Something's been troubling me. The night before last, as I switched off the TV to go to bed, at bed time, fairly late and that, Dermot Murnaghan was doing the news on the BBC. Then the next morning when we got up at about 6am, he was doing BBC Breakfast. How does he do it? Was he up all night, or is there more than one of him? I will find out...
Gentle, meandering, even slightly boring, new adaptation of an Alan Hunter story featuring Martin Shaw as the eponymous, straight-as-an-arrow 1960s detective.
Sue Barker and co present what promises to be a thrilling match as defending champion Roger Federer takes on Rafael Nadal in the men's singles final.
Another day, another murder for DCI Tom Barnaby (John Nettles) and his team to solve - but at least there's some lovely countryside to distract us from all those corpses.
Michael C Hall returns as the serial killer who's on the side of the angels for a second series of you-can't-say-that humour, stylish photography and deftly twisted morals.
The boys argue that you can't call yourself a car fanatic unless you've owned an Alfa Romeo at some point. So they buy themselves three, each for under £1,000.
Comprehensive debunking of one of the more absurd 9/11 conspiracies - the one centred on the "mysterious" World Trade Center 7 building.
Surely the pinnacle of Steve Martin's career: this is romantic comedy as it used to be, as it should be. Nimbly adapted by Martin himself, this is Cyrano de Bergerac cleverly transplanted to present-day America.
