DOUBTLESS there are many noble lessons to be drawn from The Simpler Life (Channel 4, Tuesday-Wednesday), a reality series in which 24 people adopt an Amish lifestyle to see if it is good for their health. Yet all I could think of as the gaggle arrived at a farmstead in Devon was: “What time does it all kick off?”

Television has a long and not always proud history in these kind of back to basics experiments – see Castaway for one. The angle of this new series was that people are looking to change their lives post-Covid. I would have thought that meant painting the back bedroom rather than adopting an Amish lifestyle, but they are the experts.

True to form, you could see trouble coming a mile off in the form of Penny, a “former footballer’s PA”. Just a day in and Penny was close to frantic that one of her daughters, a fussy eater (shockerooni) had only eaten pasta since she arrived.

Then there was Toby, ex-military, who needed solitude the way others craved Frosties, listing the cereal as an “essential” on the shopping list. Jamie the GP receptionist was worried about being mobbed by chickens. He could cope with one running at him, but ten would be a “no go”. While we’re talking chicken, the local shop, bless it, was selling a prepared one for £17.

Others took to the lifestyle like ducks to the splashy stuff. Kevin, who used to be a waiter, thought everything was GREAT. “This could be a rocket ship to Mars!” he cried.

Leading by example was an Amish family from Ohio (or “Ohio, America”, as the narrator felt the need to tell us) whose children had an alarming habit of bursting into song. The Amish praised the virtues of a simpler life, natch, but how did that square with them upping sticks and travelling to Devon to make a telly programme? I assume they did not cross the Atlantic on a horse and cart.

With two episodes down and four to go, divisions were opening up, everyone was hungry, those ruddy kids were still singing, and no one was dancing in the barn to Sam Cooke on the radio, a la Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis in Witness. Things could only get bitter, and sure enough a row broke out between the middle-aged and the millennials, the former wanting to have a couple of beers on a Saturday, and the latter being insufferably judgmental about it. They’ll learn.

The Speedshop (BBC2, Sunday) was the answer to the question, “What do you get if you weld The Repair Shop to Top Gear?”. It was not as bad as that sounds, though there was a lot of hair, banter, and prog-rock music involved as Speedshop owner Titch Cormack, ex-special forces, introduced himself and his fix-anything crew.

Their first commission was to put together a bike and sidecar for another ex-Army pal, Toby. No biggie you might think, but the customer had been shot in the neck in Afghanistan, was paralysed from the neck down, and on a ventilator. Could the guys, and it was all guys until 40 minutes in, give Toby back the thrill of riding the open road, wind in his hair and insects in his teeth? Of course they could, though there was the inevitable drama along the way (would the ventilator people okay the design, etc.)

A thoroughly laddish hour, with testosterone splashed around the place like cheap aftershave, but Titch and his mates were likeably daft sorts who knew their stuff. Most importantly they had a laugh together and it was impossible not to join in. I imagine this was like Top Gear used to be before Clarkson’s ego grew to the size of an aircraft carrier.

Then Barbara Met Alan (BBC2, Monday), being the story of two disabled people finding common purpose and love through the struggle for civil rights, could have been insufferably worthy; the kind of thing The Simpler Life young crowd would watch, sober, on a Saturday night if only they had a telly.

Yet the central performances were excellent (Ruth Madeley and Arthur Hughes), and the lead writer was Jack Thorne (National Treasure, This is England). Together they made for a raucous, eye-opening drama. Marks off though for stereotyping charity workers, politicians, and civil servants as generally useless do-gooders. Do as you would be done by and all that.

Bridgerton (Netflix) returned in a riot of wigs and carriages. There is said to be not so much bumping of bones in this run compared to the first series: three minutes’ worth instead of 19. Yes, someone took the trouble to measure it. This time, the single rich man in search of a wife was Viscount Bridgerton (Jonathan Bailey).

Luckily, he had a little list of desired characteristics, including “suitable enough hips for child-bearing and at least half a brain”.

This way to the slaughter, little lamb.