BETWEEN the jargon, the mounting tension, and the presence of Vicky McClure, it hardly required the combined nous of Sherlock Holmes and Jim Rockford to deduce that Trigger Point (STV, Sunday) came from the same stable as Line of Duty. Jed Mercurio’s hit police procedural has a style so strong it is practically a brand.

There was one major difference, though: Trigger Point had more sweating. Not for Lana Washington (McClure) and her colleagues the air conditioned environs of the AC-12 interview room. They were out there, in a London housing estate, trying to defuse bombs. To cap it all, it was summer. Lana was glowing so badly she had to put her short hair in a man bun.

It was a long way from Danger UXB, the old ITV series set in WW2 London. Trigger Point was bomb disposal glammed up and pumped up. The hour duly flew by as Lana and her colleague Joel Nutkins (Adrian Lester) disarmed deadly devices, one of them strapped to a toilet (the device, not the officer).

Gripping? Up to a point. Since it would not be much of a bomb disposal drama without a bomb going off, the viewer could guess what was going to happen.

Given Line of Duty’s reputation for bumping off big names early, we also knew who it was going to happen to. Having a strong brand comes with downsides.

Is this the drill for the next five episodes, bomb scare after bomb scare, or is there a strong story line that links the parts together? As for those character names, Lana Washington, Joel Nutkins, Thom Youngblood, I half expected Clem Fandango from Toast of London to turn up.

Chris Carson: that’s the sort of no nonsense name you want for a copper. Carson (as played by Martin Freeman) was the central character in the far more satisfying police drama The Responder (BBC1, Monday-Tuesday).

He was a troubled soul, Chris. Every night he drove the mean streets of Liverpool, dispensing his own brand of rough justice while heading full pelt for a breakdown. At heart he was a good egg. That weed he stole from suspects was to help his old mum (Rita Tushingham) through her illness. The assaults? Easing the pressure on the hard pressed courts, of course.

Featuring every actor on the books in Liverpool (did you spot Sinbad from Brookside?), The Responder wore its bleakness as a badge of honour. It might have been suffocatingly hard going save for Freeman’s outstanding performance, complete with flawless Scouse accent, and injections of gallows humour. Two episodes in the story had found its way and was tearing along like a good’ un. Roll on next week’s concluding episodes. If Jimmy Corkhill doesn’t turn up I’ll be most disappointed.

As you might have expected, Jay Blades: Learning to Read at 51 (BBC1, Wednesday) did exactly what it said on the tin. Blades, presenter of The Repair Shop, told us he was one of eight million adults in the UK who struggle to read. In his case the problem was dyslexia. He had spent a lifetime trying to hide it. “Quite a sad thing really,” he said.

He started lessons with a reading charity, spoke to experts, and met others in the same position. A common thread emerged: poverty. Whether due to lack of money, support, or opportunity, Blades had so often missed the boat. Life eventually turned around for the boy from Hackney, but others were not so lucky. Today, if anything, things are worse. One educational psychologist told Blades that during the pandemic the average pupil fell behind by two months. For those on free school meals it was seven months.

Blades started the programme with the aim of reading a story to his daughter for the first time. She was 15. Sure it was contrived, of course we knew he would get there, but if you did not have something in your eye by the end of this documentary then do have a word with yourself.

Have you signed up yet to Couples Therapy (BBC2, Monday)? At first I could hardly stay awake as various New York couples let the cameras in on their sessions with psychoanalyst Dr Orna Guralnik. As Tolstoy did not say, unhappy couples are all alike – boring. Who wants to listen to other people’s moans? Happily, I stuck with it and I’m pleased to say I’m in love. With Dr Orna.

I love her little dog. I love her office. I love the jeans, the wristbands, her tousled hair in a bun. I’ve even begun to warm to the clients, who I now realise are not whinge bags but individuals trying to be their best selves while respectfully cherishing others. Mostly I just love Dr Orna.

Falling for the therapist. What a cliche. Still, it worked out well for Tony and Dr Melfi, didn't it?