In the opening titles we could see him through the Blair Witch gloom. Naked, ravenous, clawing berries from a bush, terrified of being torn from limb to limb any moment. And you thought last year’s staycation was tough. Try being a contestant on Alone (Channel 4, Sunday).

Television’s latest exercise in putting ordinary bods through hell for the amusement of the rest of us was not messing about.

One by one, the 11 “ordinary men and women” were dropped off in Canada’s Northwest Territories - sans food, sans shelter, sans companions but with a camera each. Oh, and a satellite phone for emergencies. So not totally alone then, but still, pretty hair-raising.

“I don’t want to go too far,” said one woman as she set off to look for a place to set up camp. “I get lost going around Tesco.” Naomi is 26 and something in fashion, God help her.

Mike, 49, a joiner by trade, was more like it. He too had spotted the bear droppings and footprints but was determined to stay cheery. “What were you expecting,” he told himself in a pep talk, “tomcats and Jack Russells?” Now there’s a show I’d like to see.

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The 100k prize goes to the person who lasts the longest. By the look of them after only one day they all deserve the money.

As with every other survival show the cynic in me wonders how much jeopardy the punters are really in. No-one is really going to recreate the Leonardo DiCaprio bear scene from The Revenant, are they? Ofcom and the insurers would have something to say about that.

And yet, and yet. As night fell, and the wilderness came alive with screams and grunts and snuffles, I was so glad it was not me out there. Back next week for more? Definitely.

It was inevitable that the endless property porn on the streaming services would find their way to the UK, and here we are with Crazy Rich Agents (BBC2, Sunday). As in Selling Sunset, The Parisian Agency, Million Dollar Listing New York, etc, the deal is that we, the viewers, get to trot along with the agents as they buy and sell fabulous homes for rich people. Done well, it makes for shamefully addictive viewing.

Crazy Rich Agents did not know what it wanted to be, though. Was it a reality show, an Apprentice-style competition, The X Factor with curtains? Some of the contestants had experience in selling property, the others were absolute beginners.

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All were young, gauche, and fair game for the programme makers. There was a distinct sense of Auntie punching down here, even if some of the contestants wore their ignorance with pride, as when one mistook the Bank of England for “nice flats”. (One day, but not now.) Everything about this show was derivative, cringey, and grasping. Essentially one big advertisement for a particular property firm, it was a mystery why the BBC was even showing it. Cost of living crisis, anyone?

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With the bizarre Wolf (BBC1) continuing to stink up the place, the summer of so-bad-it’s-almost-good drama continued with The Reunion (STV, Friday). Ioan Gruffudd headed an international cast and crew of what seemed like thousands telling the tale of three school chums bound by a secret from their past, and we are not talking ciggies behind the bike sheds at the local comp. This is a swish international school on the French Riviera no less.

Arriving for the titular get-together, successful novelist Thomas (Gruffudd) finds the past being dug up again, but are things as he remembers? And whatever happened to beautiful, troubled Vinca, the love he risked everything for?

Hard to say precisely when The Reunion jumped the rails. It could have been the dialogue, ripe as old Brie, going out of whack with the actors’ lip movements. Or the flu dream editing. Or Dervla Kirwan being cast as Gruffudd’s mother despite there being only two years between the actors. By the time we got to the army of mini-kilted schoolgirls chanting “Eff the patriarchy” it was a case of come back Wolf, all is forgiven.

Thank the Lord for Annika (Alibi, Wednesday), which once again seemed to appear out of nowhere to restore one’s faith in TV drama. Nicola Walker (we like her) was back as the Scots-Norwegian cop who transfers to Glasgow to head something called the Marine Homicide Unit. You could pick holes in much of it, including DI Annika’s habit of talking direct to camera, which some viewers can’t stand, but it’s amazing what a talented cast can pull off.

This time, Annika has a secret she feels compelled to share, despite knowing it will rock the boat and possibly, er, capsize the life of her colleague and pal Michael (Jamie Sives). It’s a long way from Taggart, which rarely if ever gave scope for watery metaphors, but I think the boss would have approved.