Television hit an unprecedented high point earlier this week when Martine McCutcheon was killed by a cheese in Midsomer Murders.
There was a nice symmetry to this with regards to her career, as it’s exactly what it felt like when we had to listen to her singing.
Anyway, it’s certainly a much better death than the one she got in EastEnders, as Tiffany, when she bounced off Frank’s car and ended up dying in the rain while Ross Kemp did his ‘sad’ face.
It’s a new exit benchmark and other actors must now demand an impressive departure.
Let’s start with the soaps. Eileen Derbyshire must be sick of playing Emily Bishop in Corrie, but apparently the character she cannot be killed by conventional means, which is just as well otherwise all the parents on the street would be left without a 24/7 babysitter and several plotlines would have to be rapidly re-written to accommodate the social lives of many residents.
Sophie Webster, played by Brooke Vincent, is at risk of an asphyxiating death due to her own self absorption (eg, to the woman she professes to love: ‘Okay, so you career’s down the pan, but how about it, then?).
The dim-witted Eva (Catherine Tyldesley) risks a similarly suffocating death if the gravity-defying battle between her hair and her décolletage continues, as each searches for a supremacy of implausible noticeability. Her head is bound to get caught in the crossfire soon.
Heading down south, perhaps Alfie Moon, after the latest unbearably loud shirt causes him two burst eardrums, will step in the way of an oncoming juggernaut, oblivious to the sounding horn. And then Shane Ritche could go back to singing and really kill off his career.
Moving away from soaps (well, kind of), let’s turn our attention to the indestructible heroine of Hunted – even the BBC haven’t been able to kill off Melissa George’s character Sam Hunter, who fought off countless attempted killings with just a pout and the occasional high kick.
An ironic send off would come when she forgets to take off one chunky-knit jumper before the next and crashes through some dodgy floorboards as a result of the excessive sweater weight. And all this still with barely a hair out of place.
Elsewhere, how about a battle to the death between the eponymous characters from Miranda and Mrs Brown’s Boys to establish once and for all who is the least funny?
It could be one contest where many are happy to see a dead heat.
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