Monday. UK. What we have here is a nation in mourning as one of soapland's finest sadly shuffles off this mortal coil, assisted in his passage through to the hereafter by our Vera.
The nation has loved Jack for thirty years - we've laughed with him, laughed at him, he's been like the kindly uncle we never really met, but felt that we knew intimately.
Jack - the epitome of common sense, Jack the lad, Jack who always moaned about the wife but who played out one of the most touching scenes in televisual history when he returned home to find Vera dead.
Jack, the loveable rogue who broke down when he realised it was game over for Vera. Jack, who when faced with the earth shattering revelation that Tyrone isn't the father of baby Jack, found himself in an intolerable situation.
Because of that bastard Kevin Webster.
The nation will almost literally drown in tears as Vera's ghost tenderly kisses the pigeon fancier and escorts him to the other side. Even though he did once adopt the alter ego of lothario Vince St Clair.
Aahhh goodbye Jack. We loved you, and we'll miss you.
Of course, Jack isn't really dead. Neither is Vera. They're just actors who feel it's time to retire - Bill Tarmey and Liz Dawn. The street isn't real either, it's a set on the Granada lot in Quay Street, Manchester.
So, although Bill Tarmey and Liz Dawn are very much alive and kicking, Jack and Vera are no longer with us.
The nation wishes Bill and Liz a happy retirement, but fuck - we'll miss Jack and Vera.
There won't be any more on this one.
At least, we don't think so. But you never know.