Jim's Streets ahead in the bad guy's league table

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He's rough, he's tough and he's got the best accent on C-wing.

Yep, Jim McDonald is back on the cobbles and I couldn't be happier, to be sure.

But wait. He's not Jim anymore. Oh no. He's The Landlord.

Just when we thought he couldn't get any bigger, any badder, any more manly, he goes and drops of belter of a nickname, so he does.

So The Landlord - ie, he who possesses la booze - is now shacked up with shaky, stumbly, drunky Peter Barlow in Weatherfield nick. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, by the look in Jimmy Boy's mischievous baby blues, quite a lot. For Peter anyways. Old McDonald will remain as cool and collected as ever: just shooting the breeze in his double denim, barely a hair of that silver mullet out of place.

Jim is exactly what Corrie needs right now: a stonking, stone-cold villain.

Your Emilys, Norrises and Kirks are all well and good, but nothing sets the cat among Jack's pigeons quite like a baddie.


And to me, soap badasses are the best. Nasty Nick Cotton, Kim Tate, Tommy Duckworth, Janine Butcher, JR Ewing, Richard Hillman and, of course, Dirty Den (before the infamous finger-sucking pic. Shudder): they all set the screen alight with their camp-as-Christmas evilness. They're also a bostin distraction to our slightly more mundane lives of motorways, meetings and Morrisons.

And Jim McDonald's up there with the best of them. He's slept with his son's girlfriend, beaten several dudes to a pulp, escaped from prison and committed armed robbery. When it comes to Grade-A villains, he's top of the class.

I just hope he stays with us for a long as possible. The Landlord has earned his place to have his name above the door, so he has.

Bake Off: Best bites


There was an awful moment there when I thought Norman was for the chop.

Norman and his sweet, simple biscuits apparently just aren't enough in these razzmatazz days of baking. Pah! Black olives and chilli cheese will come and go but lard is forever. Fools.

But no, thankfully the Bake Off gods were smiling, and Norman made it through, with poor old Enwezor getting the chop instead.

Well, the man didn't make his own fondant, what did he expect? I've never seen Mary more disgusted.

Enwezor was a good egg but, when compared to the God-like genius of Nancy, Richard and Martha, he didn't stand a chance.

Quite rightly, Richard was crowned Star Baker after creating a 3D biscuit scene more impressive and structurally-sound than the actual flat I live in.

I love him. But not as much as I love Chetna, who is so stylish, elegant and cool I could weep. She also has the best hair ever. Forget The Rachel, it's all about The Chetna from now on.

It's bread week next week. Jordan better go. He has to go. He's the soggy bottom of the bunch, the stale biscuit in the tin. Enough.

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