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?