All this Olympic nonsense is overshadowing the fact that Curiosity landed on Mars last night.

Still hooked on the former, though.

However, as it is not 900 degrees Celsius outside, I’m going to make myself go out and enjoy the outside, even if it seems the heat stroke recovery was impeded by summer allergies kicking in. I need a wire brush for the insides of my ears and possibly a spigot for my sinuses, please.

Or at least an antihistamine that works.

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In my mild delerium, I watched a big chunk of the ‘Coronation Street’ omnibus yesterday. It’s been about eight years since I watched on a regular basis, so I spent a lot of time looking up character names on Wikipedia to find out what happened since 2004 (or just to find out who the hell they were). Oddly, in many cases, it barely mattered at all.

Acting-wise, Malcolm Hebden (who plays Norris) is still one of my comedy heroes, the ‘new’ Nick is a much better actor than Adam Rickitt (not difficult – also, remember how hilarious it was when he was a pop star? and then a potential Tory politician?), and I’m super impressed by Charlie Condou, who brings actual gravitas to what can actually be the ridiculous show on television.

Speaking of which, many years on Maria still (or again?) lives in the flat above the salon (but has a kid? and is a widow? and was married to that guy from ‘Downton Abbey’?), Peter Barlow hasn’t died of being a malicious, violent bastard, and the Rovers is still owned by someone who lives in the Street. Given the state of pub life in the U.K. in the last twenty years, that last bit is probably the least plausible piece of televisual fiction ever perpetrated.

Gail wasn’t on the eps yesterday, but presumably got married and nearly bankrupted or killed again? Is David in jail yet for generally douchebaggery?  Who’s living in Jack and Vera’s old house? Inquiring minds want to know, yet I’m not sure yesterday convinced me that I want to dive back in to watching regularly.