So mad Masood’s finally going. After crashing through the credibility barrier many years ago, the problem plagued postie is taking his kid to a third world country “for a better life”. Good luck with that.

In fairness to the pub-loving Muslim, anywhere is better than Albert Square’s seething cesspit of semi-human horror. Especially now that appalling thug Phil Mitchell is back in town. They get our hopes up… and then he doesn’t die. Damn.

As ever, there’s virtually nothing going on in Walford’s depressing vale of tears. Convicted paedophile Jay lost his job as the undertaker’s apprentice after furious funeral director Billy Mitchell caught him dealing drugs. “You’re fired!” he snarled. The search for Lord Mitchell’s business partner continues.

Once a decent character, Jay was ruined by the underage sex saga that will always undermine him. This is what the EastEnders script writers do. Take someone vaguely interesting, stick them in a stupefying storyline and turn them into eternal bores. Like Stacey, formerly a feisty young woman who took no nonsense. Then they made her bipolar and she became a total drag droning on about her “meds”.

But the worst victim of this strange syndrome is Lee Carter, who used to be a scary soldier with a violent temper. His extreme methods left a lot to be desired, but no one messed with this angry alpha male.

Then, with a dreary inevitability, they lumbered him with depression. Now Lee is a simpering cry-baby too frightened to tell his thick-as-a-brick wife Whitney the truth. She thinks her palpably dim husband’s a City high-flyer earning a fortune. In fact, he’s a call centre lackey hardly making a penny. First rule of Soapland… all men are useless.

When Cockney caricature Mick Carter’s eldest son first entered the fray he was a bully. Now he’s a bullying victim. Down at the call centre, a place of commerce that the publicly-funded BBC clearly doesn’t approve of, they’re picking on Lee for no apparent reason. And instead of doing something about it, he’s cowering at his desk. He was much better telly in the good old days when he'd have sorted his tormentors out with a serious kicking.

Meanwhile, back at the Vic, the clock is ticking. Countdown to the explosive moment when even Whitney and the equally moronic Linda realise that Lee’s a lying loser who can’t afford the deposit on the flat that Jack has so kindly offered them for mates’ rates.

To give Lee his due, he has at least broken the geographic mould by getting a job that isn’t within 15 yards of where he lives. None of the other agoraphobic locals have ever done such a thing. Like eating in, watching television or buying a washing machine, commuting is an alien concept to them. Sadly, Lee’s daringly long-distance career isn’t going to last.

Anyway, that dreaded day December 25 is looming so stand by for all the ludicrously optimistic idiots saying “This is going to be a fabulous Christmas” followed by the traditional series of seasonal catastrophes. Thank Christ it only comes but once a year.