Tara Ward brings you her rankings for Shortland Street last week, including the arrival of Sass, sad bears, and everyone’s favourite, Damo.
1) Leanne is a sweet scented, demented Jezebel
The 100% pure romance of Leanne and Howard’s love affair pierced my cold dead heart like a pungent sprig of rosemary through a freshly butchered piece of lamb loin, as Ferndale’s answer to Charles and Camilla tripped down the IV stairs and into each other’s hearts for all eternity.
“She wooed me, then screwed me, but, what the hell.” Jezebel is right up there with Thunderstruck and Nothing Compares 2 U as perfect songs to walk down the aisle to, and the ideal note for Leanne to leave Ferndale on. Shortland Street will be a giant black cloud of toxic mould without Leanne, but she can’t just sit around forever, waiting to pick Pele up from daycare. Or can she? Hard to know, but if someone could collect him ASAP, that’d be great.
2) These bears
Saddest children’s party, ever.
3) Sass’ arrival creates more questions than answers
The wild seeds of Chris Warner’s gritty oats continued to break through the trans-Tasman topsoil. Sass – the second of Carrie Burton’s triplets – arrived from Australia and left a trail of sticky destruction behind her when she slept with TK, pinched Leanne’s job and cut staff overtime, all within three seconds of clearing Customs.
Love your work, Sass, because your ridiculous name distracts from the burning questions that gnaw away at me day and night, creating a Ferndale-sized ulcer where my stomach lining should be. How many more children are yet to emerge from the Chris Warner closet of failed marriages and donated sperm? Is the endless stream of blonde baby Warners to blame for New Zealand’s rise in immigration, the Auckland housing crisis, and the legendary avocado shortage of 2015/16? Holy guacamole, I think we’re on to something.
4) Curtis is the Wedding Singer
Wide collars and fairy lights never looked so good.
5) Mo performs the most dangerous stunt ever seen on Shortland Street
It was a week of wrecked dreams and broken legs for Mo, thanks to a big rubbery bag of hot air. Leanne’s rogue bouncy castle belly-flop sent Mo hurtling into the atmosphere, legs akimbo as he twisted and turned in a nightmarish whirlwind of recycled air and rubber turrets.
Mo’s life lay in as many broken pieces as his fibula. He writhed in agony amid a sea of fake daffodils, which taunted him with their straight stems and pert yellow petals. Nature is a bitch, Mo, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Stay inside. Stay safe.
6) Rachel’s back from rehab
And she’s pissed off that someone chucked two teddy bears in a car park and called it a party. We feel your pain, Rach.
7) Damo, for whatever the hell he was doing here
You be you, Damo. You be you.