Linda Herrick: Class act on retro night

Home on Saturday night and a humble desire to be entertained by the telly? This time of year, the annual TV wasteland, can make the History and Discovery Channels look - almost - riveting. However, you could do worse than turn to UKTV which offers an amusing little trio of retro Brit drama: The Saint, The New Avengers and The Sweeney.

Of the three, only the latter stands the test of time. More of that later. I remember The Saint because Dad used to read the books, confections about a modern-day Robin Hood churned out by Leslie Charteris. They were augmented by a Saint Mystery Magazine and a Saint Club, membership of which cost five bob a year.

Then, from 1962-69, The Saint became a popular TV series, featuring the suave Roger Moore. The odd thing about seeing the series now is how rigidly formulaic is each episode. One week in Switzerland, the next in Rome - to emphasise the Saint is a wealthy globetrotting crim.

There is no characterisation beyond the fact he is impeccably turned out, impossibly plummy in diction, and will inevitably triumph over baddies, bureaucrats and bungling cops.

The set-up is always the same. He sorts out some rough stuff, usually at an airport or hotel lobby, someone cries, "It's the famous Simon Templar!", Moore raises an eyebrow, smirks and a little halo pops up above his head.

The plots are as engaging as candyfloss. The most notable feature is Moore's hair, magnificent in its smoothness. The funny thing is during every dust-up, the hair puffs up into a bouffant, quickly smoothed down again. One unkind colleague advises looking closely at the hair in Moore's later incarnation as James Bond, the bouffant by then barely covering a bald spot.

No such danger for Patrick Macnee in The New Avengers, a tired mid-70s effort to revive The Avengers, which sparkled because of the witty chemistry between Macnee and Diana Rigg, as spy-busters Steed and Emma Peel.

Macnee is creaking in this series though, bowler hat jammed on as he's outpaced by his more youthful colleagues Purdey and Gambit. Again, the plots are formulaic and mad, with Nazi monks, Soviet sleepers activated by playing cards, and so forth.

The chemistry between Steed and Purdy is nil, with Joanna Lumley's upper-crust sex goddess act as alluring as a glass of Babycham. Like The Saint, it is ham, snobby ham.

But The Sweeney, that's in a class of its own. Working class. The series, which ran from 1975-78, established the brilliant John Thaw as a star, playing Flying Squad DI Jack Regan, an ill-tempered, hard-drinking cop who'll do anything to get his villain.

For those who might only have known Thaw for the Morse series, The Sweeney will be a revelation as the more youthful looking actor - before his hair turned white - dashes about the streets of east London dispensing rough justice to the lowlifes. Sure, it has dated in the sense that the cars are hilarious and there is virtually no technology, but the dialogue remains whippet-smart and the acting superb.

Macnee is now 83, while Moore is 78. Thaw died in 2002, aged only 60. So there's a sort of posthumous justice in seeing him alive and kicking butt in a show that could teach a thing or two to contemporary programmes whose wimpy heroes would be nothing without technology.

The Saint and The New Avengers are worth watching for the quaintness. But when Regan snarls, "Get your trousers on. You're nicked!" you don't get much better than that, any time, any place.