SHHHHH. Be very, very still. David Attenborough, partially hidden by dense foliage, is doing that husky-voiced whispery thing. And we better keep schtum or that mighty rhinoceros over yonder will tumble through the grass and make a perforated strip of his spine.

Turning to face the TV camera, Attenborough expounds on what he’s witnessing. He describes the rhino’s natural habitat, the vegetation it prefers to eat, its mating rituals and methods of raising its young.

But what’s this? The great naturalist has moved on to more pressing concerns. He’s emoting about the lack of confidence he has in his own body. The creeping trepidation that he’ll never have a sufficiently shredded six-pack to wow his homeys in the gym.

Doesn’t sound like our Dave, does it? Though only because he grew to prominence in an era when documentarians were curious about the world, not obsessed with themselves.

Which brings us to Scarlett Moffatt, a sort of David Attenborough Lite. Or should that be trite?

Scarlett became a star through regular appearances on Gogglebox, a reality show where members of the public are filmed watching and commenting on TV shows. Scandalous, really, as only Herald reviewers should become rich and famous watching telly.

Fame fades, however, which might explain why Scarlett, and the rest of her County Durham clan, chose to live with a Namibian tribe for a month, the whole thing filmed for TV, naturally.

The British Tribe Next Door (Channel 4, Tuesday, 9.15pm) was in questionable taste from the get-go, with a replica of Scarlett’s house erected, brick-by-brick, on the edge of the African village.

Towering over mud huts, it was an image worthy of Salvador Dali at his most vainglorious. In other words, strikingly surreal, yet also a cheap and tacky gimmick. (Sorry, Sal.)

The villagers, a well-grounded bunch, quickly got acquainted with Scarlett and Co. Much as I hate to admit it, there were moments of genuine charm in this exploitation fest, such as when the tribal women entered the humble English terrace house, then climbed the carpeted staircase warily, as though scaling Kilimanjaro. One woman was dazzled by the image she glimpsed in a hallway mirror. She’d never seen her reflection before, and initially assumed the mirror was running water.

This being 2019, everything eventually had to focus on Scarlett and her problems. The Namibian women requested she wear their traditional skimpy tribal clothing. Scarlett declined due to body confidence issues, and the programme rapidly degenerated into focusing on the hefty lass’s naval-gazing inverse narcissism.

It’s all the fault of the pesky running water in Scarlett’s hallway. Mirrors lead to mobiles. Mobiles lead to me, me, me. Then it’s a short journey to everything else we endure in our self-obsessed, selfie culture.

Some things are far worse than self-obsession. Dispatches: The Prince & the Paedophile (Channel 4, Monday, 10pm) focused on the troubling relationship between convicted US sex-offender, Jeffrey Epstein, and Prince Andrew.

Epstein is now dead, having committed suicide in prison earlier this year after being charged with the sex-trafficking of minors. He also had a previous conviction for procuring underage girls for prostitution.

This rich, deviant and unrepentantly sleazy socialite was a close friend of Prince Andrew, an intimacy that wasn’t severed even after Epstein’s initial criminal conviction.

Virginia Roberts, one of the girls procured by Epstein, alleges she had sex with the Duke of York.

Dispatches didn’t provide new evidence, though what’s already available was scandalous enough to make this documentary depressingly watchable.

This wasn’t merely a sordid tale of two wealthy, well-connected men; a prince and his pervert pal. It was an indictment of a society that allowed a man such as Epstein to thrive and, no doubt, still does.

On a happier note, nice fellows do exist. Step forward, Paul O’Grady.

Many moons ago O’Grady was a popular drag act, then he morphed into a cosy tea-time talk show host. These days his big thing is dogs.

Paul O’Grady: For the Love of Dogs (STV, 8pm, Wednesday) saw him lending a hand at Battersea Dogs and Cats Home, while revealing the sad backstories of the weepy-eyed woofers in need of an owner.

This doggy drama tried a little too hard to pump saltwater from the tear ducts of its audience. Not content to tug our heart strings, it hauled on them mercilessly, like Quasimodo boinging up and down on the bell ropes of Notre-Dame.

O’Grady, however, has a strong bond with the four-legged friskies. A likable host, he’s emotionally invested in the fate of the animals and doesn’t merely use the TV exposure to bathe his own ego.

So, maybe a breakaway candidate to one day take over from David Attenborough? Probably not. Somehow I can’t see O’Grady playing fetch with a rhinoceros.