Mooching back through Manchester last night, heard some hooting and hollering. Feeling a bit pissed off as I was not in the mood for nutter-dodging, I looked around to plot an escape route and spotted the filming vans. Being nosy, and hoping to get a view of something interesting like a news story, I carried on.
Could only spot a taxi, so I asked one of the bored crew members what was happening. Instantly he went into 'Tell you and I'll have to kill you' mode. Apparently it was a Corrie scene and ultra-secret.
Yeah, right, filming in a road off Princess Street, opposite Canal Street and next to the entrance for a Novotel. Sooo private and exclusive.
I glanced back and noticed some of the Usual Suspects from the cast. You know, Thingy and Wotsit and Doo-dah and Him-you-can-never-remember-but-he-always-turns-up-at-awards-night. And believe me, it was not the wardrobe department's finest hour.
I didn't have the heart to tell the crew member he was wasting his time - I had no intention of stopping. I enjoy watching soaps - when I don't have anything else to do. They are nice daft viewing treats, but I don't schedule my life round them. And the industry from the crap magazines creating the spoilers, that just makes me sad. You know the headlines "Does he live??" "Is she pregnant??", when surely "Is HE pregnant?" would be more interesting as a plot. And "Should she live??" opens a whole new can of worms for the writing team.
FYI, Wotsit looks quite tall on telly, but is a right little short-arse in real life.
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