Ooh Betty, . . . I’m the Bodyguard

Well, that’s six-and-a-quarter hours of my life I’ll never get back. For once, I thought that I’d better watch the latest BBC blockbuster series to see what all the fuss was about.

Admittedly, the opening half hour of the first episode of Bodyguard was gripping, but after that it was all downhill.

Jed Mercurio’s line Of Duty is superb, yet his latest effort was an over-hyped parcel of tosh, an ocean- going insult to your intelligence. I’m astonished so much praise has been heaped upon it.

either he phoned it in, he’s trying too hard to shock, he’s run out of road, or he was taking the proverbial.

The dialogue was hackneyed, the plot preposterous and the twists about as convincing as a Tom and Jerry cartoon, with more red herrings than a Russian trawler.

This ‘deep state’ conspiracy nonsense has been done so much better, so many times before. Think edge Of Darkness and The Whistle Blower — and they were made in the mid-eighties.

At least the last episode had me laughing out loud, especially the ludicrous scene where Dave Budd was strapped to a suicide belt in the middle of a london garden square.

Budd should have been played by Michael Crawford, as Frank Spencer, with Michele Dotrice as his wife, Betty.

It reminded me of the wonderful episode of Some Mothers at the holiday camp, where Frank’s ‘ Vesuvius’ fireworks backpack went off by accident.

‘ Don’t shoot. I’ll pay for any damage.’