From the coverage of the Falklands War at the time, or recent programmes marking the 40th anniversary, many will be familiar with footage showing the fighting at sea.

Hardly any of the 25-day land war was recorded on film, however, meaning only those who fought there can say what it was like in the heat of battle.

Ten such men were persuaded to come before the cameras for the outstanding Our Falklands War: A Frontline Story (BBC2, Sunday, 9pm).

Quietly, with hesitation and without bravado, they talk through their experiences. Some have never told anyone what they saw and did. Their stories are shocking and testament to the sheer bloody horror of war, but they also show the strength of the bond between brothers in arms.

There is humour of the bleakest sort here, as you might imagine. “What was going through your head,” the interviewer asks one platoon commander. “A 762 high velocity bullet,” comes the reply.

For many, the toughest times came when the war was over and they had to return to “real life”. They had been changed forever, and remain so to this day. The lucky ones got help.

There was nothing in the preview I saw about how the film came about, or how long it took to make, which I would like to have known. The trust between the filmmakers and the filmed was remarkable. None of these men were the sort you would want to offend with insensitivity or ignorance, and fortunately there was none of that. Ninety minutes that will live long in the memory.

Football lore has it that any player who incurred the displeasure of Sir Alex Ferguson risked being on the end of a dressing room blast of wrath known as the “hairdryer treatment”.

In keeping with her hospitality background, Alex Polizzi’s tellings off would probably be named “the handryer treatment”. Whatever, you would not want to be on the end of one, as Hasmeeta and her husband Bharat are in the first of a new series of the reliably excellent The Hotel Inspector (Channel 5, Thursday, 9pm).

The couple spent their life savings buying the Thai Derm Spa and guesthouse in Loughborough. They had no connection to Thailand and, more importantly, no experience in hospitality.

Two years in, the place is haemorrhaging money and the pair are working round the clock and getting nowhere.

Polizzi’s heart sinks even before she is through the front door. Outside the building looks dishevelled, inside it is chaotic and unclean. Polizzi, in keeping with her brief, has to stay the night to get the full guest experience. A hotel inspector’s gotta do ...

It is one very unhappy guest who wakes the next morning in one of the hotel’s £89 a night “prestige” rooms, especially after finding hair in the shower that was not her own. “I went to bed cross and I woke up even more irate,” says Polizzi. “It’s time for some tough love.”

What follows is vintage, Hotel Inspector, watch-through-the-fingers stuff. “She’s got a hell of a temper,” says Bharat. But the pair know she is right and set about taking her advice, starting with a gut of the bedrooms.

“This is your ship. You are the captains,” she tells them as she drives off into the sunset with the promise/threat of returning soon to check on progress. Ship. Captains. For some reason the word Titanic bobs to the surface.

Can the couple change their ways fast enough to rescue the business, or will they become just another failure in what was, even before the pandemic, a tough market to crack?

There is something about painting shows that is naturally pleasing. Not the matt emulsion kind of painting, the stuff involving canvases and easels, as seen in Sky Arts’ Portrait Artist of the Year and in a recent arrival on the block, Extraordinary Portraits (BBC1, Monday, 11.10pm).

The idea is a good ‘un. Find inspiring individuals whose faces would not normally be found on the walls of a gallery, introduce them to a renowned artist, and await the results.

This week’s subject is Harriet Middleton from Lerwick, proud Shetlander, granny, cancer survivor, knitter and charity fundraiser extraordinaire (£110k plus to buy an MRI machine). She is matched with Stuart Pearson Wright, best known for his ability to reflect a hidden sadness in his subjects. “I’m slightly worried she’s so cheerful,” he says of Harriet.

By the time Pearson Wright leaves Shetland after their sitting he’s professing his love. All she asks of him is that her portrait is not “wacky”. See for yourself how it turns out when Harriet brings the family to London for the unveiling.