New Year brought with it that most exotic and sought-after phenomenom, an hour-long episode of Eastenders. And not just any episode, but one yet more bilious and cankerous than usual, consigning nice guy Kev to the ground and the others to their eternal roundabouts of pain. As the credits rolled I hooted with glee at the revelation that two writers had collaborated to create it. I mean, come on, it took one Dickens to knock out several classics of English lit. and only one Dostoevsky to drop a little soap operatic novel called "Crime and Punishment"! To say nothing of William Shakespeare, now widely acknowledged as the Arthur Hailey of his generation. It all brings home how mediocre our arts have become - don't get me wrong, I live for the Square! - when two writers have to tackle an hour of miserable bilge and we put up with pictures of Tracey Emin taking a piss. (Taking the piss, more like.) So onward Eastenders, my proudest addiction, and if the day comes it takes a Council of Rome to write you, so be it!
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