A Song for Jenny Makes the 7/7 Anniversary a Dignified, Yet Emotional One

I spent most of the day at home with our small people yesterday, as happens from time to time. The morning was a hit-and-miss affair, boasting a trip to the garage which included my now-normal “hang on a minute, I think I’ve gone the wrong way” routine, and the eldest doing a temporary vanishing act in the middle of a bloody enormous park.

The afternoon went only slightly better, with a trip to the lake ending in me dragging the youngest kicking and screaming out of the water when he wouldn’t believe that at 19 months old, he really can’t swim in water deeper than he is tall.

Children do fucked-up things to you, as a parent. They can hurt you in ways you never believed possible, yet at the same time make you love them so much you think every vital organ in your body will burst.

In spite of my aforementioned struggles, I would happily walk through fire for my brood and would do anything, literally anything to keep them from harm.

So you can imagine the state A Song for Jenny left me in… This achingly sad, delicately drawn story was based on Julie Nicholson’s book, and detailed how her daughter Jenny was among the victims of the 7/7 bombings in London.

It began shortly before the dreadful day when terrorists attacked the capital, offering us a glimpse of a loving, close family headed by mum Julie. She then drove the narrative as she first clung to the notion her daughter had somehow survived, before hearing and eventually accepting the gut-wrenching truth – Jenny was among the dead of the Edgware Road tube station bombing.

Arguably one of the most distressing moments was when Julie was shown photographs of her daughter’s body in the carriage after the attack. We were spared them, seeing only Julie’s reaction, but as a mum, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to face that sort of horror.

It needed a strong, powerful actress to pull off this emotional and complex role and my god, did Emily Watson do it justice. She’s long been one of my very favourite performers, bringing a quiet intensity and integrity to everything she does. Here, she was quite simply magnificent.

It would have been easy for A Song for Jenny to dissolve into schmaltz and thankfully it didn’t – though it did come across as a little one-sided. I’m sure Jenny’s father was every bit as heartbroken as Julie, but he was little more than a bit-part player in this story.

That minor niggle aside, as many of us turn our thoughts to another sad anniversary (has it really been 10 years?) A Song for Jenny is a fitting tribute, and one that will stay with you for quite some time after.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and hug my children once more and just that little bit tighter…

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

A Song for Jenny

WHEN IS IT ON?

Sunday 5 July, 9pm

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

Emily Watson and Steven Mackintosh are arguably the biggest names, but this is no celebrity piece.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Anyone who has ever lost a child.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

People who think the answer to the world’s ills is violence.

Despite Being Made to Wait, It’s Finally Time to Say Goodbye to My Friends Strange and Norrell…

There are many things I wish for, every day. That my children and my husband are healthy and happy. That someone, somewhere, reads this and says “Wow! Give that girl a regular column!”, that my waist was just a foot smaller…

But inching its way to the top of this collection of wants and desires is this: I wish the BBC would stop making me wait for the next instalment of a great series.

Netflix, which allows me to gorge myself stupid on TV, has made me greedy – hence the waistline request. I don’t have the time or patience to hang around, even for something as exquisite as Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, which reaches is suitably grand finale this week.

So, I have a request for the BBC. Stop titting about with Top Gear and start giving us access to shows like this in their ENTIRETY.

For the past few weeks, I have perched, immobile and rapt, as Susanna Clark’s glorious tale unfolded around me. I gasped when Arabella was snatched by Marc Warren’s bouffant but deliciously wicked Faerie from under Jonathan’s nose.

My eyes were wide with horror as Strange, a gentle man if ever there was one, became an increasingly powerful wizard, demonstrating his ability to snuff out life during the war with France.

I wept as the sublime Eddie Marsan’s Mr Norrell saw his carefully constructed world – and his beloved books – crumble around him, as the reputation of English magic was forever tarnished.

All the while Childermass, Steven, Lady Pole and Vinculus had their parts to play in a fantasy drama that, like all the best books, once you’ve finished it, you just want to go back to the beginning and start again.

So I come to the final episode, and it feels like I’m losing a friend. There may even be tears when all’s said and done.

Everything is hanging in the balance, from Norrell’s standing as a magician to Strange’s delicate mental state. The two men must join forces and combine their skills to win back Lady Pole and Bella from the Castle of Lost Hope.

The last, tantalising episode leaves me with so many questions… will the Raven King put a spanner in the works? Will the Faerie defeat both England’s finest magicians, and will his sinister dance finally come to an end?

There have been few programmes as beautiful to watch and as elegantly played out as Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. You bet your ass I’m buying the book as soon as the credits on the finale roll, because I suspect there’s more to enjoy on the page. And, unlike the BBC series, I can sit in a chair and read and read and read until I’ve had enough – or I’m forced to stop.

A little bit like watching Netflix… Go on Aunty Beeb. Make the leap and feed the greedy girls!

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

WHEN IS IT ON?

Sunday 28 May, 9pm

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

Eddie Marsan, Bertie Carvel, Samuel West, Enzo Cilenti, Charlotte Riley, Marc Warren, Paul Kaye.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Me. Over and over again.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

Anyone who doesn’t believe in magic…

BBC Fantasy Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Is a Feast for the Sunday Night Senses

There are some series that you just know, within minutes of tuning in to the opening instalment, you are going to HAVE to see every second of, right down to the last name on the credits, come hell or high water.

My list of shows that would never, ever in a squillion years make it into this league is long and undistinguished. It includes all ITV game shows, Big Brother, every western ever made, all soaps and a shit-load of football. Just because.

In contrast the glorious, stunning BBC adaptation of Susannah Clark’s brilliant labour of love, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell shoots straight to the number one spot – with a bullet.

This period offering is so good my mind is racing, tripping over itself to get the superlatives out in a decent order.

I confess now, I’ve never read the novel in which it’s based, so I have no idea if it’s a faithful adaptation or not. I can only assure literary fans that the TV version is sumptuous, pitch-perfect and flawless.

It’s no surprise, really. The cast includes the peerless Eddie Marsan, an actor who has been working since God was a boy and has yet to put a foot wrong.

He’s joined by the metronomically good Samuel West, an impressively sinister Enzo Cilenti, the effervescent Bertie Carvel, Paul Kaye on what can only be described as Faginesque form and Marc Warren, for whom I reserve my highest compliment: this is the first time I’ve watched him on the TV and not wanted to punch the screen within five seconds.

The story, which blends fact and fantasy, begins in York in the early 1800s as a bunch of pompous, so-called magicians have the bejesus scared out of them by Mr Norrell (Marsan), a genuine practitioner of the art.

His ‘miracle’ prompts him to move to London, accompanied by his manservant, the slightly menacing and somewhat ambiguous Childermass (Cilenti), where Norrell tries to offer his services to the British government, which is embroiled in a costly war with Napoleon and the French.

At the same time, Jonathan Strange (Carvel), buries his sourpuss of a father, marries his dream girl and does his best to find a worthwhile occupation. That turns out to be the study of magic, after wild-eyed street magician Vinculus (Kaye) urges him to follow this particular calling.

From then on, Norrell’s and Strange’s fates seem to be linked – but are they destined to be allies or enemies? Which of them will be the one to bring ‘respectable’ magic back to England after 300 long years?

Exquisite costumes, stunning locations, crackling dialogue that comes with a hefty dose of wit, delivered by expert actors… it’s all here. All you have to do is turn on, tune in and be transported.

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

WHEN IS IT ON?

Sunday 17 May, 9pm

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

Eddie Marsan, Bertie Carvel, Samuel West, Enzo Cilenti, Charlotte Riley, Marc Warren, Paul Kaye.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Lovers of the book, for sure, and anyone who adores something that’s a little bit different.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

People with no imagination.

If the mountains of chocolate facing you at every turn in the shops didn’t clue you in, then chances are the sudden swathe of semi and not-so semi-religious programming on the BBC will shout the message loud and clear: IT’S EASTER, FOLKS!

As well as getting a couple of days off and the opportunity to stuff ourselves silly, this year’s Easter also gives us the chance to explore the story of The Ark.

I’m not hugely familiar with The Bible and I can mix and match my New and Old Testament with the best of them, but is the Noah story really linked with Easter? I suppose at a push you have the idea of cleansing and regeneration, but it’s a bit of a leap.

But who cares when you have a feature-length drama starring David Threlfall, Joanne Whalley and Don Warrington? Not I, and even less so when said drama is written by Tony Jordan, who is doing a great job of distancing himself from his soapy past.

Unfortunately, even though The Ark (which ought to have been subtitled 50 Shades of Beige) is set a couple of thousand years or so ago, the story wouldn’t be out of place if it was suddenly transplanted to Albert Square, being as it’s all about famlee.

Threlfall is Noah, a hard-working farmer whose marriage to wife Emmie (Whalley) is rock-solid. He’s surrounded by loving sons and their spouses, and while there’s the issue of where the various couples can have sex without disturbing anyone else, life is pretty much tickety-boo.

Chucking a great big spanner in the works is an angel (you can tell he’s a celestial being, as he’s not covered in dust) who dourly informs Noah he has to built an Ark as a show of faith to God, who has plans for the Earth and its greedy, selfish population.

If it was Danny Dyer, I reckon the angel would have been sent packing with a very different reply, but Noah’s a simple soul and eager to do what’s right. Sadly for him, everyone – including his selfish youngest son (who stands out a mile with his 21st-century short back and sides) – thinks he’s gone gaga.

Although we all know how the story ends, this version focuses on the relationships binding Noah and his brood together – and those tearing them apart. Whalley in particular gets a standout moment when, with a startling blend of dignity and fury, she urges her sons to get behind their father and lend a hand.

The Ark is a great piece of drama, led by Threlfall’s brilliantly understated turn as Noah, and bolstered by Whalley’s unwavering magnetism. Jordan has indeed come a very long way from Walford.

If there’s one thing that may disappoint some is the climax. The big finish that usually gobbles up all the budget and keeps CGI nerds stuck to their computers for weeks simply isn’t there.

Thankfully, Jordan’s interesting take on events means this version of the story is all the better for it.

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

The Ark

WHEN IS IT ON?

8.30pm, Monday March 30

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

David Threlfall, Joanne Whalley, Ashley Walters, Don Warrington.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Shameless fans, so they can see Threlfall can do far more than play a pissed-up layabout.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

Russell Crowe.

Too Posh to Push and Scaring the NHS Midwives: Four Women’s Birth Choices Are Followed

Choice. It’s an incredibly powerful thing, and nowhere is that better demonstrated than in this smart documentary, which gets a late-night slot presumably because the word ‘vaginal’ is mentioned.

Childbirth: All or Nothing follows the stories of four very different women, who have all elected to give birth in different ways. Well, that’s not strictly true – two are having their babies at home, but they’re doing very different things with their placentas.

It begins with Anna, who is expecting her second child and is undergoing an elective Caesarian at a private hospital. As her tale unfolds, it’s remarkably easy to sneer and mark her off as ‘too posh to push’. Her mum hints at it, and I flatly did while watching.

But as the film progresses and we learn more about Anna’s life, the reasons behind her decision become very clear – and completely understandable.

In almost diametric opposition to Anna is Jo. She has dreadlocks and lives on a boat, but a smarter, more articulate woman you’ll rarely meet. She has chosen free birth, something the NHS professionals all darkly mutter about, as it involves no outside intervention from anyone, be they a medical professional or a family member.

The last few weeks of her pregnancy see Jo and a group of other like-minded mums gather for a pagan/shamanic ritual of bonding, and it prompted the most insulting question I’ve ever heard on this sort of documentary. Luckily, Jo answers it in fine style!

The two mums opting for home births, Kati and Lisa, both talked about how they wanted to stay in control. While Kati’s water birth was a calm and delightful event, things didn’t quite go to plan for Lisa. However, what made these two women stand out from the home birth crowd was how they dealt with their placentas.

Kati ate some of hers – thought to be fair, she whizzed up a tiny bit with a mountain of fruit – while Lisa opted not to cut her baby’s cord in what is known as a Lotus birth.

Whether eating your own innards or deciding to have a C-section in a private hospital, what united these four very different women was their absolute dedication to their children. You can’t tote your baby’s placenta around in a natty bag while it smells and dries out and be anything less than a 110 devoted per cent parent.

Like Jo, I’m sure whoever watches this will have plenty to say about the women involved and the choices they made. But if they were in their shoes, would they do anything less?

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

Childbirth: All or Nothing

WHEN IS IT ON?

10.45pm, Tuesday February 24th

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC One

WHO IS IN IT?

Four remarkable women

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Parents.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

Anyone who doesn’t know where babies come from

Aunty Beeb’s new Saturday-night game show hits my gag Reflex

If the bright, white background of this blog post was paper, it would be soaked through with tears, spattered with blood and streaked with snot – and all as a result of watching the BBC’s latest game show, Reflex.

Sadly not a study of the toe-tapping Duran Duran hit, and bearing in mind I fully appreciate I’m not the target audience for this sort of caper, it’s a Shane Richie-hosted mind-fuck of a programme, featuring Ken Bruce as a commentator and some of the most stupid reasons to wear a polo shirt that I’ve ever seen.

It pits two teams of three family members against each other in a series of physical and mental tasks – think The Krypton Factor, but with fewer brains. The gimmick here is everything is filmed in super-slow-motion so we can watch it again and again and again, and find out just how fast (or slow) the participants were.

Theoretically, Reflex sounds dandy. In reality it’s utter garbage. Richie does his best to inject a little life and energy into proceedings (though there’s only so much tension to be gained from finding out what winning another point has done to the scores), as do the apparently uber-competitive folks taking part. There’s much biting of nails during the challenges, with Ken Bruce chattering away in the background, just in case we can’t see what’s going on. Which of course I can’t because I would rather stab my eyes out with tiny, tiny needles than watch this crap.

I don’t understand the whole game show thing. Quizzes, yes. I admire the need to show off as much as the next person, but a game show serves only to highlight how stupid someone is – and remind me how much I hate hearing someone use another person’s name as punctuation “Well I know what you mean Shane…” It makes me angry to the point of tears.

ITV is already a swampy melange of crap gameshows and mediocre crime dramas, so there’s no need for anyone else to get involved, much less devote a microsecond of our precious Saturday night’s schedules to it.

I end with a plea, and a heartfelt one at that: Aunty Beeb, for the love of all things holy, get a life and get rid of this bloody rubbish.

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

Reflex

WHEN IS IT ON?

6.15pm, Saturday, January 11th

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

EastEnders’ Shane Richie and the disembodied voice of Ken Bruce.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Game show lovers. That’s as kind as I can be…

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

Anyone with a brain.

Sherlock lives! Now all I have to do is hang on until Sunday…

Most of what passes for entertainment on the telly these days is, by and large, utter bollocks. I can’t stand game shows, despise soaps with a passion and am ambivalent about the majority of crime dramas, working on the theory that, like boobs, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.

I count among this sweeping generalisation much of ITV’s output, as well as Five’s, with a goodly chunk of Channel 4 thrown in for good measure. As you can imagine, it doesn’t leave much of the average TV schedules left to pick over, but what remains is usually selected Channel 4 documentaries, a few Sky Atlantic/Living series and a hefty dollop of delights from the BBC.

The British Broadcasting Corporation’s reputation may have taken a battering recently, but Aunty Beeb can still kick just about every other broadcaster’s arse into the middle of next week when it comes to making quality programming. Think of just about every decent homegrown show you’ve seen in the past zillion years and, chances are, the majority will have come from the BBC.

I have my favourites (stick a pin in the period drama of your choice, The Office, Messiah, The Fall, the list is long but distinguished). Arguably the daddy of them all though, has been Sherlock – Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss’ wet dream of a show, which has not only given them the chance to bring Conan Doyle’s smart-arse consulting detective to life and made an overnight star out of the chisel-cheekboned Benedict Cumberbatch, but also has inspired us, the viewing public to watch and adore it in our millions.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been more excited about a TV programme than I was about the first episode of series three. I even made a point of getting in some high-end nibblies (foie gras and Sauterne, no less) to accompany it. Nerves were jangling, naturally – would Moffat and Gatiss be able to pull off the remarkable feat of satisfying our curiosity about Sherlock’s apparently fatal fall, reintroduce him to the world AND serve up a juicy mystery for him to solve? The answer was, of course, a massive yes.

The best thing about tour de force of an opener The Empty Hearse was the apparent ease with which everything slotted into place. Of course Sherlock would burst back into a staggered John’s life just as he was about to pop the question. Of course faceless criminals would abduct John, only for Holmes to pull his friend from a burning pyre, and, of course, they would go on to foil a murky plot to blow up Parliament on Bonfire Night. Easy peasy. In between, the in-jokes came thick and fast, from dream sequences exploring how Sherlock ‘did it’ (Derren Brown, you naughty boy) and Cumberbatch’s real-life parents playing his mum and dad, to the hilarious moment we met Molly’s new boyfriend, Tom… Who could ask for more?

If Sherlock teaches us anything, it’s that good things come to those who wait, and Christ knows we’ve waited long enough. In this era of the boxed set and Netflix, where we can gorge on episode after episode of TV shows until our eyeballs plop out of our heads, being forced to diet and exercise a little self control is no bad thing. As with so many things, anticipation is everything, and while Gatiss and Moffat may have been experiencing the mother of all brown trouser moments as series three got underway, I can assure them they weren’t alone.

The new version of Sherlock has been clutched so closely to the world’s bosom (by that of course, I mean mine) that – for me at least – I was desperate not to be disappointed. We had waited so long and so patiently, for it not to live up to expectations was too painful a notion to even consider. It sounds so throwaway to say ‘luckily’, because it means far more than that, but luckily, The Empty Hearse blew the top of my head off.

After two long, Holmes and Watson-free years, hanging on until Sunday for the next instalment shouldn’t be too hard, but I bet you a million pounds it will feel as though time has slowed down deliberately, just to test my patience. Thankfully I know even that short wait will be well worth it.

Morrissey and Smith’s bittersweet romance brightens up Monday night on BBC1

I know what it’s like to get up every morning and go to work, knowing in my soul that it was the last place I wanted to be. Not that I’m alone – millions of people do the same thing. Get up. Go to work. Come home. Then, without realising it, 10 years will pass in the blink of an eye and before we know it, we’re old. Old, grey and tired.

In 2013, James and I decided enough was enough. We quit the jobs that had pushed us to the brink of divorce and started doing what we really wanted to do – writing for a living. Since then, we’ve struggled financially (possibly the understatement of the century), but – and this is the important bit – instead of feeling old and beaten and tired, we’re alive. Stressed to the eyeballs for sure and no doubt that’s not going to get any easier until regular work comes our way, but somehow, weirdly, we feel better. Go figure.

Watching the first few moments of new two-part drama The 7.39 was a bit of a revelation for me. Seeing David Morrissey, the brooding, sexy actor who once shagged Sharon Stone in that dirty bit of nonsense Basic Instinct 2, playing a whey-faced, married man whose life had all the quality of stale bread, reminded me why James and I bit the bullet and struck out on our own in the first place.

Morrissey plays Carl, a property developer who is left exhausted by his long train commute from London to the sticks. But all that changes one morning when his seat is snaffled by gym worker Sally (played by the lovely Sheridan Smith). She’s engaged, but far from happily, and so when Carl makes a point of apologising for his rude behaviour, the pair strike up a tentative friendship.

Watching their relationship unfold and evolve into something deeper, more dangerous, is – in my humble opinion – one of the best bits of telly I’ve seen in a long time. Achingly poignant, bittersweet and desperate, Carl and Sally’s story is beautifully played out, and it’s all down to the fantastic pairing of Morrissey and Smith. Seeing the years fall from him as his character rediscovers in the vivacious but troubled Sally a reason for breathing is just gorgeous and definitely NOT to be missed.

If The 7.39 has a flaw, it’s that there are only two parts to enjoy – though drawing out this nuanced, emotional story would be a crime. I pounced on the concluding episode as soon as the credits started to roll on the first, and found myself utterly captivated as the drama grew even more complex.

Like real life, which is messy and complicated and hard and scary, this drama demonstrated very neatly that the difference between the wanting and the having can be vast. Take it from one who knows…

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

The 7.39

WHEN IS IT ON?

9pm, Monday, January 6th

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

David Morrissey, Sheridan Smith, Sean Maguire and Olivia Colman.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Romantics and dreamers and anyone who has ever thought more than once about chucking it all in and escaping…

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

Cynics and the cold-hearted.

Forget Firth and Ehle. A new Elizabeth and Mr Darcy make Pemberley the period place to be on Boxing Day

James knows better than just about anyone that I’m a sucker for a costume drama. Many’s the time he’s heaved a sigh as I gleefully pounce on some bebonneted bit of nonsense, and has the good sense to leave the room should I come within 15 feet of any decent Jane Austen adaptation (he’s seen me sobbing like a girl during THAT version of Pride and Prejudice often enough).

You can imagine his delight then, when I spotted this fabulous adaptation of PD James’ tale, lurking among the Boxing Day schedules. Once the squealing had subsided, however, I was left wondering whether Anna Maxwell Martin really could pull off the role of Elizabeth. Until now, as far as I was concerned, Jennifer Ehle was the living embodiment of Austen’s greatest character. But I can safely say the torch has been passed.

Maxwell Martin’s Lizzy is level-headed and mature, but she’s lost none of that sparkle and wit that made Darcy (here brought to life by a sexy Matthew Rhys) fall for her in the first place. And it’s just as well, considering the new round of trials she faces in this three-parter.

It kicks off as she and her handsome hubby are preparing for a ball at Pemberley, a delightful opportunity to see Elizabeth completely at ease in her lavish home. Not even the arrival of Rebecca Front’s wonderful Mrs Bennet and James Fleet’s put-upon Mr Bennet can put a damper on proceedings.

Sadly for our loved-up heroine, the arrival of her youngest and silliest sister, Lydia (played with aplomb by Jenna Coleman) threatens to put a crimp in the evening as she weeps and wails that her hubby, the dastardly Wickham (boo, hiss) has been bumped off. But all is not as it seems…

Aunty Beeb has chucked everything but the kitchen sink at this production and it shows. Gorgeous locations, sumptuous costumes, a superb script and a sparkling cast make this arguably THE treat of the festive season. It must be – even James approved!

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

Death Comes to Pemberley

WHEN IS IT ON?

8.15pm, Thursday, December 26th

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

Anna Maxwell Martin, Matthew Rhys, Jenna Coleman, Trevor Eve, Rebecca Front, James Fleet and Matthew Goode.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Everyone who has ever wished they could swan about the place in an Empire-line muslin frock.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

Colin Firth fans. They might be disappointed to find someone else can do Darcy, too…

Our Christmas viewing kicks off with the BBC’s Call the Midwife and a cracking festive special

Given I spent a lot of my time watching the box (there’s not much else to do when trapped under a cute, but pretty much constantly breastfeeding baby), even I’m sometimes taken aback by the number of shows I haven’t seen. Anything with Keith Lemon in it makes the list by default, but I’m slightly ashamed to say one of the BBC’s most recent success stories, Call the Midwife, is on it too.

Happily, thanks to the magic of Christmas, that black mark has now been erased and my CTM cherry has been well and truly popped. The question is, of course, was I satisfied?

Well, the show certainly gets 10 out of 10 for looking good, and this Yuletide special isn’t short on stuffing. As Jenny and the girls bite their nails over the future of Nonnatus House, events take a turn for the dramatic, thanks to an emergency (I won’t spoil your enjoyment by revealing any more).

At the same time, poor Shelagh (formerly Sister Bernadette) is looking forward to tying the knot with Dr Turner. Well, after a fashion. There’s only so much joy a grey wedding dress and an insistence on a small but dignified ceremony that doesn’t include her former Sisters among the guest list can bring. No spoilers, but you can bet your bottom dollar things don’t stay that way…

It wouldn’t be Call the Midwife without a tricky pregnancy or two scattered among proceedings and this edition is no different (though I was surprised there wasn’t more mention of the words uterus, perineum, womb, and blood), as a young couple’s future is threatened by the spectre of mental illness.

Chuck in a goodly dose of Miranda Hart’s adorable Chummy, some sweet carol singing, a glass or two of Babycham and guest appearance by the great Sandi Toksvig and voila! – it’s the perfect slice of early evening entertainment for Christmas Day.

THE WHO, WHAT, WHEN OF IT

WHAT’S IT CALLED?

Call the Midwife

WHEN IS IT ON?

6.15pm, Wednesday, December 25th

WHAT CHANNEL?

BBC1

WHO IS IN IT?

Sandi Toksvig, Jessica Raine, Jenny Agutter, Pam Ferris and Laura Main.

WHO SHOULD WATCH IT?

Anyone who needs something uplifting to help them after having eaten their body weight in sprouts.

WHO SHOULDN’T WATCH IT?

People who haven’t eaten their body weight in sprouts.