Pav’s Patch; Why Corrie is streets ahead of the rest

I DON’T know what your favourite type of television programme is, but mine is a soap. Well, let me qualify that, I really mean one type of soap — “Coronation Street”.

I can’t bear “EastEnders”, that tale of happy Cockneys, because a mere10 minutes of it has me wanting to slash my wrists. And as for “Emmerdale”, well it’s about a place in Yorkshire. Watching it is a bit like mocking the afflicted.

Actually, there was a time when I used to enjoy “Emmerdale”, and that’s when it was a sort of television “Archers” when the high spot was Annie Sugden sending grandad to his shed or Seth Armstrong pretending that his cucumber was bigger than Amos Brearley’s.

Once they yuppified it, I went off it. For heaven’s sake, they even had Dolly Skilbeck having an affair. You know, it’s no wonder Matt never smiled. His first wife died, then his twins were killed in an accident and then, worst of all, Dolly ran off with a tree surgeon.

But these are the issues which make the world go round in soapland. How come no one in Walford has a washing machine? And how come the people in Weatherfield are so well off that they can buy rounds for fun in the Rover’s and then leave their drink after one sip?

And how much do those girls at the factory earn? Their vodka bill alone must come to more than my weekly wage. Another thing, why is it that no one in Weatherfield has ever been out of work since poor old Bert Tilsley in the early 1980s?

While we’re on the subject of work, how much does Liz McDonald pay at the pub, or Dev at the shop? These part-time jobs let people like Beccy, Michelle and Molly command quite a lifestyle.

The reason I’m so fond of Corrie is that it’s the best comedy on television.

In these days where the height of humour seems to be some fat, bald bloke claiming to be the only gay in the village, I like the northern joking in The Street.

My favourite character would have to be Blanche Hunt, who delivers some wonderful one-liners.

I was particularly taken with the way she once told Deirdre that her Christmas turkey was dry enough to make a camel choke.

And what about the maxims trotted out by the late and much lamented Fred Elliott: “If God didn’t want people to eat animals, then why did he make ’em meat flavoured?”

You can’t argue with that. I’m off for a bacon butty.