In that pre-Christmas TV lull, between the end of the big Autumn dramas and the beginning of the festive schedules, the programme guides are a wasteland of nonsense, but this week a little gem of documentary really stood out.
It seems a bit pointless writing this column this week, as nothing I could write could get within several miles of the TV reviews of Clive James, who died last week.
Pleasing it was to report this week that there has been only one accusation of racist behaviour against a single Wigan Athletic fan in the last two seasons.
Video killed the radio star, so the song goes. And live and recordable streaming is having a similarly detrimental effect on the digital versatile disc.
So we tend to think of ourselves as a bit more resilient up north (hard), what with us all travelling on terrible Pacer trains, eating gravy with everything and surviving, largely, without Pret a Manger every three metres.
In one way or another, it’s been quite the week for the Royals. First we had Prince Andrew’s toe-curling interview with the forensic Emily Maitlis, and then on Sunday, the third series of The Crown (Netflix, streaming now) arrived.
After spending 20 years dealing with finding facts for stories and reporting them a.k.a journalism, it may be that I have fallen victim to my sceptical leanings in every area of my life.
In a week when the bravery of those in the First World War is especially remembered, I remember this unremarkable man who survived the Second World War.
