And finally to Doctor Who, where Jodie Whittaker's Madam Doc roused herself for the first time — or so I'm told, because my censored preview version cut just as she was due to materialise. She was heavily trailed, however, in the sense that David Bradley's errant Doctor made plenty of casually sexist remarks, to be upbraided by Peter Capaldi's other Doctor, in his swan song here. It was all very "You can't say that!" — and wink to camera. Of course, about 80% of Doctor Who is some kind of wink to camera, in this deathless mix of The Twilight Zone, The Crystal Maze and regional panto.
Telling people off, however, at least made a change from most of the dialogue, which was questions, questions, questions, as characters sought to clear the ever-thickening bramble that was the plot. "Is anyone going to explain what's going on?" someone asked 10 minutes in. But they soon had to ask again.
Where are we? Why are you doing that? Why is this now the most self-referential television series ever, part extended Comic Relief sketch, part seven board games stitched together?
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