So, Nick Cotton is back in Albert Square for Christmas 2008. God bless us, every one! He's returning this December to "spread fear and loathing". Or more accurately to shuffle about resembling a more Satan-infused member of the Stray Cats ruining the Lord's day for his mother Dot. Dot isn't strictly speaking to Nick about that last fiasco in 2001 when he killed his own son. But she'll forgive him. She sort of has to. She's a hardline Christian. It's in the rules. Dot turned the other cheek in '97 when Nick faked having Aids. She found joy in her heart when he was arrested for kicking Reg Cox to death. Surely she'll raise a smile now when he lurks into shot growling "Hello Ma," and spoils the Branning family yule.
Actually, good luck with that Nick. You may be one of soap's most legendary villains, but you better turn it up to 11 on the Scrooge-o-meter to make an impact chez Branning. Christmas is already ruined. Just look at them, for pity's sake. It's all a bit: "Ooh Max, pass the Quality Streets, hey, sorry about all leaving you for dead in a shallow woodland grave business. I feel a bit daft about that now! You have first shot on the green triangles, it's only fair!" And, "No problem Tanya, I shouldn't have shagged my daughter in law ... 18 times ... And bloody loved it. Oops, what a bungle, eh?" In truth, what can Nick Cotton add to this mess? Or to Pat Butcher's house, where Bianca's boyfriend Tony (Britain's hottest paedophile) is tucking up all the kiddies and planning an extra special gift for teenager Whitney.
The fact is that Nick Cotton is now 56 years old and, apparently, recovering from cancer. Maybe he just wants a nice sit down, a mince pie and a good view of Stacey garroting Bradley with a length of tinsel. Maybe, after 23 years of spreading fear and loathing, his work is finally done.
Regardless of Nick's agenda I'm ecstatic to have him back. I love it when old faces re-appear on soap. We've just welcomed Bianca and Ricky and I'm happy to hear that Janine Butcher is coming back too. Janine stole the show during "Frank Week", showing up to her dad's funeral and endless wakes looking like a Lidl Alexis Carrington sporting an entire season of Jane Norman workwear. Spiky, clever and conscience-free. I find these comebacks oddly reassuring. I'm older, more cynical, less skinny and so are they. I remember their sins from years ago and, like the other characters, still bear grudges. In soap, there's always someone, somewhere with a big nose who knows. Well, usually. That's one of my concerns about Nick Cotton's return. Who is left to give him a hard time about anything? Pauline Fowler's dead, Frank's dead, Ethel's long gone, Dirty Den's dead. (Apparently. We've fallen for that one before.) These people knew the whole Nick Cotton story.
The slashed motorbike cables that killed his son? The time he put Mary the Punk on the game? The 867 times he ransacked Dot's purse, spent it on heroin then blamed it on a strong breeze? Without any of this backstory Nick is nothing. He's just a bloke with a collapsed quiff and a soap aversion propping up the bar trying not to look at Roxy Mitchell's cleavage. (Give up now, Nick, resistance is futile.) What EastEnders needs right now is for me to be drafted in for at least eight episodes with a loud-hailer. I remember everything. I've been on this sofa for 23 years.
The good lord might offer forgiveness, Nick. I'm a different bloody matter.
