For those of us subscribing to the "resistative pleasure" excuse for watching soap operas, tonight was the night, where the cracks in hegemony widened into the erasure of false conciousness in one of the streets oldest loafers. The night when Sally Webster's burgeoning aspirations to the petit-bourgeoise came tumbling down around her head at a prompt taste of her own medicine. A spawn of Blairite revisionism and upward mobility, Sally's exactly the sort of girl who'd vote in Cameron. She's been waging a perpetual class war against all on the street for the past 18 months,and as if pulling her daughter out of Weatherfield Comp, scabbing on the girls in the underwear factory and getting the family in debt wasn't bad enough she recently had the gumption to start pouring scorn on her daughter's new friends, a chavtastic teenage smoker called Nicola who's dad is a long lost black sheep in the Webster lineage.

Arriving over to their gaff to pour scorn on the parents for the wayward infleunce of their little Nicorette, lead to the uncovering a tale of rags to riches glory, when it emerged the lumpen wing of her family had pulled itself up through education to the position of a sociology lecturer. Told by her lost relative that their daughter was forbidden from young Sophie's company, the tables were turned and Sally's face hit the floor.

Distant Sociology Lecturing Relative: Since hanging around with your daughter, she's been speaking mooo...more broad...lets say more "aye, boy gum." We can no longer faciltate the furtering of that friendship.
Sally: WHA-EVER! (Said with all the ferocity of Lady S.OV.)
DSLR: Whatever? Now, I see where she gets it.
Sally: Everyone says it nows-a-days...look at you, you're all airs and graces and sounding your "h"s...
DSLR:...and your still a bleached blond harpie

After a nerve calming half gallon of alcohal in the Rover's, it was back to the kitchen sink drama of the 1950's with the Websters taking pride, once again in their humble roots and an end to Sally's desire to upper middle class tosh.

Sally: no one in this family will ever be posh, yer dads going to the chippy..
Kev: ...and when i get back, i spect every one to be sittin round da telly eatin' with their hands..
Sally: ..and pickled onions all round.

Labels: TV