Ges on the Box; A quick rewrite to perk up Corrie

YOU have to feel sorry for Vernon, don’t you? I almost cried when he sat there waiting for Liz to see the error of her ways and join him on his trip to The Smoke in her feather-adorned shocking pink cowboy hat.

Not that I think a recording of “(Don’t Fall Into) The Mason’s Arms” is going to make Paul McCartney tremble but, hey, it’s a start isn’t it? And poor old Vernon needs all the help he can get. Personally, I’d shave off that annoying little bit of hair on his chin. And cut his hair. Buy him a new suit. And give him a personality transplant.

What fun we could have if we were Corrie’s scriptwriters. We could reinvent Vernon as a multi-millionaire singer-songwriter who swans back into The Street in his (pink, naturally) Roller six months hence.

Meantime, we could let Liz go. Not literally, just let the tan fade half a dozen shades, re-dye the hair an attractive shade of mouse and buy her a cardigan to button to the neck. Then, when Vernon returns to The Rovers, he won’t even recognise her and will run off with Rosie Webster instead.

And why shouldn’t he? Everyone else has had their chance, by the time he returns she’ll have worked her way through all the eligible — and ineligible — men and will need a new conquest.

But, for heaven’s sake, will somebody buy her a bigger blouse. I’m sick of seeing her underwear. You’d think her mum would have something to say, but no. Sally’s far too concerned with Kev’s failing business.

Now what businessman in his right mind would turn down the offer of loadsa dosh for a back-street mechanics shop just because he doesn’t like the colour of Tony Gordan’s money?

We could write him a change of heart and make him sell out to slimy Tony — he could disappear into the sunset with Maria Connor, his secret love.

While we’re rewriting lives, I’d have to do something particularly nasty to Deirdre. Apart from make her a different colour. Like most of the other female cast members (Fizz excepted) Deirdre has turned the most peculiar shade of orange.

But what to do with Deirdre . . . I spend many a night plotting plots against Mrs Barlow. The best I’ve come up with is a flesh-eating bug or being abducted by little green men. The trouble with the former is that it’ll put us off our tea. And with the latter? Well, they do tend to return their abductees.

Whatever has happened to Corrie’s legendary humour? Personally, I’d order a charabanc for the annual trip to Blackpool, fill it with most of them, and have the aliens kidnap that.

So long as we keep Blanche, Roy, Kelly and Norris we should be able to raise a few laughs.