There was good news last night on EastEnders for anyone who is compiling a list of things you never wanted to know about Max Branning.
The latest nugget emerged during a conversation Max’s estranged wife Rainie (yeah, I’d forgotten they were married too) was having with Habiba about female grooming regimes.
The talk inevitably turned to the pros and cons of intimate waxing procedures and, while I don’t want to dwell too long on this, I think it only fair I share Rainie’s claim that Max (Jake Wood) would not mind if such procedures had never been invented.
The only reason I mention it at all is that it was the only moment of lightness in what was another standard half hour snapshot of life in Albert Square.
Actually, now I think about it, there was one other brief bright spot: Jack and Denise’s ever-impressive fruit bowl. This week they’ve raised the game to levels that Walford’s original fruit bowl queen Pauline Fowler could have only dreamed about. They’ve got a whole watermelon in there. You know, just in case anyone fancies grabbing a quick snack on their way out the door.
We should make the most of these moments when they come around, of course.
Laughter-wise, they’re probably all we'll have to keep us going until the glorious day Tiffany Butcher-Baker has a daughter who ends up marrying a guy with the surname Candlestick-Maker. (Yes, of course EastEnders will still be around in twenty years. As if the BBC would blow £90m on a new set if there was a chance of it not being.)
Away from waxings and watermelons, last night's thirty minutes was filled with the kind of unrelenting misery and despair that makes you glad EastEnders is down to two episodes a week right now.
Jean collapsed with a seizure in the market after hearing Hooked On Rock Classics in her head all morning while out shopping.
Ben’s hearing problems were getting worse – and he’d fallen out with his boyfriend Callum again.
Keegan was worried that his wrongful arrest had ruined his sandwich delivery business for good.
And newcomer Isaac was hitting the bottle by Arfur’s Bench after discovering Patrick Trueman is his real dad.
To add to that, like a grumpy customer complaining to a supermarket delivery driver about unsuitable substitute items, young Tommy was giving Kush grief about the poor choice of breakfast cereals he had to offer.
There was a word for kids like that when I was a lad, Tommy.
Well, to be exact there were four words.
Eat that or nothing.
