Cup o' splosh treacle

Reality television thrives on making perfectly normal well-adjusted people look like complete buffoons. We all know this but yet there is still a never-ending line of people queuing up for such humiliation on national television.

A case in point was the portrayal of brothers Ed and Michael as they crashed out of The Restaurant in spectacular style. It was appropriate that the eatery was called The Treacle Well for it quickly became apparent that this pair were right in the sweet and sticky.

Now I’m absolutely sure that there were times when the brothers were making a great fast of running their establishment; after all they hadn’t been close to facing the dreaded challenge in previous weeks. However, competence does not make great telly and this show - entertaining as it is - tends very much to focus on things when they are going pear-shaped.

It doesn’t matter a jot if they’ve managed loads of excellent services, it’s the one terrible one that will make the edit and perhaps we should be wary of an editorial policy that made Ed seem very Tim-Nice-But-Dim and portrayed his brother as some sort of egotistical tyrant. By managing to serve only seventeen diners and managing to ruin someone’s anniversary dinner, the pair found themselves in the challenge where the wheels really came off.

Not only did Michael contrive to cook pink lamb for a party of Bangladeshi customers, his vegetarian option went horribly awry and he ended up serving warm veg in bits of paper. Hardly gourmet stuff.

Chief beneficiaries of the brothers' mishaps were lovable Martin and Emma. Whenever this pair is centre stage, it seems more like a Victoria Wood pastiche then a genuine docu-soap. I’m sure they are only still there because of Emma’s boundless enthusiasm, because the wonderfully dour Martin is certainly coming across as a glass half-empty person. Surely a career in Last of the Summer Wine awaits a bloke who had fifty steaks to cook and forgot to bring any pans with which to do it. Emma too revels in the negative but usually with a winning smile that completely wins me over. When things do get on top of her, you wish you could give her a hug and tell her it 'll all be all right.

My current favourites are Lloyd and Adwoa and certainly theirs is the only restaurant I’d actually fancy having a meal in. I love Lloyd’s laid-back approach. He even managed to remain chilled when the rugby crowd pinched all his booze. Top man.

The problem I'm still having with the show is Raymond Blanc's hard-faced inspector Sarah. You'd think the inspectors could provide sound advice and help these hapless hopefuls get their act together, but Sarah in particular seems to revel in their mishaps. I think she enjoys putting them down.

Nothings right. I’m torn

I can’t say I was really gripped by Torn, though the show does have a certain topicality about it. I suppose this tale of a couple whose daughter is lost believed drowned, only to turn up again ten years later has some merits but there is a distinct lack of humour to proceedings. It all just seems so unremittingly grim, making the casting of chirpy Bradley Walsh seem a bit odd.

Holly Aird has a good stab as the mother in turmoil but it’s really a thankless task. It’s probably done the ratings of the second episode no favours that the preview for it seemed to contain the entire plot.

A bit of a let down this one.

Double Standards

We’re supposed to believe that the Walford community would turn against Jase in EastEnders just because he happens to have done a bit of time. Who are they trying to kid? There can’t be family on the square that doesn’t have a least one jailbird in their midst. Some have several, so this daft middle England reaction to a bloke being on parole didn’t ring at all true.

On the plus side, barmy Ian Beale finally came face to face with his tormentor as things quickly went from bad to worse. I still can’t see what that lovely Jane sees in the weedy little despot and his horrible bratty brood. You have to feel sorry for her, you really do.

I still miss Ian's dad Pete Beale. Billy's not worthy of the fruit and veg stall.

Over at Pat's Tardis of a house, Kevin and Denise were splitting up and getting back together yet again. There was such a strong sense of déjà vu about the whole sorry saga that I briefly checked the EPG to make sure I wasn't watching an old episode on UKTV Gold.

Sport, sport, sport, sport sport

It's interesting that since the BBC axed Grandstand that every Saturday afternoon has remained dominated by sport. Indeed they have so much to squeeze in these days that's it not unusual that they'll four or five different offerings available at the same time, presumably all playing to microscopic audiences, while us soccer-mad remote control-huggers tune in to Jeff Stelling's super Soccer Saturday.

The main casualty of the demise of the magazine format has been horse racing, now that it no longer slips in comfortably between other events. The slump in the audience size for the sport of kings is partially due to the fact that the audience used to comprise two major factions, the hardened fan that had nipped down to his local bookies for a flutter and those of us watched because there was nothing else on.

These days armchair punters are served by two bespoke channels which carry virtually every race in the country, while the casual viewer has so much choice that watching a race you have no financial interest in quickly loses its appeal.

The plethora of sport available means that sports audiences are fragmenting. This has a big effect on the finances of certainly the minor sports. The moan used to be that lack of TV coverage meant that sponsorship was hard to come by. Now that there's wall-to-wall coverage of everything from women's soccer to shove ha'penny, being on the telly doesn't guarantee financial gain.

Even though we have loads of dedicated sports channels, the cup is running over at the moment. Normally sport-free ITV3 and Sky One both found themselves dealing with the overflow, annoying viewers who can't abide soccer or rugby.

Tellingly, the World Athletics Championships came and went on BBC Two without any fanfare at all, while the Gymnastics were relegated to daytime with zero pre-publicity.

Television is positively flooded with sport at the moment and the fear must be that some sports will drown in the flood.

It seems to me you've lived your life with a candle up your...

I've no problem with ITV1 devoting an hour and half of prime time entertainment to profiling Elton John, though these days that seems to be at least a bi-annual event. If we'd been given in-depth and perhaps critical appraisal of the man – whose music I love, incidentally – I'd have been quite happy.

What we actually got was an exercise in ego massaging which was really unrevealing and the conceit of using special effects to see Reg walking through his past life was merely an irritant.

A wasted opportunity and one that should have been scheduled after Parkinson.

Calling Elvis. Is anybody home?

Vernon Kay was given the dubious task of hosting World's Greatest Elvis. I can only assume that Graham Norton is on holiday.

Now, this really did seem like a dire idea. If you actually like Elvis, then I'd imagine you'd rather watch the great man himself rather than a bunch of third-rate saddo impersonators. If you're not a fan of "The King" you probably avoided this like the plague so who was it actually aimed at? That section of the community who don't move from their armchairs or BBC One all night?

These Elvis-obsessed wannabes usually manage to grate after two minutes of an appearance on a daytime chat show so whoever thought this would make good Saturday night telly deserves a fate worse than death. I'd put them in charge of Blue Peter phone-ins.

If you are pining for Graham Norton, in a fine piece of recycling you can catch him on Challenge in NortonLand where bits of his old shows have been cobbled together and are hosted by voice of EuroTrash Maria McErlane. Years ago on Carnal Knowledge he used to play second fiddle to her. I don't know what work she's had done but she resembles a startled rabbit these days. Perhaps it's just a pained facial expression at having to front such reheated leftovers.