Art isn’t life, whereas soap opera always somehow feels as though it is

I fear it must attest to the essential morbidity of this column that almost the only time I refer to Coronation Street is when someone dies on it. Last time it was the fragile Alma, who departed in a becomingly confused state listening to Perry Como. We should all shuffle off as peacefully, though I’ve chosen Richard Tauber singing “Goodnight Vienna”. If I make it through that I want the same singer singing “Dein ist mein ganzes Herz” to Marlene Dietrich, and if I’m still alive then, it’s obviously going to be a long night and I’ll need the St Matthew Passion. In this instance, the death on the Street hasn’t happened yet but, barring divine intervention, will have before you are able, reader, to send flowers.