Where were we, then? That’s right, a lonely moorland road, where Andrew Newton, the airline pilot, has failed to shoot Norman Scott in the head because his gun jammed after he shot Rinka the great dane. And Norman – covered in blood, tears and rain and cradling his huge dead dog – is shouting that it was the leader of the Liberal party who dunnit.

Russell T Davies would have had a lot of fun making this up if he had needed to. He would probably have been told to ease off a little, in the name of credibility. We really don’t do political scandal like we used to; I can’t see anyone making a three-part drama about Jeremy Hunt’s property interests anytime ever.

Would a great dane really fit into the boot of a Morris Minor police car though? Possibly, pre rigor mortis, with some folding. Morris should have done an advertising campaign around it – Room for Rinka, too!

Justice seems to be closing in on Thorpe; he can plug one leak with a payoff, but another one opens up – there is too much out there. Letters emerge from him to Scott, with the killer word: “bunnies”.

“Bunnies!” exclaims second wife Marion, looking up from her morning paper, boiled egg and cigarette. Monica Dolan, who plays Marion, has made A Very English Scandal even better since appearing on the scene. Monica Dolan improves anything she is in. Rupert, Thorpe’s son, is dispatched to his room, to protect him from the contents of the newspaper.

Thorpe resigns from the party leadership and Marion makes cod in parsley sauce (one of many lovely 70s details), so they can talk. Before marrying, he dabbled (with men), he tells her. “To relieve myself,” he says, glancing down towards his dabbling area.



A lot has been said of Hugh Grant’s performance and what a departure it is from the usual. But is it really so very different? There’s com there; even rom, as well. He just shaves less often, has a side parting, and throws a cloak of evil over himself. Romcom Hugh plus bad hair plus shadows (five o’clock, lying, conspiracy to murder etc). Still absolutely splendid, though.

Norman Scott (Ben Whishaw) in A Very English Scandal. Photograph: Sophie Mutevelian/BBC/Blueprint Television Ltd

The evidence piles up, falls from the ceiling of Peter Bessell’s old office. Bessell is summoned back from California, Thorpe is arrested. It doesn’t stop him from standing for election while on bail for conspiracy to murder – that takes something, doesn’t it? Massive misjudgment mostly: he loses to the Tory candidate (this is the 1979 election, when Margaret Thatcher became prime minister). Incidentally, that was the Auberon Waugh (there was only one, unlike John le Mesurier, of whom there were two), receiving 79 votes as representative of the Dog Lovers’ party, ensuring that Rinka is not entirely forgotten. Thorpe was a pet hate of Waugh’s, hence the dogged hounding ...

So, to the Old Bailey, for the “trial of the century”. This is where Davies has some fun. Ben Whishaw, too. Was it quite like that, with Scott looking up, seeing his landlady friend Edna Friendship, suddenly gaining the courage to be smart and funny and to take on George Carman (Adrian Scarborough)? It doesn’t matter, he deserves the moment: it is a fabulous performance of a fabulous performance.

Not that it helps to convict Thorpe. Mr “Justice” Cantley sees to that in his extraordinary summing up. Wow, just wow, and just as it really happened, it seems. To sum up the summing up: it’s your decision, of course, jury, but try to find Thorpe not guilty, because he’s a jolly decent chap. Also pretty much as it really happened was Peter Cook’s sketch about the trial, a snippet of which appears in the postscript. More court reporting than satire.

As well as the outrageous judge, there is so much going on in that courtroom. Oxbridge chums passing each other notes, doing each other favours. Hypocrisy, prejudice, ghastly snobbery, injustice and a chorus of tittering from the public gallery. The 70s, eh? Thank God nothing like it happens today – men of the establishment abusing their power for their own personal gratification and getting away with it.

I have heard the odd moan about the tone being wrong. Nonsense. Just because something involves serious matters doesn’t mean it needs to be dry. The trial recreation – the whole thing – leaves you reeling, seething and laughing, all at the same time. It’s both scandalous and very English.

Then the postscript, with the real Norman Scott, alive and well outside his cottage. Still no national insurance card, but finally some good news for dog lovers: he has 11. Woof.