The words “Gail’s manhole” have proved alluring to many a Weatherfield lothario over the years, but after Coronation Street’s live episode it’s taken on a whole new meaning. For that murky cavern under the Platts’ garage is where David, Kylie and Sarah-Lou dumped Callum’s body after he was murdered in the front room. It was Kylie who struck the fatal blow after she came home to find out Sarah-Lou’s attempt at a honeytrap had left her in danger.
Never the brightest knife in the box, the doll-faced assassin had made a fatal error, recording her conversation with Callum on her phone without putting it on silent. Normally, Kylie is the sort of woman who’d decline to pour WKD on Sarah-Lou’s sunbed if it were on fire, but with Callum getting violent she cracked him over the head with a monkey wrench.
While Sarah-Lou mopped up the blood with her silky blouse it was left to David to dispose of the body. Cue the welcome return of Bad David, a man of many gurns, each more terrifying than the last. The Corrie psycho has spent too long living a quiet life, so it’s a relief to see him return to the dark side. His psychopathy has always had some humour to it, as anyone who recalls the time he pelted Gail with peanuts while she cowered in the corner can confirm.
It’s lucky that Bad David exists because Kylie and Sarah-Lou clearly wouldn’t be able to hold their nerve on the murder front. Kylie’s poker face looks like she’s sat on one of Audrey’s curling tongs and Sarah-Lou is a walking common-sense vacuum. Still, Gail’s new extension is coming on beautifully, apart from the wet patch where human remains are disrupting her drains.
Brilliantly bonkers Hollyoaks turned 20 with a bang. Several bangs, actually. This most eccentric of soaps pulled out all the stops for its anniversary, with several OTT storylines grappling it out for our attention. Tony organised Hollyoaks Pride, which would have been so perfect if it weren’t for Trevor going on a gun rampage and shooting Dr S’Avage, who of course is not a real doctor. Rainbow flags wafted, the sort of dance moves that would get you red carded down G-A-Y were busted and Starry (that’s Ste and Harry to the uninitiated) were caught having a topless kiss behind the curtain. “I’m not gay,” Harry pleaded, resplendent in a sailor costume. “I’m not anything. I’m just me.”
While all this was going on the Gloved Hand Killer, who has been on the loose for 10 long months, was unmasked, with slightly hysterical doctor Lindsey Butterfield revealed to be the woman wielding the syringe. When she discovered boyband-faced Freddie was about to run away with Mercedes, she administered a lethal injection while a soundtrack of 90s shoegaze hammered away in the background. Lindsey bunged his lifeless body in the boot of Trevor’s car ready to frame him for murder, but a twitch of Freddie’s hand confirmed he wasn’t quite as dead as she thought. The WTF factor of it all was only topped by the sheer joy.
There were more violent criminals in Emmerdale, which embarked on a special flashback episode to reveal who shot Robert “I’ve got enemies all over the place” Sugden. He’s a wrong ’un even by Hotten standards, having bumped off Katie, carried on an affair with Aaron behind his wife’s back and committed the cardinal sin of crossing Chas.
The best thing about the whole episode was a glimpse of Marlon and Paddy on the pull. Newsflash: they’ve read The Game. Paddy in particular is taking the negative compliments to another level. “You would be very pretty if it wasn’t for your big nose,” he told that woman out of Waterloo Road who had the lesbian kiss in Brookside. “You’ve got a funny shaped head as well.” Get your coat, love, you’ve pulled.
As for the answer to that all-important question: Who shot Robert? It was Rent-A-Crim Ross, a revelation that was nowhere near as shocking as Paddy doing the dirty in the back of a car.
Bombshells are as much an EastEnders tradition as carving out a pumpkin to look like Phil Mitchell at Halloween. And shifty funeral director Les Coker certainly dropped a big one this time around, getting caught in his Y-fronts at Claudette’s gaff. “I’m going to have to have counselling to get over what I just saw,” wailed Donna.
The big reveal wasn’t that Les was knocking off his wife’s best mate while Pam waited at home on the promise of a Welsh rarebit. Oh no. Les’s secret was worse. Pam was worried sick he’d been having an affair, what with all this talk of the mysterious Christine. It turns out the turtle-faced coffin merchant is the one wearing frocks and carrying around designer handbags. “I’m Christine!” he confessed.
If the thought of Les in M&S knickers was hardly a beautiful thing, Pam’s heartbreak was even worse. She had questions. Had he ever worn her clothes? (Only once, when he couldn’t resist the lure of a purple cardy.) Does he speak like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie? (Erm, no. Les isn’t quite the picture of Hollywood glamour.) Mind you, Pam’s trauma is nothing compared to that suffered by viewers. We can never unsee that Y-front scene.
