On Claire Byrne Live (RTÉ1), journalist Billy Keane was serving drinks in the Fair City bar in order to show what life in pubs might be like when they're allowed to reopen in August. It was all very depressing.
I love pubs and, down through the years, I've spent many happy hours inside their doors, including Billy's own most convivial of premises in Listowel. Conviviality was entirely absent in the Fair City bar as Liveline presenter Joe Duffy nursed a pint at one end of a banquette, weather woman Nuala Carey sipped her tipple the requisite distance from him and Billy hovered behind the counter.
"This is worse than I thought it would be," Joe declared in dismay. "You can't really have a conversation unless you bellow". And what would they do if two of them needed to use the loo at the same time - all that passing on the stairs, for starters?
Still, to look on the bright side, they hadn't lost their shirts on overseas properties, as the second episode of Burnt by the Sun (RTÉ1) reminded us. I reviewed the first instalment of this two-parter at the beginning of April and I had assumed the second episode had been deferred for Covid-related reasons, but no - its delayed transmission, a voiceover declared, had been due to "unexpected technical issues", whatever they might have been.
Anyway, here once more were tales of Celtic Tiger "madness", with "unbridled spending on overseas properties" by people "getting off the plane at Malaga and leaving their brains at home".
That was a good line, but the best soundbite came from the developer Harry Crosbie: "Flats in Bulgaria? I wouldn't buy somewhere in Donnybrook because I don't know Donnybrook." Yet thousands did just that, and so we heard the sorry stories of unfortunates who were duped or downright ruined in their quest for financial profit.
Meanwhile, it was a good week for Johnny Logan. Fresh from his media spat with Dickie Rock (oh, just Google it), the three-time Eurovision Song Contest winner was given pride of place in Eurovision: Europe Shine a Light (RTÉ1/BBC1), with the Rotterdam hosts of this year's virtual show deeming him at the outset to be Eurovision royalty and getting him to sing 'What's Another Year' for the zillionth time.
The show itself was a curious and somewhat eerie celebration, with Marty Whelan pointing out to RTÉ viewers that, with no voting for this year's contest and thus no overall victor, "we can't win and we also can't lose" - Marty's Mastermind subject being the bleeding obvious.
But he was in good form when hosting the same evening's Marty's Magical Eurovision Moments (RTÉ1), a nostalgic wallow through the decades.
There was footage of Dana's 1970 win and Dana International's triumph in 1998, with Gay Byrne asking the Israeli singer on The Late Late Show: "Did you ever think you'd see the day when a transsexual would win the Eurovision Song Contest?"
Our own Dana popped up on Pointless Celebrities (BBC1), indeed seeing off Eurovision rival Niamh Kavanagh to grab the Pointless trophy - the second time she's won it, according to host Alexander Armstrong, who then got her to sing 'All Kinds of Everything', which she did with the sweetness of 50 years ago.
A different kind of music suffuses The Eddy (Netflix), the opening episode of which I enthused about in last week's column. I've now watched five more episodes and am delaying watching the last two because I don't want it to end.
Quentin Tarantino hoped that Jackie Brown - his best movie by a long mile - would be viewed as a "hang-out" film, just as he himself loved hanging out with the main characters in the great Rio Bravo. By the same token, The Eddy is a hang-out series, with the viewer eager to know more about the various characters as they struggle to make a living and fend off gangsters in a Parisian backstreet jazz club.
The plotting, such as it is, comes from noted screenwriter Jack Thorne and is so loose as to be almost desultory, as if he and director Damien Chazelle (Whiplash, La La Land) felt obliged to pay only a passing acknowledgment to conventional expectations.
Yet the plotting doesn't really matter. Instead, you become absorbed in the efforts of moody and driven Elliot (André Holland) to keep the club alive and in his relationships with troubled singer Maja (Joanna Kulig), similarly troubled daughter Julie (Amandla Stenberg) and various band members.
A vibrantly unfamiliar Paris is also vividly evoked, while the jazz that's being played throughout (an original score by Randy Kerber and Glen Ballard) is thrilling. The Eddy has got mixed reviews, but I don't know why. Please watch it because, even if the last two episodes turn out to be a let-down, it's been tremendously good so far.
I've sampled only the first instalment of White Lines (Netflix), which was far from tremendous. This 10-episode saga of drug-dealing and death in Ibiza alienated me from the start, with Laura Haddock more a fashion plate than a character as she attempted to find out what happened to her older brother on this sun-drenched island.
There was reliably good playing from Daniel Mays as the brother's dodgy friend, but the villains came from Eurotrash central casting, while a climactic orgy that presumably was meant to be both debauched and sexy just looked tacky and silly. But maybe it gets better.