Peter Rhodes on infection at Wembley, MoT relief and which is better, Downton or Upstairs, Downstairs?

Rejoice, for I have survived MoT day, the prayerful event at the local garage which has taken the place of organised religion. Yet to be honest I feared no evil for during the past year, thanks to lockdown, I have driven a pitiful 2,538 miles. I've probably walked further. Good news for emissions. Great news for the insurance companies.

Quotes from the pandemic “We just showed a QR code on our phone (for the Covid check), it could have been a Nando’s reservation I think they would have waved us through. I would say it probably was a super-spreader event.” Journalism trainer Graham Hiley who believes he caught Covid-19 at the Euros final at Wembley.

More than 60 per cent of UK households now have access to a streaming service, up from 49 per cent in 2019, and we spend more time than ever glued to the box. One unexpected result of today's plethora of channels is that it's possible to compare, without the veil of rose-tinted memory, two great costume dramas made 40 years apart, and now being screened in the same season. So, which is better – Upstairs, Downstairs (Talking Pictures channel) or Downton Abbey (ITV3)?

The acting in both is excellent and the storylines are equally good. The camerawork in Downton, thanks to technology, is far more mobile and intimate. But Upstairs, Downstairs scores hands-down when it comes to portraying poverty. Its pitiful and depraved Christmas scene in the East End was drawn from the race-memory of a team including Jean Marsh and Eileen Atkins, now both 87.

Between 1970-75 when they were creating Upstairs Downstairs, they were only one generation removed from such hard times. Downton's brand of poverty, imagined in the 21st century, is the product of a much wealthier age and lacks the rawness that Upstairs, Downstairs did so well.

Quite suddenly I came upon one of those scenes that suggests the pandemic is over and all is back to normal. At a big garage near Coventry a huge transporter lorry was parked with a full complement of gleaming, brand-new cars on their way to new owners. The garage was doing brisk business with vehicles at every pump. At the coffee shop next door, a dozen families were taking a break.

This wretched virus could still mutate into something hideous, and imprison us once again in our homes. But when sulky old pessimists like me begin to look on the bright side, maybe the end really is in sight.