My enjoyment of Fair City was trebled, no, quadrupled this week, when the local gang of hoodrats began their reign of terror. See, they're led by some crinkly-looking geezer with remarkably nice teeth, while the main henchman looks like he has put the CEO of KFC's kids through college. But they've perfected that scumbag walk, and they also had a ball drinking tea and lemonade in the local as they planned their attack on Dolores. Someone should introduce electrocution as a punishment for crimes against acting - if Robert Ne Niro was dead, he'd be rolling in his grave. Elsewhere Ray went to see the priest that looks suspiciously like Moby, and bawled his chubby eyelids out. Can you have chubby eyelids? Well if you can, Ray surely has them. Also, he's starting to look more like a Bolivian dictator every day.
On Emmerdale, Anna was wrestling with her conscience (but sadly not Matthew's naked torso) regarding her father's plan for her to ruin the King business empire. She loves him really, y'see - thus would feel quite bad about him ending up on the street giving dryhumps for half the price of a Happy Meal. Elsewhere, Jasmine started seeing resident date-rapist (c'mon, it's a matter of time) Shane, as she wanted to know the whereabouts of some police raids before they took place. Shane, looking to get his end away with the Cadbury's Caramel Bunny lookalike, gave her false information about when the fuzz would be kicking down her door. This did not go down well with Jasmine; but, since there are precious few men in the village to rub skin with (she's already eaten sushi off the barber's floor), she forgave him when he offered to get her lamped. Keep an eye on your drink, love.
On Eastenders, but-her-face Stacey finally gave into her repressed feelings of sexual rage with Callum (who looks like that bloke who used to be in this, and was once married to that bird from Hear'say) and threw her mushy mush into his, passionately embracing him and his early-'90s floppy hairdo. Elsewhere, it was an action-packed week for Jack and co. as Max tried to set him up, but ended being mowed down by a car and is now knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door in intensive care. Expect this storyline to be dragged out until Christmas, at the earliest.
On Corrie, the week began on a downer, as everyone said their final goodbyes to resident hunk Liam. Carla could barely contain her grief at the funeral and announced afterwards that she wasn't marrying Tony, and was instead legging it to L.A.. Whether she's finally realised that she's got the perfect aesthetics to be a porn star is unknown - but needless to say, Tony wasn't very happy about the situation. She should really use a lollipop lady to cross the road when available, just to be safe. Elsewhere, Rosie spent the week trying to escape passive-aggressive kidnapper John, but failed miserably. How he hasn't killed her yet is beyond us - she keeps battering him. Man the f**k up John, you're going to jail anyway. And her voice is really starting to wreck our heads.