The last time the viaduct shed its load, Ena Sharples was found prone under the rubble. Fortunately, her trademark hairnet held its own. I only hope the same can be said for Rita in the Kabin, her bronze barnet showered with cola cubes and wreckage after being blasted to the floor in the most spectacular stunt ever seen in a British soap. A fall can be dangerous at Rita's time of life but being pebble dashed by plaster and acid drops could prove a real gobstopper.
Just moments earlier, clutching Kevin's love child, Molly fled the marital home leaving Tyrone's life as shredded as her nerves: "Baby Jack's not mine, the baby's not mine, Sal," he sobbed. Little does Sally know the problem lay much closer to home than she could possibly realise. At the end of the Street, Molly sheltered in the corner shop and called Kevin. The pair shared a final swansong: "He's crushed," said Molly of Tyrone. And he wouldn't be the only one by the end of the night.
Elsewhere, toddler Max was missing with Becky and Steve in hot pursuit. All roads usually lead to the Kabin for the errant nipper with a sweet tooth. Tonight, sadly, it could be death by chocolate for the little lad.
Meanwhile, John and Charlotte were having a night in with their guilty consciences. It wasn't a pretty sight and was of little comfort for Charlotte, a woman who couldn't be more on edge if she herself was teetering off the viaduct. She decided enough was enough and made a break to confess all to Fiz. Charlotte should know better than to turn her back on a man with such form. The hysterical harridan ended up more hammered than the wenches at Leanne's hen do at the Rovers. Game over, thought John, looking at the blood on his hands. He slowly started to dial 999 but before he could hit the third digit, an explosion tore through the Joinery underneath the viaduct blasting the rutting stags at Peter's party to smithereens. Could this be his salvation?
Staggering from The Rovers, the revellers looked on in horror as the Joinery - and their menfolk - burned. But worse was yet to come. Molly emerged shell shocked from the corner shop just as a tram hurtled off it's rails from the shattered arches above. Run she might, but I fear it will take more than a wall of tinned luncheon meat to protect the young home wrecker.
Tram, Spam, thank you Mam! That'll teach you.