People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Hey Liz; if you're going to go into a lengthy monologue about Steve's poor taste in clothes, it's probably best not to do it in a pair of spandex leggings that look like they've been liberated from the lost property bin at the Pineapple Dance Studios. Even Simon Gregson couldn't resist a little improvised point at the hypocrisy.
Don't put your cash in the Westclyde Bank. Leanne was conned out of twenty five thousand pounds. A man stole her bank details, wheedled personal information out of her, then transferred the money to a different account. This is a crime. But everyone - from Leanne's own bank, to the police, to her friends and neighbours - seemed to think "meh. What can you do?" Well, first of all, you put a block on the transfer, which happened that day. Then you trace the bank account it was being transferred to. And you contact that bank and tell them it was fraudulent. And then the police go after the person who owned that account. It's not difficult; in fact, it's perfectly normal, and there is no reason on earth Leanne should be out of pocket. He didn't grab a suitcase full of fivers out from under her bed. Leaving all this aside, didn't we have a storyline about a Rovers barmaid getting her bank account cleared out by an online fraudster, like, three months ago?
Sometimes racehorses have to compete with donkeys. Alya is a trained fashion graduate with experience in the industry. She has a great eye for innovative design, plus drive, ambition, and money. Yet, for some reason, she's teamed up with Aidan, a waste of space who owes all his business success to the fact his dad gave him a job and who was sleeping rough until Alya persuaded her nan to lend him her sofa. In a fair world, Alya would cut him loose and strike out on her own; as it is, she's forced to pal up with this drunken loser who alienates all potential clients and partners because she subconsciously realises that a mediocre white guy will have more doors open to him than an intelligent Asian woman. (Incidentally, what are "500 units"? Is that 500 bras? 500 thongs? Because that doesn't seem like a lot.)
Peter and Daniel don't know how to work a chair. Your backside goes on the seat part, boys, not on the back. They're lucky Roy's away. He'd have a hissy fit if he saw them stomping their dirty boots all over his furniture. This is a food preparation area!
Billy is going to wake up blind. A bottle and a half of Dev's £2.99 Premium Top Class Vodka From Russia Definitely? At that price it's mainly bleach and battery acid. If you can knock back a litre and a half of that without vomiting it's probably because it's burned its way through your stomach wall and is consuming you from within. Peter will open that car boot and find that Billy has dissolved into a puddle of mush and goo.
@merseytart also takes a hip flask of booze to carol concerts. And also to work. And to bed. He may need to go to one of Peter's groups.
Tvor @tvordlj on Twitter
1 comment:
People have DIED of alcohol poisoning
(yes kiddies, it IS a poison that
your liver really tries hard to detoxify
until it's just overwhelmed by the
quantity, the alcohol acts as a depressant,
suppresses the breathing, and suffocation
results, and that's if you don't aspirate
your own vomit as the body tries to throw
up most of the poison.
But it's a soap, so once more reality has
to take a back seat to drams as Peter reuses
Billy's script "It was just an accident".
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