I really can't be bothered to concentrate too much. I like the company of Father Ted on More4 at bedtime for that very reason;I know all the words. Watching The Lady Vanishes post-Sunday roast glass of rose or two was like watching a panto that was based on A Famous Five novel.
"Miss Froy was there!" says our very lipsticked heroine (or words to that effect).
"Oh no she wasn't!" declare all the other cast members, and the audience all hiss at Keeley Hawes. For no good reason other than her character looked like she deserved it.
At least the hero & heroine stopped short of singing 'The Song That Goes Like This' to each other. 
Not a great success - glossy yes, but no, it didn't keep me interested; I simply stopped caring pretty quickly. 

I stayed up to watch the mildly anticipated It's Kevin (10.30pm Sundays BBC2).
I was surprised by the scheduling of this series; it should have set off alarm bells.
Heck I don't mind a bit of eccentricity. I was brought up on repeats of Monty Python, and the Q series. At one point in my formative years I was confused if the comedy show I was watching actually had the end credits at the end and not in the middle. 
But this show served irreverence up in dollops so cumbersome it hampered my enjoyment. I felt like Mr Eldon - whose work as supporting artist in many many comedy shows over recent years I have enjoyed- felt he had to throw everything at this, and it was all bit too much.
I will be watching again next week though. 

Ta for reading this far by the way. See you next time.

Saturday Night In

I spend my weekends - my 'days off' as Hubby refers to them - catching up on the housework I have had neither time nor energy to effectively see to from Monday to Friday. The money situation being what it is I don't go out either, as every penny needs to be squirrelled away so we can, err, eat food and that.

I need decent Saturday night entertainment. I've clung on to some shocking rubbish in my time, I have to admit that even tonight (Sat 16 March) I watched Dale Winton on his Lotto quizzy thing.

Dale's jackets seem to have a permanent, unremovable hanger across the shoulders.
And the contestants - where on God's little Earth do they find them?

"I know the answer to this!" says cocky looking bloke. "I went to the Algarve last month!"

Sadly (for him)  he thought he had actually been to Spain.

Only my girl crush on Myleene got me through that.

The highlight of Saturday's TV is beyond compare, Ant & Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway (ITV1, 7pm).

In its renewed incarnation, this 80 minute long (not long enough!) almost complete delight makes me laugh out loud in a way hardly anything else I watch on contemporary telly does any more.

It's so sweet. So warm. So bloody nicely mischievous.

There were two stand out set pieces.

Our boys donned school uniform and joined a Year 5 junior school class. Kudos to the male teacher who berated Ant for talking when he should have been silent; "Our policy for speaking and listening  means if I speak, you listen."

I defy anyone who knows nothing about the school system nowadays and yet still feels they can safely say it is 'dumbed down' to see what Ant & Dec sat through in lessons (all absolutely spot on pitched Y5 ones) and answer the questions on all the info these 9 and 10 year olds are absorbing.

To get John Humphreys (himself a Headmaster that never was!) to ask the questions at the end was a stroke of brilliance.

As if that wasn't enough we were then treated to Aled Jones being a good sport and making a fool of himself in front of unsuspecting party planners.

It's all jolly good fun.

When I was growing up Saturday night TV was for the most part, in the mid to late Seventies, and into the Eighties (3-2-1 anybody?)  utter wastelands. All I recall was that there was Bruce Forsyth hosting The Generation Game.
Dad didnt like Bruce. Or Mike Yarwood. Or anyone mainstream for that matter. Many an evening was spent watching dull as ditchwater BBC2 documentaries about - I dont remember -I want to say Hitler but that would be far too interesting.
But when we did get to see Bruce I used to love the games where the public had to act in a play and read the lines off props.
SNT takes me back to those days.

Then there is Morecambe & Wise.

When it comes to comedy duos, Laurel & Hardy are tops, no arguments; and then, my beloved Eric & Ernie.

My dad looks like Eric Morecambe, or at least he used to, he's older now, white haired, far more care worn.  Eric & Ernie bestride my comedy landscape like Colossus.

It gives me great pleasure to watch Ant & Dec and feel the presence of Eric & Ern in their routines.

It was especially noticeable in the first episode of the series- the piano routine. Each week I look to them to be like my comedy idols. And each week they make me laugh, proper laugh, and I love them for it.


So, dear Ant and Dec : don't just keep on doing what you are doing; silly and funny as it is. You have the potential to be more than just TV presenters.

DO more. Be more.

Be this generation's Eric & Ernie.

Thanks.

The Derek Replacement

For the last few weeks, Wednesday has meant one thing: Derek night.
I know the show has its detractors. I can understand why. But I fell in love with it. 
Knowing Gervais is an atheist I loved that the central principle was basically let's just be nice to each other. Which ultimately is what Christ was going around saying 2000 years ago - whether you believe he's the son of God or not. 
Yes, at times I felt that it was over sentimental, but Richard Curtis has made a career out of that up to and including the manipulatively mawkish Mary & Martha. 
I just sat back and enjoyed watching Derek. It made me laugh and cry in 28 minutes. It made me hope that when I am old I have a Hannah to look after me.

It was a bit of a void to fill, but along came The Mimic (Weds 10pm C4).

Unremarkable Martin Hurdle (Terry Mynott) is stuck in a dead end job. What makes him special is his ability to do impressions. And the fact that he may have an 18 year old son about which he never knew.

Martin's impressions are woven seamlessly into the narrative. Even the 'Ronnie Corbett trapped in a letterbox' scene happened naturally - Martin and friend Jean escaping while the youths (who had never heard of the little Two Ronnie) carried on chatting to the box and offering it water.


Especially enjoyable were Martin's duo-logues - that is, him having a conversation in two voices: Morgan Freeman besting James Earl Jones in the black elderly actor voice-over work market; or arguing with himself as both Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughan.

Quietly poignant and with subtle charm plus the delicious centre that is Mynott's voice talent, I think this is going to be a hidden gem.

Following this was the delightfully daft and superbly silly Anna & Katy (Weds 10.30 pm C4)
I don't mind admitting that I adore these two. Immediately likeable (where Watson & Oliver had to work to win me over) I was giggling the entire half hour. What a complete escape from any sort of reality. A world where Martin Kemp starts an insane  lottery draw with saucy sounding numbers watched over by a leprechaun, in which Police Officers say "If you're confronted by a man with a gun, you want Jason Manford with you,", and where Apprentice rejects fail to run a car business effectively (oh -maybe not so daft that one, sorry).

I do however take issue with the fact that Yellow came as low as 36 on List Show parody 'World's Most Annoying Colours'. It should have been #1 because as everyone knows, custard is a thing of pure evil. 

Over in the land of Letherbridge there's been a sudden death. Doctors (BBC1, 1:45pm,weekdays) has been following the plight of Sam who after a road accident was rendered first paraplegic, then lost the use of his arm in a stroke, then somehow managed to tip his wheelchair over and break the other arm, thus rendering him compus mentus but helpless. Cue 'right to die' plot.
I can't help but feel that the staff writers had just come back from holiday having read Jojo Moyes Me Before You on their Kindle. Whereas that was thoughtfully and slowly explored really all we have got from Sam is 'but I once had a burst catheter bag'. 
Did one of the principle characters help Sam on his way?
The show has actually covered this story before, in its early days where Mac (Christopher Timothy) was arrested at the Christmas party accused of assisting a death. (It was the receptionist).
I imagine the mystery of how Sam actually died will  be resolved more easily than the Sudden Unexplained Snow that Letherbridge will experience in May.

Anyway, I'm off Cumberbatching. 

Laters! 

Soggy Bottoms

I must be  good in the kitchen - when I serve steak my husband routinely quotes Gregg Wallace to me.

"Cooking," he says, sirloin held to his lips, "Doesn't get tougher than this."

Tuesday 12 March saw the return of the original, amateur cook version of Masterchef (BBC1 9pm). John Dory was pan fried but badly prepped ; don't mention the tarte tatin. Dishes are investigated with culinary forensic skills and Emily's habit of making her dishes up as she goes along helps her identify the rosewater. Dale and Sarah have stuffed their courgette flowers without the saffron ! Rowan hasn't battered his! Quelle disastre ! It's all go.
Quite why anyone would ever want to stuff a courgette flower with saffron and deep fry it is beyond me but John Torode seemed very excited by the idea of serving it with pomegranate sauce. Can you imagine calling the kids down from their ratty teenage bedrooms for dinner and presenting them with that?
"But MUM, I told you last time your jus lacked texture! It's so unfair!"

At least the contestants on Masterchef actually know what a jus is. The Come Dine With Me crowds can barely say 'dauphinoise', and one of them gets a grand usually for at least not getting cat hair in the soup, or for not upsetting the vegetarian by giving them goat's cheese.

Masterchef offers the amateur a taste of the pro world, a chance for them to see if they are as fabulous as they think they are (I'm looking at you, Dale). Getting through to the last 50 and being sent home because your filleting skills displeased Gregg must be rather irksome. Particularly if he keeps checking his Smartphone for his slimming club app to tell him how many calories he's had.

In the event it was obvious which contestants would be sent packing.  I wonder if they are allowed to take a doggie bag.

Talking of doggies, that takes me neatly to Sue Perkins' new sit com Heading Out (BBC2 10pm) . (She's a vet).

I want to like this, I really do. I love Perks. Have done ever since I first saw her with comedy partner Mel Giedroyc as I attempted to feed a weaning 1 year old in her high chair while watching Light Lunch on Channel 4 at 12:30 every day.

It seems so cluttered . Even the sets are busily decorated; the vet's surgery, Sarah's flat. And all the wacky characters she is surrounded by. Quirky every last one of them.
Then wooosh! Sarah is called upon to give a eulogy at the funeral of a man she has never met.
I imagined if this were an episode of Frasier. How witty Frasier's words would be if he found himself in that situation ( he may well have done -I haven't got the box set). This was just all a bit low key.
I allowed myself an out-loud laugh at Nicola Walker's character who answered 'Dick Francis' to every question on University Challenge in the belief that one day it would, indeed, be the right answer. She did of course, miss the moment. Maybe it says more about me that the obvious joke was the one I found funniest .

Sarah's anxious about coming out to her parents. Do 40 year olds bother doing that ? I imagine by that point, they just get on with living their lives.

I want to like Heading Out . I care that she is in unrequited (or is it?) love.So I'll re-visit Sarah's surgery next week.

Finally, I am undecided which was the more disturbing image I was shown today; the X-ray of my under -the -gum wisdom tooth, or the sight of Ian Beale snogging Denise on EastEnders.

And with that thought dear reader, I say good night !

It's Never Sarcoidosis

                                    

So here's a shiny new Blog I thought I'd amuse at least myself with. Not sure how healthy it is to Blog to amuse yourself. Maybe I should ask Dr Christian Jessen.

I've spent a lot of my life obsessing over the telly. You only have to look at my childhood diaries to know that. I can tell you the exact date the ITV strike of 1979 ended (26th October) because it was my  excited diary entry for that day. I used capital letters and everything to herald this momentous occasion in my pre teen life.

Funnily enough I met and married a man who was just as crazy as I am. He is a huge Test Card fan and member of the Test Card Circle. Their convention is next month; I won't be accompanying him, but I am sure he'll have a fabulous time, listening to all those old Test Card music tapes. I won't go into the stacks of dusty VHS tapes we haven't got room for that live in my house, filled with old Ceefax recordings. He makes me look normal.

"You'll get square eyes!" Mum used to say. Didn't happen, my vision is still pretty much 20-20 thanks.

So I thought, why not Blog about the telly I watch ?  Someone might read it and and nod their head in agreement. Or not. But it sounded like fun. Like being Grace Dent but with no contract with the Observer, and none of her talent.

Tonight (Monday 11th March) I felt like I ought to be watching Broadchurch. I mean it's the UK's The Killing or something. So therefore,  it must be good. Plus it has David Tennant in it doing his Hamlet face, and Dame Olivia Colman (trust me, it will happen one day) crying like she's just seen a lady with a hard life have her house redecorated on Sixty Minute Makeover.

Instead I chose to watch what I think is the deliberately deceptively named Embarrassing Bodies.
People say, "Ha! Why, if they are embarrassed to see their own GP, why don't they mind going on national telly and showing their bits ?"
No-one says that they were too embarrassed to do that. These people do this in the hope of finding answers that haven't been found via the usual route and maybe - I suspect - maybe - get some free private treatment.

Tonight we saw some lovely photos of piles; a man who could have stunt doubled for Chewbacca; a lady who wasn't stitched up properly after her episiotomy; and a fabulous story of a man who has been cured of his prostate cancer.

There was also a lady who had problems with her nose. They said it was sarcoidosis.

Now as any self respecting House addict knows, it's never sarcoidosis.

And there were hot air balloons. Or something.

Embarrassing Bodies clearly draws in huge viewing figures ; and I don't think it's because we like to see people in discomfort - we want to see them cured. Helped. It's about hope. About finding someone who will make it all better.
There's nothing wrong with that.

I suspect tonight's Corrie was a masterclass in 'Hints of Things That Are Going To Go Wrong' . Dev rejecting the idea of reuniting with Sunita; that blonde lady who is Jason's Mum being all happy about getting engaged; Karl being all mean 'n moody now he's read the 'Dummies Guide To Arson'. Clouds (of smoke) are clearly gathering over the cobbles, soap fans!

See you next time.