The benefits of staying in of a Friday night include:
– One gets to watch the first ever live EastEnders, live.
– One gets to watch Embarrassing Bodies. In which Dr Christian didn’t get his kit off in a gratuitous fashion, there was no footage of rugby players taking part in a live reconstruction of how the mens should clean themselves in the shower, and the only gennelman bordering on the cute was a social-retard with a saggy right tit.
– Sobriety. Ish.
ie. None whatsoever.
Back to beasty ‘Benders, last night’s first (and last, we imagine) ever live episode of duff-duff-ness was an exercise in sorting the wheat from the chaff. The good from the bad. The Dannii’s from the Kylies (we’re freeballing). The Monmouth coffees from that bollocks they serve in Eat. (We told you our little Eat anecdote already, right? American chum fresh in Big London comes to meet us. ‘Are you hungry?’ we say. ‘No,’ replies he, for he is indeed a he. ‘I’ve just had something to eat at Eat Period.’)
In conclusion, Lacey ‘Stacey’ Turner and Hot Ginger Dad (Max. Do keep up) are pretty much the only decent live turns, Stacey murdered Archie (how dreary was all that getting?), and Jack Branning-cum-Scott Maslen didn’t drop trou’ and streak through Albert Square, cock flailing in the wind.
In conclusion 2: *Turns back time, puts a comb through Cher wig, gets twatted*