TV review: Flog It

Then a bloke in pink trousers appears, talking about antiques. If that doesn't give you the willies, I don't know what will.

Hamming up sinister folklore about spooky goings on over Dartmoor for all they are worth, the Flog It! team headed to Devon, seamlessly combining a potted history of Gothic architecture with a man selling a cylindrical sliderule.

Not that any of the action was taking place on Dartmoor, you understand. In fact the business end of the proceedings actually took place on a rather dismal industrial estate in Plymouth.

Still, why let the facts get in the way of a good cliche?

Besides, it seems churlish to quibble about the location when there are far more important things to discuss. Like Paul Martin's outfits.

During last night's 45 minute show, the session musician-turned-antiques expert got through no fewer than three costume changes, each of them equally disturbing. The fetching pink and black ensemble of the opening moments gave way to a feast of corduroy, first in baby blue, then russet, then back to blue, with the occasional return to the pink at the end of the show.

Are there some sort of guidelines at the BBC these days that require antique show presenters to wear flamboyant outfits? If it's not him, it's Paul Atterbury on Antiques Roadshow and his range of vibrant checks.

There was something quite depressing about the first valuation, which saw Sue, joined by her daughter and grand-daughter, bring in a collection of medals belonging to her ailing father.

"I think that would have belonged to my grandfather," said Sue, sifting through some First World War medals and sporting honours from the early 20th century. There were also a selection of Second World War campaign medals which appeared to have been awarded to her father, although his memory was not what it was.

But when expert Mark Stacey asked her how she might feel about them being melted down for scrap, the response was telling: "I'm all for recycling," she said chirpily, almost salivating at the prospect of a few quid in the bank. When the gavel finally fell at £220, Sue and her daughter were practically jumping for joy, and it all came across as rather unseemly.

Sad for a different reason was the sale of a 1930s Rolex watch, which had been given to Ken as a gift from his aunt many years ago. Ken, who had never worn the artefact, initially seemed pleased when he was told it would fetch between £300 and £400, but appeared to be getting cold feet when the auction loomed, and looked rather crestfallen when it fetched £310.

"I would have been just as happy if it hadn't been sold," he said after the sale.

Maybe it is because there are so many of them, but there is something about today's antiques programmes which seem distinctly underwhelming.

Of course it is fascinating when the occasional treasure is uncovered on Antiques Roadshow, but there really wasn't that much to get the pulse racing here.

Are we really meant to get excited when a pram bought from the local tip fetches £45 at auction? Or when a signed platinum disc signed by Coldplay fails to meet its reserve?

Strangest item of all was a tiny walking stick, which had belonged to Charles Stratton, the world's shortest man, who never grew above 3ft 4in in height.

Under the guidance of the master of good taste that was P T Barnum, Stratton was reinvented as General Tom Thumb, and toured the world singing, dancing, and doing impressions of Napoleon Bonaparte.

I bet he wore pink trousers.

Mark Andrews