WHILE one appreciates the bods at Bafta are still clearing up after the 2018 awards ceremony (it must be murder trying to scrape host Sue Perkins’ career off the floor), may one suggest they crack on with the engraving for 2019 and give as many awards as possible to A Very English Scandal (BBC1, Sunday, 9pm)?

This was as fine a piece of television as we will likely see this year. What made it stand out, apart from the quality of cast and crew, was its cheery determination to put right the wrongs of the past.

Yes, it was gloriously farcical, but it could also be quietly devastating. The small screen is perfect for such moments as when Jeremy Thorpe (Hugh Grant), expecting an ear bashing from his wife, was overcome with emotion when she said what a lovely thing he had done writing “I miss you” at the end of one of his letters to Norman Scott (Ben Whishaw). Thorpe’s entire face quivered, almost imperceptibly. Was he moved by her humanity, or did he have genuine feelings for Scott? Writer Russell T Davies employed a lot of artistic licence on this, later suggesting that Thorpe stayed so long with Scott because picking up strangers had led to him being beaten and robbed several times.

As to the victor, Davies made his feelings plain. Thorpe was acquitted, but the last words to him came from his mother: “Of course, you’re ruined.” Scott, meanwhile, was on the top of a bus, smiling, aware that it had all been a stitch up but at least he had had his say.

Scotland ‘78: A Love Story (BBC1, Wednesday, 9pm) tried hard to equate the march of Ally’s Army to Argentina for the World Cup with the failed Darien Scheme, but a story like this, packed with such tales as how a group of fans on Knoydart dug four miles of trenches so they could get TV in time to watch Scotland, hardly needs gimmicks. Talking heads of the calibre of Jim Naughtie, Stuart Cosgrove and Archie Macpherson did the rest.

After 40 years, the fans interviewed were able to look back wryly. Spare a thought, too for Andy Cameron. After the Iran defeat he went into a pub to be told by one stoney-faced punter that if he sang “that song” he was going out the window. Still, to go with “that song” there was “that goal”, here played in suitably reverential slo-mo.

As if a reminder that TV can be more “watching paint dry” than “wowee”, Versailles (BBC2, Monday, 9pm) was back for a third series. Odd to imagine the story of the Sun King could ever be dull, but the lines here were so creaky (“Your destiny is there for the taking, if you choose to seize it”), and the pace so plodding, an hour felt like a year.

Versailles’ USP has been its blend of pomp and romping, though that had to wait while the matter of the French victory over the Dutch was savoured and various sorts had settled back in to their old routines. Even so, 37 minutes and 39 seconds had gone by before there was so much as a glimpse of a naked buttock (not that I was timing it). This must be some sort of a record for Versailles. Variety magazine says this is the last stroll around the gardens for the French-Canadian drama, so maybe it has decided to go out classy. The peasants will be revolting, mark my words.

Much of Bride and Prejudice (Channel 4, Tuesday, 9pm) was wince-inducing. Six couples, all with matches their families consider “controversial”, allowed the cameras to follow them as the big day approached. So there was the 59-year-old Tory councillor marrying a 24-year-old politics student against her grandfather’s wishes; the mum from Mauritius disappointed that her prospective son-in-law was white; and the parents of a gay man who were “dreading” his wedding. One did not have to agree with the families to find their honesty commendable. With four parts to go, expect more tears to fall.

Sadness was not the principal emotion on watching Suffragettes with Lucy Worsley (BBC1, Monday, 8.30pm). The film was done in “immersive” style, which meant Worsley had hit the dressing up box again. Normally such contrivance would have been wildly irritating, but the historian’s respect for the subject was so clear one forgave the silliness.

If you did not get angry about this documentary on women’s fight for the vote then you were not paying enough attention. It might have been the revelations about the sexual assaults perpetrated by police on protesters, or the graphic dramatisations of force feeding, but by the end of it I quite felt like smashing something too. But the state was too big and the telly was a bad idea given the day job, so I plumped the cushions vigorously instead. I am woman, hear me roar.