The Irish Mail on Sunday - TV Week - - SOAP WATCH -

Poor walls, that’s what I say. When Deirdre slung her ‘sig­na­ture tri­fle’ across the room, you could only feel for the poor wall­pa­per that was forced to de­vour it. Still, ev­ery­one who was eat­ing it must have felt a sense of re­lief. (By the way: did any­one know she had another sig­na­ture dish in ad­di­tion to her stuffed mar­row?). Deirdre’s stress was all down to Peter’s trial. Rob man­ages to get out of go­ing, but re­as­sures Si­mon that his dad had noth­ing to do with Tina’s death. Nat­u­rally, Si­mon ques­tions how he knows. Are you re­ally that thick-wit­ted, Rob?

When it’s Carla’s turn in the wit­ness box she sur­prises Peter by say­ing she doesn’t think he’s ca­pa­ble of mur­der (left). A drunk, adul­terer, bigamist, liar, gam­bler – blimey, along­side that list, mur­derer is only the ic­ing on a very rot­ten cake. After Peter goes in the wit­ness box the judge sums up. That That’ss a very short mur­der trial, so ei­ther we can as­sume that the lawyers are as stup stupid as the cop­pers in Weather­field, or that Peter is no OJ Simp­son.

I It’s a sad week for Roy, who makes pla plans to scat­ter Hay­ley’s ashes. Re­turn­ing home, how­ever, he finds that someon one has bro­ken into the flat. Take my wo word for it, Roy, they’re not after the ur urn.

Mean­while, Steve’s anx­i­ety and de de­pres­sion take a stronger grip. For­get th that. More of the new hunky Dr Robinso son, please. Where did he spring from?

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