TV review: Country House Rescue

When William and Ann Brennan saw a for-sale ad in their Sunday newspaper for a 44-room Norfolk mansion, they did the sensible thing – they bought it. Well they did have a look at it first of course. "We came up, and it was an extraordinary sight," says Ann, romantically. "This great lump, red-brick lump, in the middle of an icy field." I think winter is the right time for Gissing Hall. And Norfolk the right place. Not posh Norfolk, the north coast, Islington-on-Sea. But nowhere Norfolk, misty and flat, forlorn and a bit spooky. It's a fine Georgian house, with a clock tower, and lovely gables that go up and down in steps rather than straight lines. But there is also a lugubriousness about Gissing Hall. And I think that suits the Brennans. William is frustratingly self-effacing; Ann, an artist, is silent and thoughtful. So it all worked then – the perfect family, in the perfect house, in the perfect place. Except that it costs a lot to keep a 44-room house going, money the Brennans didn't have. So they opened it as a hotel. But self-effacing, silent and artistic aren't necessarily the qualities you need to run a successful hotel. No one came, they borrowed more money. The Brennans bumbled, Gissing Hall crumbled. Finally they called in Ruth Watson and Country House Rescue (Channel 4). So no-nonsense Ruth rocks up in her blue coat and her big vulgar Audi. She doesn't seem to see any loveliness in Gissing Hall, just a lot of stuff she doesn't like – the gateposts, the carpets, the bedrooms, pretty much everything. "This looks very sad," she says, stepping down from the Audi. The Brennans' decor is grim, she says. They don't get how to do bedrooms, the curtains in the ballroom – chosen by William and Ann's daughter Harriet – are revolting. She's right, of course. But she's verging on revolting herself. She sits the Brennans down for a patronising little talk. "I think you've been incredibly honest and very intelligent to know that you don't know what you're doing," she tells them. "That's the sign, to me, of intelligence, to ask for help." You can see that Ann is boiling behind her thoughtful silence. So, Ruth has decided they're intelligent enough, but are they up to the job? "Given a structure, do you think you're actually self-disciplined enough to adhere to that?" Adhere, not stick. Ruth likes a more formal word – adhere, fortuitous, conurbation. If you're going to judge other people's intelligence you've got to show your own. She has a little wander round on her own, and bumps into a couple who are thinking of having their wedding party at Gissing. What did they think of the curtains in the ballroom, she wants to know. They didn't like them. "OK, thank you," says Ruth with a smug little laugh. Ha ha ha, see, I was right. God, I'm really beginning to dislike this woman. But it gets worse, because she finds a right old mess in another room. "When people live in chaos like this, it's also indicative of a state of mind," she says, sadly, tapping her head. Oh, I see, so they might be quite intelligent, but they're a bit funny in the head. And Ruth's not just a hotelier and a judge of intelligence, she's a psychologist too. Are there no limits to her talents? Of course she's very good at the hotel stuff. Well, actually she tells the Brennans to phase out the hotel, and concentrate on weddings. And she calls in designers and experts, and "a very eminent wedding adviser" called Peregrine Armstrong Jones, who arranged the nuptial celebrations of Liz Hurley and the Beckhams (I doubt the Brennans are much impressed by Liz Hurley or the Beckhams). She gets them to hire a manager because they're obviously incapable of managing themselves. And Harriet's curtains are pulled down. It all makes sense I'm afraid. The Brennans agree. I call them up, hoping they'll spit with rage down the phone about the dreadful woman who came swanning into their lives in her big Audi. But they're much too nice, and say her advice was very useful. William does admit that the young manager they're seen taking on is no longer with them. Ann comes on the line. I tell her I thought she looked angry with Ruth. No, she says, she wasn't boiling, that's just the way she looks. I tell her what she says about the mess and the state of their minds. "She's quite right," says Ann. Damn. Well, I'm not so nice; Ruth Watson is ghastly.