BOB HART OUT OF THE BOX

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THIS se­ries is com­plete tosh, ob­vi­ously. But if there is an­other show on which the scriptwrit­ers have more fun, or in­dulge them­selves more ex­trav­a­gantly, lead me to it.

No sce­nario, how­ever im­prob­a­ble, goes un­ex­plored, ex­panded upon, and/or beaten to within an inch of its life. And in the course of all that, no but­ton goes un­pressed.

Tonight the writers leap, feet­first, into the slap­stick arena — an op­por­tu­nity pre­sented by Lynette be­ing made aware of Tom’s lit­tle in­dis­cre­tion, all those years ago. Oh dear.

So Lynette, rather than con­front Tom with his dirty lit­tle se­cret, con­tin­ues to seek re­venge with­out let­ting him know that she knows.

‘‘ My rage needs an out­let,’’ she ex­plains. And later, she adds: ‘‘ I am not ready to get over it.’’ Fair enough. Hu­mour the writers, OK?

So she fid­dles with a gar­den hose so that it ex­plodes in his face, gen­er­ously salts his cof­fee, un­picks the seam of his trousers and does other won­der­ful, grown-up stuff.

Tom’s bouncy slide down the stairs, which she had en­livened with a smear of peanut but­ter, could have been nasty. And those ex­plicit porno shots she in­cor­po­rated

Un-Hare Kr­ishna: Bree

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