Downton Abbey

Downton Abbey is just one of those things. We all know it's a bit rubbish, but we don't care, because it's 9pm on Sunday and the last thing we want is anything that threatens to make us think too hard about anything. It's broadly mindless and basically comforting.

Even the class dichotomy works out all right for us - in a programme ostensibly divided between upstairs and downstairs, the only really sympathetic characters (Matthew, Mrs Crawley, Dr whatsit etc) are comfortably middle-class, allowing us all to feel nicely superior to all the titled ninnies in the drawing room and the pushy menials in the kitchen.

So, no complaints from me - not even analysis, because the subject's not worth the work. What I will say though is that I wish they hadn't finished on a cricket match. It started well enough - because Dan Stevens can actually play cricket - but finished with that terrible, no-good, very bad drama cricket cliche of the big talker getting bowled first ball (and then, gah, the umpire raising his finger. Why? He's bowled! There's no appeal, there's no dispute, put your sodding finger down. Every time.) It's virtually frame for frame the same gag as an ancient ITV Jeeves and Wooster.

And then that utterly weedy one-handed catch by the chauffeur. Yassus. Just pelt the bloody thing at him, so the catch at least looks impressive.