Self-righteous BBC's hatred of Britain just reached new a high and yet still we pay for it

No offence to Rob Rinder and Rylan Clark but why on earth are we paying for their holidays? And why send them to Delhi? The biggest surprise in Rob & Rylan's Passage To India was that they didn't bump into another UK film crew making an equally vacuous, cliché-ridden travel documentary. There have been so many.

How could this BBC2 series be different? Simple. Unable to match the insight of Alan Whicker, the wit of Clive James or the calm curiosity of Michael Palin, the producers decided to make it all about their leading men, establishing their highbrow agenda in the opening teasers with Rylan squawking "I think I've got diarrhoea".

Then came footage of the intrepid adventurers stuck in a traditional Delhi traffic jam with Clark squirming and squealing like his boxers were electrified. Later he recreated Princess Diana's Taj Mahal pose on a bench in front of Humayun's Tomb and enjoyed all-day birthday delights.

There was then, inevitably, some bog-standard BBC Britain-bashing. Barrister turned Masked Singer alumni Rinder got in a hand-wringing tizzy about the British Empire. "For 200 years we ruled the country for our benefit," he said, shuddering at our "problematic past". Rob was aghast when Shalini (super-rich star of Netflix's Fabulous Lives vs Bollywood Wives) had pictures of George V and Mary displayed at home.

"Can you see why I'm a bit surprised?" he gasped. She could not. "Nobody else has ever questioned it except the British," she said, i.e. the self-loathing BBC and the self-righteous apparatchiks of the sneering culture-war Left. Do Italian TV documentary-makers hang their heads in shame about the glory that was Rome? Unlikely. Besides, who resents the Romans for giving us straight roads, public baths, and aqueducts? Empires have been with us for nearly 4,500 years; India produced at least five. And without getting into a "what have the Romans ever done for us?" Monty Python sketch, a balanced documentary would have given equal prominence to Britain's gifts of democracy, railways, cricket, and codified law rather than a begrudged passing mention.

No mention of the Raj ending the charming local custom of widow-burning either.

In fairness, Rob and Rylan did cover India's appalling caste system seriously, but it's hardly news. They claimed they were following in the footsteps of Edwardian novelist E.M. Forster, but I doubt E.M. ever performed a market square rap. Still to come: the two chumps, sorry chums, camp it up with the Kama Sutra. Hell with rickshaws.

ITV's Coldwateris beyond bonkers. Andrew Lincoln plays John, a gutless coward who let a bully brutally batter a young mother in a park playground after she objected to him slapping his son around the head. John just grabbed his own son and legged it (abandoning his daughter). Perhaps out of shame, the wet lettuce then moved his family to rural Scotland. John, who claims to be suffering from PTSD from the incident, is married to hot-shot author Fiona (Indira Varma). To add to their marital problems, whenever she tries to turn him on, he falls apart. The locals aren't helping either. The area is crawling with youthful nutcases. John battered one with a rock to save his life, and his neighbour, Tommy, the vicar (!), then killed and incinerated him.

As the Kwik Fit fitters nearly said, you can't get sicker than a quick, slick vicar. Creepy Tommy got John as drunk as a sailor on shore leave. When John woke up in barmaid Catriona's bed, Tommy said he'd cover for him while actually informing Fiona that Catriona had designs on her hubby. Will unlikeable drip John find his backbone? Or will he end up as a recipe in the cookbook Fiona's writing? I couldn't give a monkey's toss.

John Cleese generated headlines recently for saying the BBC have forgotten their job is to commission the best possible programmes. He has a point. BBC Comedy is a dead parrot. It hasn't produced a genuine national treasure since Gavin & Stacey. It's difficult to find a successor to Only Fools & Horses of course, but there's no sign they're even trying to. Sweary minority comedy is so much easier.

Cleese's opinion matters. Fawlty Towers was one of our greatest sitcoms; the stage version (with Helen Lederer on superb form as Mrs Richards) sold out two West End runs and is touring for months. Fawlty Towers: The Play (U&Gold) takes a while to adjust to someone else playing Basil, but it builds to a riotous second half climax. Now Cleese and daughter Camilla are writing episode two of a Fawlty reboot where Basil's daughter asks her estranged dad to help with her struggling Caribbean hotel. The Beeb should bite their hands off for it.

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