Peter Barlow is falling back into his old habits (bigamy? - ed). Admittedly, being a recovering alcoholic is no walk in the park and is a constant work in progress. Even more challenging when you spend half your time in the Rovers watching the punters (like Janice) downing pitchers of Sangria.
Then, of course, there's Nick Tilsley (the n-word? - ed). His dastardly plan to get Peter to fall off the wagon consists mainly of putting alcohol in front of Peter at every opportunity. Let me illustrate with a few fictitious examples:
Peter: Oh hi Nick, mate, what brings you to the flat?
Nick: I just bought several barrels of Chablis at an auction and, well, I just don't have anywhere to store them right now. Mind if I keep them here in your living room for a few days?
Peter: Of course not. What are mates for?
Peter: Oh hi, Nick, mate, what brings you round again?
Nick: I just suddenly got interested in brewing me own beer and, well, I wondered if I could set up my equipment in your flat for a few days while I brew and bottle a few hundred pints...
Peter: Of course, help yourself. Don't mind me. What are mates for?
Peter: Oh hi Nick. You again?
Nick: Yeah. sorry to bother you again Peter, but there's brewery truck just overturned down by the viaduct and I thought we could drop by and sup up the spillage... if you think you're able to handle it.
Peter: Yeah, sure. No worries, mate. Wheel me over there.