Luck played it part in most of football history. An incorrect offside, a goal line decision, a dubious red card or one defensive error- all have cost good teams to the benefit of poorer ones.

No more was this evident than in Tuesday’s Champions League Semi-Final between Chelsea and Barcelona. Before I begin, this isn’t a rant against defensive football; I won’t mock Chelsea’s tactics because I simply don’t know how else they could have played them. Only the best teams such as Real Madrid can afford to attack Barcelona at their own game and, with respect, Chelsea are no longer amongst such prestigious company. They played the game they only way they could.

However there has been a lot of hyperbole in the papers describing Chelsea’s remarkable victory. They were ‘heroes’ ‘warriors’ ‘better than Istanbul’ and had gained ‘the glory’ they had longed for. To some it was ‘the best night in their history’. It’s a particularly English trait to think that a team desperately throwing themselves at another team is a sign of immense superiority as if stuffing Johnny foreigner with his fancy passing is a major victory for Britain. Jonathan Wilson points out in Inverting The Pyramid that many see England’s great moment, other than 1966, as Terry Butcher, bloodstained bandage around his head, stopping Sweden from scoring in a 0-0 draw to qualify for Italia 90. According to many, Chelsea were yet another example of this.

No one can seriously doubt Chelsea’s sheer desire to advance to the final; it was refreshing to see footballers playing with their hearts especially Ramires, who is suspended from the final. The defending at times was heroic in its desperation. Drogba at left back, Bosingwa in the middle, the shape all over the place as they threw themselves towards Barcelona willing the ball away with whatever part of their anatomy was in the way. Admirable stuff.

However the word that best describes the match was missing from many reports. Luck explains it all. It’s not belittling Chelsea’s victory in anyway; they scored more goals than Barcelona- they deserve to be going to Munich. It is hard to overlook the fact that Chelsea seem to have entered into some kind of Faustian pact where they get as much luck as possible. In return, they lose 3 of their best players to suspension but it’s got them to the final. Since AVB’s sacking Chelsea’s luck has increased. The victories over Benfica and Napoli were great but both opponents came close to delivering a knockout blow to Chelsea’s European hopes. There was the non-goal at Wigan, a terrible decision that puts them within reach in the top 4 when really they should have fallen away ages ago. There was the goal that never was against Spurs in the FA Cup Semi Final that undoubtedly swung momentum in their way though many would also say they were lucky to play a team in their worst run for quite awhile.

In the first leg against Barcelona they were incredibly lucky. Praise their defending you can but Barcelona should have come out of that game 5-1 up. The ball simply wouldn’t go in the goal and Chelsea capitalized. Barcelona’s defending of late has been suspect both at home and in Europe and when Messi, hobbled by an earlier challenge, dallied on the ball too long you just knew it was going to be trouble and Drogba punished some especially positioning from their centre backs.

In the second leg many predicted that Chelsea’s luck wouldn’t hold out and initially it didn’t. Cahill was injured and then John Terry was rightly sent off for another thuggish attack on a player. Terry is an admired man amongst the Chelsea faithful- a strong physical defender of the old school. However he’s also an idiot, a staggering disaster of a man and last night he got his just rewards.

Barcelona went 2 up and then..fell apart. Forgetting how to defend they allowed Lampard to play a simple through ball to Ramires. The Brazilian spotted Valdes not inexplicably been way off his line. The finish was as good as you could have hoped for and Chelsea was suddenly in front. You’ll never see a goal as against the run of play as that.

Again and again Barcelona advanced but Chelsea’s last ditch defending stifled them. However it paid off for the Catalans when Drogba’s high tackle caught Fabregas and a penalty was awarded.

Did anybody think Messi would miss? It crossed my mind but that was just because of the improbability of the score line. However how could he miss? He’s Messi. Well he did and after that Barcelona looked deflated, panicked, asking themselves ‘how the hell aren’t we winning?’ They were the better team over two legs, the better football side but their chances were not taken and they turned in the one of the most bizarre performances I’ve ever seen..

And then the end; Barcelona throwing everyone forward, a potential handball by Cole missed, Lampard hooves it away aimlessly or not as it seems. Luck was still on their side and, as if God himself had chosen the spot where the ball would land, it fell straight to Torres who was one-on-one with Valdes. Even he couldn’t miss from there. 3-2, game over and despite the odds Chelsea were through.

The superlatives rolled in from the final whistle. ‘Hail The Invincibles’ screamed the Guardian oddly. Some of their defending may have seemed invincible but it could have been very different. Barcelona effectively knocked themselves out of the tournament. They had their chances- tons of them- but they didn’t take them and luck ran against them at crucial moments.

Is it Istanbul and Munich again? I don’t think so, I don’t think Chelsea have matched the performance levels of either Liverpool or Man United in those respective games. Those were comebacks of the highest order; Liverpool may have had some luck but coming from 3 down against Milan means you must have some serious skills somewhere.

After last night’s result, many Chelsea fans on Twitter seemed too happy that they wouldn’t be facing Mourinho’s Madrid. Actually a lot were humouressly overconfident, the kind of overconfidence that comes from someone who hasn’t watched Bayern Munich a lot this season. It’s easy to look at the German league, which a lot of British fans couldn’t give a toss about, and dismiss it but they shouldn’t because it is one of immense quality and contains high-class teams.

Bayern are a strong physical team but with a real attacking presence. For all Chelsea’s Drogba-Lampard-Mata talk they don’t have anyone of the quality of Robben, Ribery or the often-unplayable Mario Gomez. I believe it will be a real test of their ability to beat this team that effectively outplayed Madrid in two legs and should have ended the tie way before the penalty shoot out.

However Chelsea are Chelsea and luck is on their side. I’m not sure they’ll enjoy the support of most British fans because they are without a doubt the most unpopular club in Britain right now but they won’t care and nor should they. They’re in the Champions League Final having knocked out Benfica, Napoli and now Barcelona- fantastic teams. Bayern could be a real challenge and the gloating will have to end soon because they will need every inch of that good luck to see off the Germans or it could all end in devastation. 

Just a quick one but, tonight, I had the pleasure of seeing a Spurs XI beat the MK Dons 5-3 a little over 2 miles from my house. What’s more I took my girlfriend to her first football which is surely a special moment in everyone’s life. She seemed to enjoy it which bodes well. Here’s a few notes I took from the game :-

The Spurs team were pretty good. It included a few more first teamers than I think people were expecting. David Bentley, Roman Pavlyuchenko, Jermain Defoe, Vedran Corluka, Niko Kranjucar and Danny Rose all started the game alongside the likes of Andros Townshend and Jake Livermore.

Kranjcar and Pav were the standout performers from that group. Niko is so calm in midfield and his 35-yard thunderbolt would be a contender for goal of the season if it indeed was actually the football season. Pav’s double showed how utterly brilliant he can be in front of goal. He’s not a big mover- sometimes has that Berbatov laziness about him- but get him near the goal and he won’t miss. I’d be very disappointed if either player left the club currently.   

Jermain Defoe was active but it was another case of a lot of effort but little product. He doesn’t seem to have recovered that killer touch in front of goal that he once had. David Bentley was his usual self; stepovers, dribbling and frequently overhit crosses. I’m not sure he’ll ever change. 

Danny Rose seems to have settled into left back well. He’s short and not the strongest but he’s fast. Despite those obvious shortcomings, he throws himself into every tackle with passion. I imagine he will be second choice behind Benoit Assou-Ekotto for most of next season. Corluka did well at centre back- strong, composed and getting forward when needed. There’s still potential there.

As for the youngsters, it’s surely make or break seasons for the likes of Livermore and Townshend. Both have had their moments; Livermore in pre-season scoring against Barcelona a couple of years ago and Townshend’s standout performance against Charlton in last season’s FA Cup. It’s worth Redknapp given them a go in Europe or the League Cup next year. If they can put together a string of good performances then there is no reason they shouldn’t consistently be in the first team. 

Finally, I will leave you with Harry Kane. Harry is a 17-year-old who scored a few goals on loan at Leyton Orient last year. He scored two tonight; one a delightful little dribble ending with a composed finish and another a desperate slide tackle into the net. He’s young but he looks good- a tall, strong striker with a natural goalscoring instinct.

This is the kind of youth player Spurs need to nurture. They haven’t got the best record for breaking into the first team; fantastic at finding players, poor at developing them. If Spurs are serious about their youngsters then they need to develop standout players like Harry Kane who really do have the potential to go all the way. To let players of such natural ability rot away on loan or be cast adrift would not only be criminal, it would be reckless. 

Anyway, I’m taking my girlfriend to the Man City game next month so she can experience White Hart Lane in all it’s glory. I highly doubt that’ll be a 5-3 win though…

So Amy Winehouse has joined that ‘stupid club’ as Courtney Love once called it. Like Kurt Cobain, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison, she has became part of the ‘Forever 27’ myth. People seem to think that it’s meaningful that so many great young musicians died at 27. Really its just a bizarre coincidence. However most of the club did have something in common and it’s what most members are famous for; a dependency on alcohol and drugs that blighted their lives.

Cobain and Joplin were legendary heroin addicts. As was Morrison though he could drink an entire nightclub under the table- as could Hendrix. Jones took everything. Amy had her troubles too; heroin, crack, alcohol, mostly alcohol. It’s believed she was clean of heroin for some time but alcohol was the great demon she never conquered.

A lot has been said and a lot will be said about Amy Winehouse, so forgive me if I say nothing new, but she wasn’t just a crack addict with a hit album to her name, she was a lot more than that. That realisation only really hit me today and I admit it was a guilty thought. Yes I was a fan of Winehouse; Back To Black was the sound of my 2006 and I remember seeing her at festival in 2007 where, completely off her face, she still managed to thrill. But I guess it only really hit me just how good she was this afternoon whilst listening to the aforementioned album. 

It’s well-known that its an album whose tales of love, loss and depression are shrouded in swathes of beautiful soul and jazz but look beyond that and it’s truly as gut-wrenching as anything Kurt Cobain could muster on In Utero. Every song is a tale of how someone wronged her, someone left her, someone tried to make her go to rehab or how love is just basically rubbish. In the context of her death, it’s utterly soul destroying to hear. She meant it, she really did.

Nothing can make an artist more authentic than death. Cobain became a poster boy for anti-commercialism after his suicide. Hendrix and Joplin became bigger in death than in life, never having the opportunity to make crap. Morrison became a deity instead of the pretentious alcoholic most thought he was alive. Winehouse was the tabloid front page of choice; snorting coke with Pete Doherty, beating up ushers in Milton Keynes theatres or falling out of the Funky Buddha with the parasitical Blake Fielder-Civil. However beyond all these shocking antics was a world of hurt. It seemed that Amy Winehouse could never love herself as others loved her. She clang to those she should have forgotten. The hangers-on that took her depression, put it in a vial and handed it back in a crack pipe. The ex-boyfriends living off her name and pulling her away from what mattered. The papers who hypocritically expressed shock at her antics whilst rubbing their hands in glee at the prospect of another public bust-up.

The myth that Amy Winehouse could somehow have been saved by her parents is stupid. Addicts can only help themselves. You can’t force someone to give up a drug unless you are prepared to imprison them forever. Their bodies and minds must give it up. They must prepare themselves for the battle of withdrawal. They must be ready for the much harder task of staying clean rather than getting clean. Only a strong will can do this and it appears that Amy Winehouse wasn’t ready to give up. Her parents must have watched helplessly as she spiralled into abuse and decline. Their pain is worse than anyones because they saw it coming yet could do nothing about it. 

I do, however, hope this section of her life is not the first thing that people will think about. Its wishful thinking considering the name Amy Winehouse is now synonymous with addiction. It’s a shame the final footage will be a drunken performance in Belgrade which the media seems happy to throw about. For Amy was still brilliant live whilst in the fog of drugs and booze. The oft-cited performance with Paul Weller was at the height of her addiction as were the triumphant shows at every major festival in 2007 and 2008. If we ever get to hear the second album (rumoured to be complete) then we shall see how her music was developing. I have a sneaky suspicion that it will be as good, if not better, than Back To Black. 

Nearly all the talents in the ‘27 Club’ have been overshadowed by their personal problems but their talent speaks for itself. Jones was a multi-instrumentalist who formed the Rolling Stones. Joplin had the best vocals of her generation. Morrison was a modern day poet and an intense performer. Cobain was the voice of a generation. They weren’t just tragedies who died too young- they were the voices, riffs and words that became a never ending influence. That’s the club that Amy Winehouse belongs in. 

Following on my semi-successful ramble about an hour of programming on MTV Classic, I’ve decided to move onto MTV Hits, the resident ‘pop’ channel. This time I’m only doing half hour because of time restrictions and the fact I probably can’t handle it for more than that. I actually intended to do MTV Base but it was Akon’s 20 Greatest Hits and that is just something I cannot face. So here goes…

First up it’s Pixie Lott, the Essex-based younger version of Denise Van Outen. I have no idea what this song is called but it’s not that good which isn’t surprising considering she has no good songs. The video basically features her doing a lot of weird dancing and lying seductively on a bed. Not bad things you say…well I may as well admit it- I’m not all that enamoured with Miss Lott. And you can hurt me for that guys cause I don’t understand it either.

NEXT! Aha! It’s Example! The ghetto rapper from Wandsworth. As hard as he tries to look badass in this video, he always comes across as a nice young man. This is Stay Awake which is part of Example’s new Dizzee Rascal-inspired dance rap phase. I find him hard to take seriously but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. The video is a cross between a student art film and the BBC’s coverage of Glastonbury. It’s a decent tune that’ll sound good in Oceanas countrywide. Oh wow! It ends with a man becoming a Smurf.

Oh dear it’s The Saturdays. I don’t get them. They’re like Girls Aloud without the songs. Nice looking and all but they’re basically the support to the main event. This song, Ego, is one of those Capital Radio-type tunes that’ll never leave your head because it’s hook is as catchy as cholera. It’s also obvious the whole song has been written around the chorus because the verses are virtually none existent. Which is just as well since The Saturdays evidently can’t sing individually. Enough of them. Put that bra away Rochelle.

It’s time for a video featuring Chris Brown AND Justin Bieber. Jesus blue bananas of Christ what the fuck happened there?! Whose idea is this? The two most dislikeable and mystifyingly popular men on the planet. The woman beater and the arrogant brat who claimed that rape ‘happens for a reason.’ Even the video appears to be portraying an apocalyptic event in which Brown and Bieber are the only survivors which means you can add those two to the list alongside cockroaches. Why would you buy this? What is wrong with the Earth? Save me MTV Hits. I’m depressed. 

Beyonce! Lingerie! Anything to hide the fact that this is a supremely average ballad. I mean I can’t even hear the song right now such is the distraction of Beyonce rolling around on her bed. Brilliant marketing. This could only be improved if Jay-Z rolled through the window with a bazooka and a cigar. In all honesty Beyonce, you should really stop trying to be Cyndi Lauper and put your husband in all of your songs. Or just reform Destiny’s Child and give Michelle Williams something to do. Why has Beyonce invited Nelson from Life On Mars to her wedding? Why the hell can’t she dance at the Wedding Reception? 

Danger! It’s Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. Now Leona strikes me as a fragile sort so I’m loath to slag her off too much. This is a very memorable song. It sort of sticks in you like the poisoned darts of an Amazonian tribesman. Which is to say I hate it and I always have. I don’t get the video either- fornicating with a wall and then writhing on a bed as an impatient bloke waits for, what I can only presume is, a prostitute. At one point Leona wears a dress that makes her look like a satellite. And there’s no bleeding at all in this video. Even when angry boyfriend catches his girlfriend cheating. Disappointing. 

After the ad break it’s the final video I’ll be watching tonight. And my final minutes of MTV Hits are unfortunately spent in the company of The Wanted. Yes, The Wanted- the white wannable JLS without the dancing, singing or songs. They’re an odd looking bunch. Sort of a mix of builders and computer management undergraduates. Every song The Wanted have ever done is a variation on the same synth riff. It’s a very cost-effective way of writing songs making The Wanted, truly, a group for the recession. It’s a sad state of affairs for boy bands today. Apart from the aforementioned majestic JLS, there really is nobody out there who can compete with the likes of the Backstreet Boys, Five and, obviously, Blue. We just don’t do decent boy bands anymore.

And on that part nostalgic, part tragic note it is time to turn off MTV Hits. I think we’ve discovered a few things but mainly that MTV Hits is exactly how you pictured MTV Hits to be. Not great. Now if Akon would remove himself from MTV Base, I’ve got some Naughty By Nature videos to review…

I feel like writing about a short piece about one of my childhood heroes tonight, so here goes…

I may be mocked for saying this but when I was younger I was a rather big fan of professional wrestling. Every Saturday I’d watch the morning reruns of WWF Raw & WWF Smackdown on Sky One whilst on Fridays I’d make do with the half hour WCW Worldwide show on Channel Five. There was something exciting about this widely mocked entertainment show. Scripted it was and sometimes utterly ridiculous but it was often a feast of brilliant characters, sharp dialogue and never-ending fun. In short, it was perfect for a 9-year-old.

My all-time favourite wrestler was Bret ‘The Hitman’ Hart. Now compared to The Rock or Stone Cold Steve Austin, there is nothing outwardly exceptional about The Hitman. He was sort of toned but not in a big steroid way. He was quite short. He wore pink. His interviews weren’t all that amazing. However he did have morals. I can pretty much guarantee that almost any 7-year-old WWF viewer in 1995 learnt a huge amount from Bret Hart about how to be a human being. The Hitman stood for integrity, fairness, a sort of socialist ideal of co-existing but also striving to be the best. It was all summed up in the act of giving away his sunglasses to a child whenever he went into the ring. In that moment he made that child part of event, part of him and, in doing so, included every child who was watching at that moment. He was the perfect role model.

Now I’ve read his autobiography and the Hitman engaged in some pretty sketchy behaviour in the mid-90’s that certainly contradicts the role model claim but we didn’t know that then so it doesn’t matter. Unfortunately Bret’s personal life has often overshadowed his in-ring achievements. There was the unfortunate death of his brother Owen who fell from a great height at a WWF event. There was the death of his brother-in-law The British Bulldog (another hero of mine) who died after years of drug-abuse. There was the stroke, the divorces, the complicated family life. 

Most fans will remember the Montreal Screwjob where Bret, in his last WWF match, was supposed to wrestle Shawn Michaels to a draw. However WWF owner Vince McMahon, fearing that Bret would make him look bad when he joined WCW the next week, decided that he could not leave the company as champion and so orchestrated a ridiculously juvenile situation where the bell was rung in the middle of the match and Michaels declared the winner. Afterwards Bret knocked out Vince with one punch and his career never really recovered such was the inefficiency and lack of foresight by the WCW management. All of this was captured in the fantastic documentary Wrestling With Shadows which is as good as any documentary on pro wrestling out there.

I like to look past Montreal and all its connotations though. He was a fantastic wrestler, maybe the best. A genuine athlete and technically superb. He could make any move look good, he could sell the worst injuries and he prided himself on having a good match with just about anybody out there. I can remember his feud with Stone Cold Steve Austin particularly well. There were several great matches that came out of that. The feud with his brother Owen was also notable for some of the best technical wrestling you will ever see. And of course who can forget the 60 minute Iron Man match with Shawn Michaels which is regularly listed as the greatest wrestling encounter of all time. 

Bret Hart is not a perfect man but that’s what makes him special as I get older. He seems like a nice guy. He’s obviously learnt from mistakes and coped with great tragedy. As a young boy, he was all I wanted to be. I had the pink sunglasses. I had the WWF Warzone PS1 game where I’d play as The Hitman all day long. I had the WWF Vol. 1 The Music CD where I’d blast Bret’s awesome theme song as I came out of my bedroom. It’s not too far fetched to say that when things went wrong for my 8 year old self I’d think ‘What would The Hitman do?’. He was my moral compass and one of my earliest teachers. Bret ‘The Hitman’ Hart- The best there is, the best there was and the best there ever will be. 

An article in The Guardian this morning proclaims 1988 to be the vintage year of choice. Apparently, despite it not being a year widely recognised for its cultural value, all the top designers and pop stars are harking back to the decadent days of shoulder pads and Bros. Having been born in March ‘88, I suppose this makes me slightly cool in some weird cultural way. I am now an ‘excellent vintage’, a product of the finest year the hip 80’s had to offer. Was it that brilliant though? Let’s take a look.

Well not politically. Thatcher became our longest reigning PM and was accordingly appearing more like a crazed dictator week by week. The clusterfuck that was the Reagan Era was evolving into another clusterfuck called George Bush. Neil Kinnock was still inexplicably in charge of Labour. It was business as usual in many ways though the economy was actually quite good. City boys were making shitloads of money and unemployment was falling. House prices were rising, capitalism was booming and everyone was presumed to be better off- unless you lived in the North or Wales. The first warnings about the fragile nature of this ‘economic boom’ were issued to the government. They stated that a massive recession would follow if the boom wasn’t controlled. Nobody listened. Fail.

The music doesn’t strike me as particularly good. It’s all Bros, Phil Collins and Mistletoe & Wine. The number one on the day of my birth was I Should Be So Lucky by Kylie which is just depressing because it appears I missed Aswad’s Don’t Turn Around by only a week. 

Film-wise, the top grossing film was Rain Man which, apart from a stand-out performance from Dustin Hoffman, isn’t a favourite of mine. Whilst the top 10 included the brilliance of Die Hard, Cocktail and Beetlejuice it also contains Crocodile Dundee II and Twins.

This was also a year of truly terrible events. Lockerbie, the constant sound of IRA bombs blasting yet another landmark into rubble, Piper Alpha and the rise of the AIDS virus.

To add to this; Wimbledon won the FA Cup. Wimbledon! For crying out loud. It was the death of good football.

So before we all go off shouting about how great 1988 was, can we just look at what actually happened and consider that not everyone was walking around in Versace suits talking into oversized phones about the new U2 album and how they were going to spunk thousands of wonga in the local wine bar. 

No, most people were sitting in their houses considering either going to London where the IRA’s endless bomb warnings would no doubt close the train station or maybe go to watch some football in which case they’d be battered off the terraces by some mental Millwall fan. They could maybe look into the never-ending Thatcherite future and consider yet another musical year of Glen Meideros, Yazz and Tiffany whilst taking some solace in the fact that Vauxhall were producing yet ANOTHER Cavalier. Glory days indeed. 

I’m not sure I like being a 1988 vintage. 

Summarising three episodes of Coronation Street is usually easy since nothing ever happens. However it is more difficult this time because, for once, there are many things occurring. There’s death, marriage, births, murder, sold children, theft, Roy’s Rolls and adultery. Typical day in EastEnders then but not usually for the slower, more homely Corrie. The live episode was a great triumph being pulled off without any noticeable hiccups. As opposed to EastEnders’ glitchy live offering last year, Corrie’s was bigger in scope and cast with several difficult scenes being performed by experienced actors. And John Stape. Maybe it’ll put them back on top. At least until Ross Kemp inevitably returns. 

Anyhow enough about EastEnders v Corrie because we must say goodbye to the first victims of the ‘Tram Of Terror’- Ashley Peacock and Molly Dobbs. I’ll be honest- I don’t know much about Molly. For some reason she was shagging Kevin Webster and ended up with his kid. Never quite understood that one myself since it was probably the least attractive affair anyone could have thought up. It makes Frank and Pat Butcher look like Brangelina. But whatever. She’s dead. However she didn’t die quietly, telling all to a shocked Sally who has now thrown out Kevin and his amazing eyebrows and will probably have an affair with Tyrone to spite him. You heard it here first. Ah poor Tyrone. I always forget about him. He’s a loveable idiot really but I fear when he finds out the truth he’s going to get medieval on Kevin Webster in a Reservoir Dogs kind of way.

The second death was Ashley Peacock. Poor old squeaky voiced Clure-loving Fred Elliot-produced Ashley Peacock. Forever dull in his day to day life unless it involved his wife getting murdered or getting on a plane, Ashley was still a crucial part of the Corrie framework. For he was the man everyone invited to make up the numbers on special occasions. I swear he has been at every party/funeral/wedding Corrie has had in the last 10 years. There he is in the background with his pint of bitter, laughing away, talking about his love for Maxine/Clure/Uncle or Daddy Fred. That was his whole Corrie career but he was loved and I shall mourn the squeaky bastard forever.

Don’t worry though for Rita Sullivan is alive! She also won line of the night for ‘What is it with me and trams’. I half-expected Alan Bradley to be the driver of the doomed vehicle. I mean when he got ‘run over’ it was more like he fell into the side of it- hardly a fatal wound. What would be a better storyline than a scarred Bradley seeking his revenge by driving an even bigger tram into the Kabin? Laughing maniacally over Rita before burying her under ten tons of unsold gobstoppers. 

The third death was John Stape’s (or Colin’s) pseudo-partner who, in a quite hilarious scene, was found to be alive as Johnny was dumping her in the wreckage of the tram. Luckily for Stape, she won’t regain consciousness. Has he truly escaped though? Surely an autopsy is going to find a gigantic hammer wound in her neck? Or am I looking into this too much.

A special mention to Becky and Steve who I’ve neglected so far. I love them both and I can’t have been the only one willing Becky to clean Dev’s corner shop dry of money so she can buy Max from her godawful sister. Hopefully it’ll all work out for this brilliant couple but, this being Corrie, I highly doubt it.

So we have three deaths so far and one wedding with Peter Barlow’s wonderfully melodramatic vows with Leanne. I’m gonna tip him to be death number 4. Or will Sinita suddenly die from an embolism? or will Fizz and Stape’s baby Hope not make it? Corrie has you gripped for another week. 

Still nobody confirmed dead. Not even the unfortunate tram driver who fell off the viaduct into the corner shop. As Norris so passionately said ‘How did he survive that?’. Sinita was dragged away by helpful Irishman Kieran and appears to be still alive despite Dev’s ever-lengthening pleas to ‘staaaaay…awaaaake..baaaabyyyyy’. Cue her death and Alahan going into a guilt-ridden drug hell. Eileen didn’t run into the fire to help jarhead Jason as the fire service managed to get there in time to save him and Simon from the fiery furnace of Clure’s house.  Jason faced a far more frightening fate when he was hugged and kissed by an over-emotional Deirdre Barlow. Men have died from less.

The plot is grimmer for Molly and Ashley. Molly and baby Jack have been found by Mike Barnes from Hollyoaks. I wonder where he had disappeared too. Clearly when one of your daughters has had two kids by the age of 19 and another has been splaterred in a skydiving murder then joining the Greater Manchester Fire Service is a logical step. He reassured Molly that she was in no danger in that charming Barnesy way but any hardcore viewer of Hollyoaks knows that lingering look of fear in his eyes. Translation- Molly is toast. 

Ashley looks like he’s going to die a hero. Holding up the masonry with his back of steel, coughing up blood whilst Nick drags Peter Barlow to the glimmer of salvation shining through the wreckage of the Joinery. Before giving up and letting the whole thing fall on top of him. What will Clure do now? 

It’s worth mentioning that Rita is still under the rubble. Norris helpfully told chief fireman that she was out and that the fact she wasn’t answering her phone was because she was still nattering away with her friend rather than the fact that she was stuck under a ton of brick. They can’t kill Rita. Surely this is a chance for Lloyd to do something decent and sacrifice himself like Ashley?

Or maybe John Stape who appears to be looking more nervous than usual. Maybe the fact he’s left the front door of his house open and anyone walking in will find a woman with a rather nasty hammer wound to the neck is preying on his mind. Who knows? All I know is that Fizz probably won’t live, but the baby will, leaving John with a premature infant and the taste of murder on his lips. Hillman mark 2? 

A final note to the Corrie makers- why are Sean and Gail still alive? 

If, like me, you were watching Coronation Street this week for the first time in about two years you were probably baffled by the fact that nothing much has changed. I mean, miss a week of EastEnders and you’ve missed about 15 years but in Corrie the same old schizz prevails. Dev is still smoothing over Sinitta by making every..wooord..reeeally…sloooow. Gail appears to still have the same dysfunctional family issues as ever including keeping in check resident psycho David (somehow not in jail). Eileen is still talking about the man she will one day maul. Kevin has just ended another affair. Jason is still thick as shit and in another ‘deep and meaningful’ relationship (with Rosie Webster). Tina is still fit. Ken is still boring. In fact the only elements that have changed in anyway appear to be Deirdre’s ever-lengthening neck, the physical manifestation and personality of Nick Tyldsley, a couple of lesbians, a trendy new wine bar and the regrettable absences of the Duckworths and Blanche. Otherwise life is the same as ever. 

You can take that as criticism or praise. I don’t really care. I’m only watching to see a tram fall off a viaduct. And fall mightily it did. A devastating explosion tearing through the tracks and causing said tram to thunder off the viaduct into the corner shop and onto a host of our favourite characters. Don’t worry no one is confirmed dead yet though it’s becoming a bit obvious as to who will be involved in the ‘four funerals’ of the tagline. Sinita is done for. If she wasn’t dead before the bricks fell on her then Dev’s inappropriately flirtatious plea to hang on to life did the job. I suspect Molly will die because she’s leaving but the baby won’t because this is a British soap. I can foresee Eileen running into the flames to save Jason whilst her dimwitted son simply goes out the backdoor leaving Miss Grimshaw to a pointless and fiery death. It wouldn’t be farfetched to suggest that Ashley will die, probably trying to save Peter and Nick before 100 years of masonry falls on top of him (I hope his dying word is ‘Cluurre!). Rita won’t- that would be unforgivable- but maybe Lloyd will in a heroic and selfless rescue attempt to save the old girl from being crushed by all that stock they never seem to sell in the Kabin. 

Unfortunately John Stape will survive because that’s what he does. This man is more annoying than any entity in world soap. He’s a drippy unlikeable git and I look forward to the day that someone puts a spade through his head. Is it too late to resurrect Hillman? 

This is an idea stolen off of Chuck Klosterman so forgive me Chuck but, you know, I’m shameless.

I’m watching an hour a day of random music channels for no other reason than my own entertainment. Tonight I have chosen MTV Classic and it’s Def Leppard’s 50 Greatest Rock Songs which promises a lot of hair, pyro and one armed drummers. Away we go…

10.40 We have Kiss’ Crazy Crazy Nights. This is unmasked Kiss when they were sort of credible but awful. Some would even argue that a Kiss lineup without Ace Frehley and Peter Criss isn’t even really Kiss but we’ll save that debate for later. I mainly remember this video for the fact that Gene Simmons looks more terrifying without makeup than with it. There is far too much tongue wagging going on and he has a strange desire to stare intensely into the camera whilst doing some kind of gymnastic move with his bass. This horrifying image is only rivalled by Paul Stanley’s ridiculous chest hair. Great song though, probably better than God Gave Rock N Roll To You (controversial opinion klaxon).

10.48 (after ad break) It’s David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust. It’s the live version so it doesn’t sound as good as the original. This is actually one of my favourite Bowie songs (rivalled by Life On Mars, John I’m Only Dancing and Sound & Vision amongst others). The line ‘And where were the Spiders’ always freaked me out slightly since I’m a arachnophobe but the rest of the song is pretty tight. It also reminds me what an underrated guitarist Mick Ronson was. He played some truly incredible stuff but he was always in Bowie’s shadow unfortunately. That was over pretty quickly so we’re onto…

10.52 Billy Idol’s White Wedding. I don’t know why the Leppard decided this was better than Bowie. As much as I admire Billy Idol (especially in the Wedding Singer) I wouldn’t put him anywhere near David Bowie. This is a bit of a classic though the riff will now always make me think of Muse’ Uprising (shameless stealing by Bellamy). I can imagine this sounded good in a club in the mid 80s. He’s got all the right ingredients; steady bass, economic but powerful use of the guitar and shouty choruses. I wonder what happened to Idol? I can imagine he looks exactly the same just a bit more granite-like.

10.55 Hang on, cover your ears! It’s Pink Floyd’s Money. Now I think I’m on the record as saying I don’t get Pink Floyd post-Syd Barrett. I actually despise Roger Waters and pretty much everything he ever recorded. I’m sure everyone will tell me this is a wonderfully poetic rejection of consumerist society but all I hear is a dull bass line, some dodgy organs, a pseudo-ska beat and the worst saxophone solo in history.  It’s basically everything punk was supposed to hate. And yet this is still lauded as one of the great moments in rock history. I conclude from this that, ultimately, punk failed. 

11.00 With that over it’s now time for something a bit more exciting with a live version of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid. This is early Sabbath so Ozzy is looking his usual intoxicated self but the virtues of youth are making him seem ever so slightly dangerous in a schizo will-he-stab-me sorta way. Next to him Tony Iommi is powerchording his way to Satan and behind him Bill Ward is looking like a mad druid. This is the kind of heavy metal I like. It’s simple, slightly mental but, at the end of the day, quite ridiculous. No one can deny that Paranoid is one of the greatest songs ever written though. 

11.04 Ah Joan Jett! I like Joan Jett. Sadly it’s I Love Rock N Roll and not I Hate Myself For Loving You. Whenever I hear this song all I think about is Britney Spears. The video is livened up slightly by the clips of Wayne’s World 2 which are seamlessly thrown into it (The song was re-released for the soundtrack). If anywhere is interested in more Joan Jett, I recommend The Runaways solitary album. You’ve probably heard of the film, which I haven’t seen, but I have heard their album and that is pretty damn good in an American bar room brawl sorta way. Or you could just download I Hate Myself For Loving You. Which should be playing instead. I’m over it.

11.07 The Jam! Going Underground! This is a true classic. I love Paul Weller more than most of my relatives. Some find him annoying, dull and miserable but I think he’s one of the greatest songwriters this country has ever produced, a musical genius if you will. The Jam were one of the best bands of the late 70s/early 80s. They made an untouchable series of albums between 1978’s All Mod Cons and 1982’s The Gift. Classic songs abounded and Going Underground was one of their best. I could continue the superlatives all night but I’ll stop. It’s an oddly memorable video punctuated with lots of ‘ohs’ and featuring Weller wearing a poorly judged scarf before culminating in an nuclear explosion. Yeah! ‘Fuck Thatcher!’ or something similar. 

11.15 ZZ Top’s Gimme All Your Lovin is next. ZZ Top are one of those bands whose popularity is a bit of a mystery to me. I guess you had to be there. I mean sure they had catchy songs, some nice little riffs and beards but they’re really no different to most other run of the mill country rock bands. Nice car though, ‘The Eliminator’. I don’t remember this video. I remember Legs with the furry guitars but not this one. Ah the ZZ Top sign! I do remember that. Interestingly I heard they wanted to be the first band into space. I’m guessing it’ll never happen since they have a combined age of about 60,000 years old. Dreams die hard.

11.20 Wild Thing by The Troggs is next. I don’t really have anything to say other than that the Jimi Hendrix version is far better. This is probably the most famous thing The Troggs ever did, apart from make that studio tape where they got into a giant fight. The video is one of those typical 60s affairs; in a railway station with an oddly captivated audience and lots of close-ups of angry lead singer with his smiling band in the background. The guitar player, whoever he is, looks like George Best. They’ve been cut off for an ad break. Next….

11.28 Possibly the most average rock song ever written- it’s All Right Now by Free. I’m sure this was once a great track but I’ve heard it so many times now I’m bored of it. It’s like Boys Are Back In Town or Born To Be Wild, it’s become so generic as to become unexciting. This is a live version though which at least adds a bit of variety even if it does make the studio version sound a million times better. Another problem with Free is that their lead singer is Paul Rogers who went on to do that godawful Queen reunion. So, with regret (as Sir Alan would say), it’s a thumbs down for Free.

11.33 Oh god its 80s Iggy Pop which is never a good thing. He’s a Real Wild Child apparently. It’s like he came off drugs and went shit. Thinking about it has Iggy Pop recorded anything good since those hedonistic late 70s (not counting The Stooges)? This is a like a Top Of The Pops video; all bright lights and mimed instruments. Whoever told Iggy that the black hair was a good idea deserves shooting. In fact the Leppard deserve some kind of retribution for deciding this was Iggy’s greatest moment. Could they not have chose something by The Stooges or, at least, Lust For Life with that wonderful Trainspotting video? Amateurs. 

11.37 This will be the last track and suitably it’s AC/DC’s Highway To Hell. This is a stone cold classic. AC/DC are a very simple rock band; repeated chords, straight forward drums and screechy singer all turned up to 11. They’re like the throwaway party pop band; you don’t expect intellectual argument or an opus of poetry, you want tales of crazed women and alcoholic excess. I’m learning that this is a great track for head banging. The steady beat is working wonders. This is Bon Scott-era AC/DC before he drank himself to death after a night out in Camden (very easy to do). Funnily enough, they managed to replace him with Geordie Brian Johnston who managed to sound exactly like the aforementioned Mr Scott. Take note Queen. 

And that as they say is that. I don’t know whether it has a point but I am watching music television for the first time in ages. So progress of sorts. Next time..MTV Base.