save yourself the price of confetti...

Once upon a time, bouncy teenaged Ollie Reynolds left Emmerdale for the big city, presumably in a fit of misery due to knowing that the only fit bloke in the village was off-limits, having been cast as her dad. Deciding to head for Weatherfield, she modified her name to Molly and acquired an unattractive baking eccentric father instead. This week, in a bid to acquire the sadly vacant throne of St. Vera Duckworth, she married the good-natured if brainless Tyrone Dobbs.
I don't know why you bothered, Molly. It is a universal truth of life that no soap marriage survives more than a week. Sunita Alahan spent approximately a hundred and eight years stood at the end of the bar in the Rovers, wearing the same denim jacket and sighing over Designer Dev. As soon as he proved himself willing to shell out for a wedding befitting a Bollywood masterpiece and equip his new wife with a baby bump of house-size proportions, Sunita fled. (Which, if she had the sense she was born with, she'd have done the first time he spoke to her.) Shelley Unwin was barely a Barlow before she discovered that husband Peter was merely a timeshare spouse. Maria Sutherland married Liam Connor all of about half an episode before he was mown down on the cobbles like Lisa Duckworth before him. Though, to be fair, his heart wasn't in it.
But, all the while that Liz McDonald's suitors came and went, we knew that we could have faith in Ken and Deirdre's long association. This is the couple who fell into bed to celebrate their first divorce, whose two marriages are as nothing to the enduring strength of their association. Wendy Crozier fled weeping, Samir Rachid left only a kidney to remember him to the acidulous Barlows...but now there's a new temptress in town, and her sights are set firmly on the Street's premier heartthrob. As Sable Colby sashays down the cobbles for the first time, can the Barlows survive the onslaught of shoulder pads and killer heels?
I bite my nails. Lay in the fags, Deirdre. It's going to be a hard year.

murder most cheap

The eternal question, the perennial wonderment soap fans sometimes feel as to why anybody on a market trader's income can afford a house in the Square (taciturn barmaid Tracy probably has to commute in from Keighley every time she has a shift) has finally been resolved. Do you want to hear the answer? Do you? All right, here goes...
It's because you are safe from nobody. Except possibly Minty. And maybe not even him.
Mumsy Tanya Branning buries people alive, and not just in fake tan as one would expect from Walford's premier beauty salon. Her daughter Lauren has already started a murderous career at the tender age of twelveteen by attempting to bump off her own dear balding ginger daddy. (The real criminality about that was that she didn't hide it very well. Everybody knew.) Janine Butcher hasn't been punished at all for shoving hapless oaf Barry Evans off a cliff, and now is busy trying to reinvent herself as the mastermind of R&R. (With what qualifications, Janine? GCSE Deviousness is not really what we are looking for in a club owner.)
Well, how about little Dotty Cotton? Namesake of the world's most put-upon pensioner? Comfort of Dot's tragic old age? Old-fashioned little Dotty with her plaits and her Fair Isle cardigans? Nope, it turns out she's a would-be murderer too. She'll be attempting to kill her grandmother within the next few weeks. Sorry.