And so the mediocrity continues. The only reason this episode gained a 7 out of 10 for me was Ann Mitchell, and specifically, her doorstep scene with Timothy West, who, I have to admit, has been phoning it in lately.
Apart from that, the episode was a big lot of nothing, and this has been EastEnders' biggest problem, and one which DTC has failed to remedy. When the show is good, it's firing on all cylinders; when it's not, the quality drops to mundanity and poor mediocrity. Someone on Walford Web noticed recently that Coronation Street does everyday things, mediocre things, really well and watchable.
The only thing you watch when EastEnders hits this mode is the clock.
Where shall I begin? There's just so much of nothing.
Above all, this episode was about the driving force in Walford - hypocrisy.
Hypocrisy: Secrets, Lies and Denial amongst the Masoods.
Still, the inexplicable non-romance between Kush and Shabnam continues. She's humiliated that she could even presume he'd want to marry her after a one night stand and a couple of kisses. He wanted a relationship, yes, and maybe it would have strengthened and developed over time, but Shabnam proved her naivete in her assumption. Now, rather than face the fact that his pitch is located right outside The Minute Mart's front door, she's pulling a sickie and letting her mobile ring out.
Masood, the good Muslim, is justifiably outraged that such a flippant man would treat his daughter this way, and then keep trying to maintain contact. This is stern Masood, the Masood, who would step over a bleeding man in the street, just because that man had fallen in love with his son and he disapproved of the lifestyle. Strange, how he's come to accept the same-sex domesticity of Chryed, but can't quite wrap his head around the fact that his daughter isn't a virgin anymore. (Jesus, he'd have a cow, did he know he had another granddaughter). Masood issues the dictum that Kush is to steer clear of his family.
Kush just wants to apologise.
(Run, Kush, Run!)
Anyhoo, Masood has plans beyond seeing out the rest of his days as a postman, even though he can't be many years off retirement, being in his fifties. He's going to resurrect the Arjhee Bahjee - EastEnders being big on resurrections at the moment - and off he toddles to the bank. Is he proposing to re-mortgage the house, yet again? And does he seriously think the bank will loan him the money on a venture which was repossessed the last time? I know the business was in Tamwar's name, but the property re-mortgaged was in the name of Zainab and Masood.
Tamwar certainly had the line of the night about Masood constraining himself to wearing a waistcoat and serving drunken racists on Friday nights. This is the dry wit of the old Tamwar.
Realistically, the bank wouldn't bite, and I don't blame them. Instead, Patrick - and it's always good to see Rudolph Walker, he was the other highlight about tonight's episode - stops Masood long enough to ask him to place a five-pound bet for him, which Masood almost forgets to do, even after Patrick implores him to place one, himself. Masood demurs - that's against his religion, and he's a good Muslim.
But we know he doesn't, because he's seen taking a huge wad of money from the ATM machine, and, when depositing Patrick's winnings, as he left and insisted he'd not placed any bets owing to his faith, we knew he had done just that, and that Masood's winnings would fund the purchase of the restaurant.
Who'd have thought the Masoods were Man U fans? The rest of this storyline was concerned with either concluding or continuing the other non-story of Tamwar's and Nancy's non-romance. It's pretty half-arsed because we didn't get to see Tamwar freaking out after kissing her. Either the scene was edited out or it simply wasn't written, but he assumes it's over, even though you get the impression that she's up for a second chance.
In the great motorway of life, I'm a clapped-out Ford Fiesta, and you're a brand new Lamborghini. Up the Hammers.
Tamwar really knows how to end a potential relationship with a girl. As much as I thought, initially, how much he would bring her down, after she had already been brought low by the odious Dexter, I thought they were sweet together in their scenes last week - two lonely, misfit people reaching out to each other.
Then Tamwar had to blow it all with his own peculiar brand of low self-esteem.
You know? Nancy deserves better.
Hypocrisy: Secrets and Lies amongst the Remaining Fowlers.
Martin's back and looking worried. From the snippets of interrupted telephone calls he was receiving, it looks as though he has money problems. His house? I'm not surprised. Didn't Sonia remark to Carol several months ago, that they were having trouble with the mortgage? And now, since she's walked out on that relationship and moved back to the house owned by Janine on which they pay a peppercorn rent, she's taken the second income which provided security on the property and Martin's had to soldier on alone with the mortgage, the outgoings and caring for their daughter.
Oh, yes ... Sonia's suddenly remembered Rebecca. Oh, well, it wouldn't have been the first time she'd forgotten the kid. That would have been when she walked out on boring Martin for the excitement that was Gnomi. (Actually, it was Naomi, but Sonia couldn't pronounce her name). Sonia can buy Liam the Lug a packet of three, but she suddenly plays the responsible parent by insisting that he revise his maths on a day when Liam is pulling a sickie and sitting on the sofa like a couch potato, or a lug, watching trash television. When she breaks his widdle wuler, she toddles off to buy him one, but she's distracted.
First, she's distracted by seeing Martin is back on the Square. Not only is he back, he's staying at Ian's, in order to keep an eye on Cindy, after Sonia's little escapade with them. There follows the requisite back-and-forth about Rebecca.
Sonia: Where is she?
Martin: She's on her way to school. She stayed at a mate's this weekend.
Sonia: Which mate?
Martin: I don't know ... Star, or something.
Sonia: Martin, you're supposed to be responsible.
Martin: I'm not the one who walked out.
Round One for Martin. In fact, Round Everything to Martin, because he can slam shut Sonia's foul mouth with that one phrase ~I'm not the one who walked out.~
Sonia is further distracted by taking this brush-off to Tina, whom she knows will accord her a sympathetic hearing as she embellishes Martin's shortcomings in this situation. What's Martin playing at? Tina wants to know, and then she levels the arch-hypocritical comment of the night.
Nobody should use their children as ammo.
Maybe Tina remembers how Sonia want all-out using Rebecca as an emotional punchbag last year, forbidding her from attending music school because Rebecca was the only reason Martin was staying with Sonia. Now who's using a child as ammo in a relationship? Sonia's not above that, and Martin's done absolutely nothing of the sort.
Is he a lackadaisical dad? Yes, and a bit laissez-faire in parenting, as he didn't know where Rebecca was or with whom she was during the weekend, but then, Sonia's never bothered keeping in touch with the child until recently, and can't seem to accept why Rebecca wants nothing to do with her.
As soon as she's made that remark, Tina advises Sonia that she and Martin need to sit down and sort something out about Rebecca together.
Both of these people are hypocrites. Sonia's so far up Tina's arse that she forgot why she left Liam the Lug on his own for so long - she forgot to get his widdle wuler. Martin could use a bit of Pauline's elbow in geeing him up to keep a closer rein on his young daughter, and Sonia just needs to STFU and go.
What Was That? Fatboy, Donna and Pam interfering. Do you care? No, nor do I.
Stan's Swansong.
Mick and Linda have swanned off on a Mother's Day break to Dublin, and Tina's moaning about how she's never received a Mother's Day card. Well, Tina, if you'd been more of a mum to Zsa Zsa, maybe you'd have got one.
Stan's going to the dogs. Literally. Besides that, he's organised a night out for the remaining family in Romford, except no one wants to go, least of all because none of them think Stan would weather the journey. This is all in aid of Stan passing one night without pissing himself. Go figure.
He wants Shirley to go, and she refuses. Somehow, I like Shirley away from the Vic and in the B and B with the Trueman-Foxes. And working in Blades. So the spare seat, on Patrick's suggestion, goes to Cora. In a brief, but beautifully poignant scene, Ann Mitchell and Timothy West give a Masterclass in understated acting. Stan's signature promise of chicken in a basket and some ale isn't lost on Cora. He knows how to treat a girl, she remarks ruefully, but the fact is that she's not his girl. That was Sylvie. Yes, says Stan, but the difference between Cora and Sylvie was that Sylvie was never his friend.
Stan's losing sensation in his leg is actually quite accurate for a terminal cancer sufferer. Cancer moves up the body, by way of the spinal cord. The ability to walk goes, and as it moves upward, the eventual result will be Stan going into a coma as it hits his brain. It truly is a matter of weeks now.
When they were talking, Cora reminded Stan that of her reluctance to become close once more. I've lost enough, she says, but Stan is quick to remind her that he's still alive. Cora went through the wringer when her husband died of cancer, and seeing Stan lifted into the ambulance, when he asked her to go with him, her tragic face, mouthing "I can't" was heart-rending.
Lee was the only adult in the room tonight, although Shirley was in denial about how ill Stan was until it was brought home to her.
Mediocre episode. Again.
Apart from that, the episode was a big lot of nothing, and this has been EastEnders' biggest problem, and one which DTC has failed to remedy. When the show is good, it's firing on all cylinders; when it's not, the quality drops to mundanity and poor mediocrity. Someone on Walford Web noticed recently that Coronation Street does everyday things, mediocre things, really well and watchable.
The only thing you watch when EastEnders hits this mode is the clock.
Where shall I begin? There's just so much of nothing.
Above all, this episode was about the driving force in Walford - hypocrisy.
Hypocrisy: Secrets, Lies and Denial amongst the Masoods.
Still, the inexplicable non-romance between Kush and Shabnam continues. She's humiliated that she could even presume he'd want to marry her after a one night stand and a couple of kisses. He wanted a relationship, yes, and maybe it would have strengthened and developed over time, but Shabnam proved her naivete in her assumption. Now, rather than face the fact that his pitch is located right outside The Minute Mart's front door, she's pulling a sickie and letting her mobile ring out.
Masood, the good Muslim, is justifiably outraged that such a flippant man would treat his daughter this way, and then keep trying to maintain contact. This is stern Masood, the Masood, who would step over a bleeding man in the street, just because that man had fallen in love with his son and he disapproved of the lifestyle. Strange, how he's come to accept the same-sex domesticity of Chryed, but can't quite wrap his head around the fact that his daughter isn't a virgin anymore. (Jesus, he'd have a cow, did he know he had another granddaughter). Masood issues the dictum that Kush is to steer clear of his family.
Kush just wants to apologise.
(Run, Kush, Run!)
Anyhoo, Masood has plans beyond seeing out the rest of his days as a postman, even though he can't be many years off retirement, being in his fifties. He's going to resurrect the Arjhee Bahjee - EastEnders being big on resurrections at the moment - and off he toddles to the bank. Is he proposing to re-mortgage the house, yet again? And does he seriously think the bank will loan him the money on a venture which was repossessed the last time? I know the business was in Tamwar's name, but the property re-mortgaged was in the name of Zainab and Masood.
Tamwar certainly had the line of the night about Masood constraining himself to wearing a waistcoat and serving drunken racists on Friday nights. This is the dry wit of the old Tamwar.
Realistically, the bank wouldn't bite, and I don't blame them. Instead, Patrick - and it's always good to see Rudolph Walker, he was the other highlight about tonight's episode - stops Masood long enough to ask him to place a five-pound bet for him, which Masood almost forgets to do, even after Patrick implores him to place one, himself. Masood demurs - that's against his religion, and he's a good Muslim.
But we know he doesn't, because he's seen taking a huge wad of money from the ATM machine, and, when depositing Patrick's winnings, as he left and insisted he'd not placed any bets owing to his faith, we knew he had done just that, and that Masood's winnings would fund the purchase of the restaurant.
Who'd have thought the Masoods were Man U fans? The rest of this storyline was concerned with either concluding or continuing the other non-story of Tamwar's and Nancy's non-romance. It's pretty half-arsed because we didn't get to see Tamwar freaking out after kissing her. Either the scene was edited out or it simply wasn't written, but he assumes it's over, even though you get the impression that she's up for a second chance.
In the great motorway of life, I'm a clapped-out Ford Fiesta, and you're a brand new Lamborghini. Up the Hammers.
Tamwar really knows how to end a potential relationship with a girl. As much as I thought, initially, how much he would bring her down, after she had already been brought low by the odious Dexter, I thought they were sweet together in their scenes last week - two lonely, misfit people reaching out to each other.
Then Tamwar had to blow it all with his own peculiar brand of low self-esteem.
You know? Nancy deserves better.
Hypocrisy: Secrets and Lies amongst the Remaining Fowlers.
Martin's back and looking worried. From the snippets of interrupted telephone calls he was receiving, it looks as though he has money problems. His house? I'm not surprised. Didn't Sonia remark to Carol several months ago, that they were having trouble with the mortgage? And now, since she's walked out on that relationship and moved back to the house owned by Janine on which they pay a peppercorn rent, she's taken the second income which provided security on the property and Martin's had to soldier on alone with the mortgage, the outgoings and caring for their daughter.
Oh, yes ... Sonia's suddenly remembered Rebecca. Oh, well, it wouldn't have been the first time she'd forgotten the kid. That would have been when she walked out on boring Martin for the excitement that was Gnomi. (Actually, it was Naomi, but Sonia couldn't pronounce her name). Sonia can buy Liam the Lug a packet of three, but she suddenly plays the responsible parent by insisting that he revise his maths on a day when Liam is pulling a sickie and sitting on the sofa like a couch potato, or a lug, watching trash television. When she breaks his widdle wuler, she toddles off to buy him one, but she's distracted.
First, she's distracted by seeing Martin is back on the Square. Not only is he back, he's staying at Ian's, in order to keep an eye on Cindy, after Sonia's little escapade with them. There follows the requisite back-and-forth about Rebecca.
Sonia: Where is she?
Martin: She's on her way to school. She stayed at a mate's this weekend.
Sonia: Which mate?
Martin: I don't know ... Star, or something.
Sonia: Martin, you're supposed to be responsible.
Martin: I'm not the one who walked out.
Round One for Martin. In fact, Round Everything to Martin, because he can slam shut Sonia's foul mouth with that one phrase ~I'm not the one who walked out.~
Sonia is further distracted by taking this brush-off to Tina, whom she knows will accord her a sympathetic hearing as she embellishes Martin's shortcomings in this situation. What's Martin playing at? Tina wants to know, and then she levels the arch-hypocritical comment of the night.
Nobody should use their children as ammo.
Maybe Tina remembers how Sonia want all-out using Rebecca as an emotional punchbag last year, forbidding her from attending music school because Rebecca was the only reason Martin was staying with Sonia. Now who's using a child as ammo in a relationship? Sonia's not above that, and Martin's done absolutely nothing of the sort.
Is he a lackadaisical dad? Yes, and a bit laissez-faire in parenting, as he didn't know where Rebecca was or with whom she was during the weekend, but then, Sonia's never bothered keeping in touch with the child until recently, and can't seem to accept why Rebecca wants nothing to do with her.
As soon as she's made that remark, Tina advises Sonia that she and Martin need to sit down and sort something out about Rebecca together.
Both of these people are hypocrites. Sonia's so far up Tina's arse that she forgot why she left Liam the Lug on his own for so long - she forgot to get his widdle wuler. Martin could use a bit of Pauline's elbow in geeing him up to keep a closer rein on his young daughter, and Sonia just needs to STFU and go.
What Was That? Fatboy, Donna and Pam interfering. Do you care? No, nor do I.
Stan's Swansong.
Mick and Linda have swanned off on a Mother's Day break to Dublin, and Tina's moaning about how she's never received a Mother's Day card. Well, Tina, if you'd been more of a mum to Zsa Zsa, maybe you'd have got one.
Stan's going to the dogs. Literally. Besides that, he's organised a night out for the remaining family in Romford, except no one wants to go, least of all because none of them think Stan would weather the journey. This is all in aid of Stan passing one night without pissing himself. Go figure.
He wants Shirley to go, and she refuses. Somehow, I like Shirley away from the Vic and in the B and B with the Trueman-Foxes. And working in Blades. So the spare seat, on Patrick's suggestion, goes to Cora. In a brief, but beautifully poignant scene, Ann Mitchell and Timothy West give a Masterclass in understated acting. Stan's signature promise of chicken in a basket and some ale isn't lost on Cora. He knows how to treat a girl, she remarks ruefully, but the fact is that she's not his girl. That was Sylvie. Yes, says Stan, but the difference between Cora and Sylvie was that Sylvie was never his friend.
Stan's losing sensation in his leg is actually quite accurate for a terminal cancer sufferer. Cancer moves up the body, by way of the spinal cord. The ability to walk goes, and as it moves upward, the eventual result will be Stan going into a coma as it hits his brain. It truly is a matter of weeks now.
When they were talking, Cora reminded Stan that of her reluctance to become close once more. I've lost enough, she says, but Stan is quick to remind her that he's still alive. Cora went through the wringer when her husband died of cancer, and seeing Stan lifted into the ambulance, when he asked her to go with him, her tragic face, mouthing "I can't" was heart-rending.
Lee was the only adult in the room tonight, although Shirley was in denial about how ill Stan was until it was brought home to her.
Mediocre episode. Again.
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