Shut it, you tart

As predicted by my mooing colleague, Over the Moon, Eastenders has reached new heights over the last week.

Until this point, it's gone through an excessively boring streak (Alfie trying to chose between Kat and Little Mo is NOT a true Eastenders storyline. Trying to choose between Kat and Big Mo, now that I would watch!). But suddenly, the pace picked up as Sam "with snot running down her face looking like something the dog's puked up" went well and truly bonkers, accused Charlie of trying to grope her, gave Tracy a bloody nose (that actress must have been delighted - she's waited years for a scene like that) and then dug up Den's body with flawless timing to co-incide with Sharon and Dennis's return from their wedding.

Eastenders is rubbish when it tries to portray real life. But melodrama is when it really starts to shine. Dot, Little Mo, Den and the Mitchell Brothers are clearly all refugees from a Dickens novel. We're only one step away from Lucy Beale declaring "God bless Us! Every one" or Pauline Fowler shooing donkeys off the alotment. And there's certainly an Oscar Wilde quote in there somewhere that only someone with a heart of stone could not have laughed when Jamie Mitchell died.

I hope the melodrama continues for a while yet. If there isn't a suicide, murder or Chrissie laughing demonically at a burning Vic by Christmas, I'm switching off.