DIVORCE is a dreadful business. All that fighting over custody of the dogs, the fancy coffee maker, and the children (in that order). But being a divorce lawyer, well, now you are talking. Judging by The Split (BBC, Tuesday), positioning yourself between two warring parties is the way to a fabulous home, gorgeous clothes, and endless takeaways. Delish.

As anyone who saw the first series can attest, Abi Morgan’s drama is to family law what Dallas was to the oil business or Casualty to your average A&E department. Any resemblance between the two is purely a fluke. Series two finds the mother and daughters lawyer combo as partners in a newly merged firm. Hannah (Nicola Walker) is the glue that keeps the family together, but after being humiliated by her cheating husband Nathan (Stephen Mangan), she has become unstuck and is having a thing with fellow partner Christie (Barry Atsma).

In the middle of juggling all that, plus her children, her sisters, her mother, and for all I know next door’s cat, prospective clients keep rocking up and asking for Hannah’s help. Despite being super busy, she always finds space in her diary for the likes of the yummy mummy with the controlling husband, and the elderly bishop who has put dumping his wife on his bucket list.

It is best not to pay too much attention to the dialogue or plot because they are very silly, and instead drink in the interiors, clothes and background action. The latter can reach Acorn Antiques heights at times, as when Hannah’s mum, showing what looked like the cast from a remake of Lawrence of Arabia to her office, trilled loudly: “How’s that racehorse?” Just in case you had not twigged her clients were ARABS and therefore RICH.

With Hannah playing around, and Nathan unable to secure her forgiveness no matter how many times he gives her the puppy dog eyes, it will all end in tears, but please Lord, not until I’ve had a few more glimpses of their kitchen.

Kitchens had their places in The Pale Horse (BBC1, Sunday), the latest Agatha Christie adaptation from Sarah Phelps. Like everything else in this two-parter the attention to detail was superb. In a spotless mansion flat kitchen a second wife (Kaya Scodelario) was trying to cook her way into the affections of her distracted husband Mark (Rufus Sewell, above). Across town was the kitchen belonging to Mark’s mistress. It seriously failed the hygiene test.

Antiques dealer Mark had more on his mind than the washing up, however. His name had been found on a list in a dead woman’s shoe. Everyone on the list was popping their clogs. Was Mark going to be next?

All roads led back to the village of Much Deeping in Surrey, home to three women psychics and a pub called The Pale Horse. “Do you want your fortune told?” one of the trio asked Mark, though surely she would have known the answer to that.

Apart from one dreadful case of over-acting – you know who you are – this was a enjoyably creepy tale, ably led by Sewell, that had whispers of The Wicker Man about it.

Being a comedy about a refugee fleeing the war in Syria, Home (Channel 4, Wednesday) has never wanted for edge. Despite dealing with some harrowing subjects, Rufus Jones’s sitcom has gone about its business with a song in its heart. The world might be going to hell in a stolen shopping trolley is the vibe, but as long as there are some good folk left, the kind who would welcome a refugee into their home, there is hope yet for humanity.

The second series is giving the show some pretty steep mountains to climb, though. The couple who took in Sami (Youssef Staton) have problems of their own piling up. It is a measure of how convincing Jones has made the characters that one cares so much that it should work out for them.

Love Song (BBC Scotland, Thursday) was like Channel 4’s Flirty Dancing, but with singing instead of dancing as a means of bringing couples together. Where the Channel 4 show was tender and charming, Love Song was an assault on the lugholes, like sitting next to the speaker when a pub singer is giving it laldy.

“Pub singer” rather flatters some of the contestants. The would be dater had to sing with three hopefuls, all of whom were supposed to be performers at professional or amateur level. Three would then be reduced to two, and they would battle it out for the chance of going to a well known Glasgow watering hole, which managed to get its name in the frame despite the BBC’s supposed stance on advertising.

Overseeing proceedings was Radio One’s Arielle Free. She had come up with a catchphrase to soothe the rejected ones - “It’s lights out on love for you” - that was of the same school disco standard as everything else. After an hour the only song on my mind was “Please release me”.