An Historic Moment
It would be pointless to try to downplay it.
The words 'historic' and 'landmark' are unavoidable.
It's something many of us thought we would never see.
The judge in last night's Coronation Street trial was black.
So too were a solicitor and a court official but they could be dismissed as long-established tokenism.
The last judge we saw in Corrie was played by Ken Barlow's real-life wife, which might be considered traditional nepotism. But this one was black with a small beard.
He might even have been Muslim. Indeed, since the defendant John Stape is slightly deranged, I thought that, in a bizarre plot twist, he might have converted to Islam in jail and opted for a Sharia Court.
However, in a Sharia court it would probably have been John's victim, Rosie Webster, who was in the dock for persistently wearing skirts that those more vulgar than me describe as 'pussy pelmets.' And with any luck she'd have been stoned to death. (The first stone, or cobble, being thrown by Blanche who would then settle down to watch the rest of the proceedings whilst knitting a cardigan for Ken).
Over on Channel 4, Heston Blumenthal set about reviving the fortunes of the Little Chef chain. It seemed an appropriate task for someone whose parents named him after a motorway service station - Heston Services on the M4.
(I wrote that joke and then discovered this was true, according to Blumenthal himself. Unless he himself was joking. We'll probably never know. Have any other parents done this? Are there people walking around called Leigh Delamere, Watford Gap or Scotch Corner?)
Anyway, crazy name, crazy guy.
No, literally. Blumenthal is completely bonkers. But he's achieved great fame and presumably wealth by creating publicity-generating dishes like snail porridge and egg and bacon ice cream.
Personally, I'd rather eat an unreconstructed Little Chef breakfast than any of Blumenthal's idiotic, poncy creations.
His Tasting Menu at The Fat Duck includes a seafood course where customers are served a sea shell with an iPod inside it playing sounds of the sea. As any child knows, you can hear the sound of the sea if you put a shell to your ear. You don't need to put a fucking iPod inside the shell.
Blumenthal told us that several customers had literally wept while undergoing the sea shell experience.
Well yes. I think I might weep too if I'd paid £122 for the Tasting Menu (plus up to £165 per person for a selection of wines by the glass) and found myself sitting there like a twat with headphones plugged into an old sea shell.
I think I'd rather take my own iPod along to a Little Chef and feast on their famous microwaved scrambled eggs.
Wearing a shell suit.
And shelling out less than a tenner.