Luckily, another crumpled Saga Lout has arrived on the scene in the form of Jack Edwards. He's already outdone himself by shagging Peggy - which by EastEnders law means that Pat's got to have a go at him at some point. Helpfully, the Pegster is unwittingly shoving the two of them closer together by displaying some quite astonishingly eighteenth century opinions regarding Jack's grand-daughter who has Down's, whereas Pat is ridden with understanding about the whole issue and has pleasingly started to weave her web of sin by making Jack cups of tea and whipping out the Suggestive Eyebrows. Excellent.
I love how EastEnders scriptwriters cannot write a crime storyline to save their lives, but when faced with a randy pensioner to muck about with they come into a league of their own. It only seems days since Pat was being, quite literally, all fur coat and no knickers with Patrick "let's have a naaaaaace half o' rum!" Trueman. And who could forget Frank Butcher rolling up on her doorstep wearing nothing but a toothy grin and a whirling bow tie. Brilliant.
All hail to P-Butch, then. Besides, who could not fancy her?
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