In the old days, one would wander in from the pub or club at the weekend, throw up on the carpet, open a bottle of vodka and slump down in front of the TeeVee to drift into unconsciousness faced with such televisual delights as The Hitman and Her. Excellent post-pub teevee: undemanding, vaguely titillating, sufficient unto the day.
So, what did we find last night? After a few-too-many drinks, wander in, don’t throw up, settle in front of the telly. First a documentary on Hitler’s last hours, then one on Ali, which actually dared to question his current status as all-round Saint (he was a genius boxer, but what an arse…). Personally, I think British TV is heading way down hill.