WHO is the most attractive chap in the UK? No, it is not you, sir, reading this over a sneaky Saturday morning croissant. You may well be a star in your own household, but after watching The Supervet (Channel 4, Wednesday, 8pm) the phrase “chopped liver” comes to mind. No offence.

Nor is the male in question Professor Noel Fitzpatrick, whose fame, charm, and way with animals is taking him on an “arena tour” this autumn (can’t wait to see that guinea pig appendectomy on the mega screen!). The “bionic vet” as the programme called him, used to be the cock of the walk, but this week Arnold, an 18-month-old Dobermann, walked in the joint.

Arnold was attached (lead-wise as well as emotionally) to Mark Owen of Take That, which may have been why almost everyone in the waiting room went radio ga-ga. No question, though: the one who terminated my feelings for the Prof was Arnie. Tall, handsome, and sporting a limp, he was a heartbreaker all right.

Noel took Mark and Arnie for a stroll to see the problem. Arnie was a touch ungainly. “He’s not a dancer,” said Noel. “He’d never make Take That.” Bit of the green-eyed monster showing there, eh Prof?

Patient two was a small bundle of fluff, aged just four, who needed a double hip replacement. His humans adored him, and would have given anything for him to be okay, which he was after surgery. At what cost we did not learn. Perhaps I’ve been unlucky, but whenever I watch The Supervet everyone is so caught up in the high tech surgery and emotions to talk money. They should.

At first glance, RAF at 100 with Ewan and Colin McGregor (BBC1, Sunday, 8.30pm) looked like a case of over-manning, but the Trainspotting actor’s brother is a former pilot, and so earned his crust by providing the more technical commentary while baby brother Ewan took care of the wild-eyed enthusiasm.

They were given 90 minutes on prime time BBC1 to tell the story, which might have seemed excessive, but from the First World War to the Falklands via the Berlin airlift and Sierra Leone, there was enough material here for a series.

The real stars were always going to be the men and women who had lived the RAF life for real in the most trying of times. One man, a pilot during World War Two, recalled being invited to watch a Spitfire flypast and becoming overcome with emotion. “Their cockpits were full of ghosts,” he said quietly.

Come Home (BBC1, Tuesday, 9pm) starred Christopher Eccleston as Greg, a grumpy mechanic. Eccleston always seems to play narked sorts, but this time he did so in an Irish accent, and the character appeared to have good reason to be less than cheerful, given his wife had just walked out. I say “appeared” because Danny Brocklehurst’s three-part drama is all about narrators, reliable and unreliable. This week, Greg had his say, next week it’s his estranged wife’s turn. By the end of part one, Greg was either a complete dope or he had murkier depths. Brocklehurst dropped enough clues to make you wonder, and bring you back.

Amanda Redman is another actor who never seems happier than when she is shouting at people. She did it in New Tricks as Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman, and she was at it again in The Good Karma Hospital (ITV, Sunday, 9pm). Playing the head of a hospital in Southern India, Pullman’s Doctor Fonseca yelled at a herbalist for practising what the doc deemed phoney medicine, only to find out the patient had initially been let down by Fonseca’s hospital. Fonseca, whom no one called Fonzy, promptly switched to a quiet, cajoling voice to get the patient back.

With its soapy storylines, regular characters and predictable stories, The Good Karma Hospital is a mix of Casualty and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. It is on right after the Corfu-set Durrells. I know we’re all deficient in Vitamin D but that is a lot of sunshine.

More sunshine could have been had in Episodes (BBC2, Friday, 10pm), if only anyone had the time to go outside in Hollywood. Instead, British writers Sean and Beverley (Stephen Mangan and Tamsin Greig) were stuck indoors trying to write a sitcom with a chief writer who believed comedies “don’t have to be funny any more”. Matt LeBlanc, playing Matt LeBlanc, was trapped in a gameshow called The Box. Worse still, he was back working for loathsome studio mogul Merc Lapidus. The Bev and Sean stuff was weak, but the Merc/Matt hate fest more than makes up for it. This is the last series of a show that has successfully married British farce and American slickness. Wisely, it is getting out while the going is still good. Every comedy should.