For the past ten years at least William Roache's job has mainly involved sitting in a cosy chair reading history books, passively inhaling clouds of Deirdre's Superking smoke and occasionally harrumphing in disapproval at Blanche's latest antics.

Basically he's been phoning it in for years and has been about as exciting as Jenny Bristow guest presenting School Around the Corner. I mean I could do that, Aerial View has plenty of experience of loafing around in armchairs reading while being harangued by elderly relatives (if any of you are reading, it's not you) and would be prepared to do it for half of whatever Will is raking in.

However, the writers have obviously had enough of having him make the Granada set look untidy and have given him a truly impossible task, mediating in the current Becky – Roy hostilities.

How about a slightly easier job first, like curing world hunger, asking Osama Bin Laden awfully nicely if he'd mind leaving the West alone or even discovering the reason for Vernon's continuing existence.

But no, it's straight in at the deep end down at Roy's Rolls, buttering stale slices of Bettabuys economy bread and wearing Hayley's old apron all the while trying to smooth over the most titanic split since Jesus passed Judas over for promotion (that Peter always was a company man).

The roots of the Roy – Becky conflict are rooted in her drunken fumble with Weatherfield's most inexplicably irresistible man Steve McDonald.
Roy being a man of his own unimpeachable moral code quite reasonably took exception to her both cheating on her gormless, charmless boyfriend and then taking a part-time job in Steve's pub quite apart from the heinous crime of putting a blue handled bread knife in among the other bread knives.

Matters broke down seemingly irrevocably as Roy compared Weatherfield's foremost femme fetale's morals to those of a stray cat before Becky pointed out the painfully obvious by telling Roy that he was 'weird' and that everyone laughs at him behind his back.

It was a bit like describing Peggy Mitchell as irritating or suggesting that Frank Mitchell should be banished from UTV screens forever. They have lately taken to acting like a separated couple who can't bring themselves to accept the obvious, that they can't live without each other, while Jason broods in the background like a young Marlon Brando who can't remember what day of the week it is.

It's time for Ken to step up and broker a peace deal before he can go back to what he does best – being mildly irritated by Blanche and Deirdre. Elsewhere in Weatherfield evil Tony donned his metaphorical twirly moustache, hat and cape and prepared to extend his massive business empire. What would he do?

Oil is pretty expensive these days, you seem to be able to buy a bank for pocket change at the moment, while biodiesel is meant to be a pretty shrewd investment (yes, I've discovered Bloomberg). What does our smooth talking, Scottish villain choose? Hostile takeovers of The Kabin and Kev's garage, even though Norris appears to come along with the fixtures and fittings.

Rita dreaming of more cruises and a life supply of Gn'Ts gladly accepted while Kev was a little more suspicious, realising that if he sold up it might mean spending time with his lovely wife Sally, a woman slightly more irritating than dermatitis.

Why stop there, what with Dev's seven shops, Audrey's hair 'salon', Ashley and his Butcher's Shop with no customers? It's almost as if the credit crunch never happened.

Elsewhere last week, Channel 4 rounded off their Disarming Britain week with the brilliantly thought provoking Fall Out on Thursday night. Roy William's (BBC's Babyfather) hard hitting drama centres on a South London housing estate after a promising young schoolkid is murdered over a seemingly minor incident.

The cast is headed by detective Joe (the superior Lennie James, if you don't know the face you can't have watched quality TV in the last ten years) sent back to the estate he grew up on to solve the case.

With some jaw-dropping performances the film explores the hopelessness and dislocated lives lived by kids who can't escape or find a reason to escape from an existence of violence and petty crime completely alienated from mainstream British society.

It was breathtaking how it approached it's subject and should be required viewing for new London Mayor Boris Johnson and any of his team who haven't resigned yet.

This week don't miss the next episode of crime fighting serial killer Dexter season 2 as the net tightens around him on FX (Sunday 10pm), geek out with Chris Addison's (The Thick of It) new sitcom Lab Rats on Thursday night at 9.30 (BBC2) and check out how karma is treating Earl Hickey on Friday night at 10.45 pm on Channel 4 in My Name is Earl.

This week's film choice is Oliver Stone's flawed yet stunning masterpiece Any Given Sunday. (TV3 Saturday 11pm).

Starring Al Pacino as a washed up American Football coach and Cameron Diaz as a rich kid out of her depth as the team's CEO, it may be longer than Britney Spear's first marriage and with great swathes of the film incomprehensible to non-Americans, but I defy you to not be literally sweating with inspiration after Pacino's half time 'inches' speech which has soundtracked many a junior reserve GAA team's dressing room since it's release.

So join us next time for more reviews, previews and utterly unconstructive criticism.