Here’s something to make older people feel even older: Channel 4 is 39 tomorrow.

I watched its first programme (Countdown, of course), although I am too young to also remember the birth of ITV (in 1955) and BBC2 (1964).

I mention it now as a reminder that until 1982 there were only three channels, which seems incredible when you think that we now have more than 450 to choose from on our telly, and we don’t even have extras like Disney+ and Netflix.

Of course, some channels pump out more sewage than a dodgy water company, so you wouldn’t touch them with a bargepole, and we have at least 400 channels that I’ve never watched.

But there are some pearls among them, and recently I discovered we can get something called Court TV, which, as the name suggests, broadcasts live from American courtrooms, usually murder trials that are high-profile over there. I only stumbled on it when our diet of fictional trials - most notably Perry Mason and Rumpole of the Bailey - dried up.

We love a good courtroom drama. I was even in one, once, when a touring play came to the Wyvern Theatre and they wanted extras to play barristers. So I went along for my one and only stage role, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

I would recommend having a look at Court TV, although it can be addictive. The workings of the court can be fascinating, if slow, and you always get a chilling insight into human life.

Last week I watched one trial (of Keith Johansen, in Florida) who tried to explain why his wife died from two bullets shot from his gun.

He eventually told the court it was self-defence, and this might have been believable if he hadn’t already come up with a string of other stories since the shooting in 2018, suggesting suicide, the victim shot herself by accident (twice), she was attacked by a neighbour, and even her six-year-old son did it.

Not surprisingly, the main thing that Court TV demonstrates is the offenders are not the brightest buttons in the box. But you also realise that real-life American attorneys can be far less prepared, and far more hesitant and bungling than their fictional counterparts.

Although Johansen had a right to remain silent, for some reason his lawyer put him on the stand, allowing the prosecution to gleefully spend half an hour making him acknowledge every one of the many lies he had told the police. And all the defence’s questioning did was emphasise his hard drug use, a complete lack of compassion or remorse, and his peculiarly American obsession with guns.

I will end with my favourite example of a lawyer being smart, and you can make up your own mind if it’s fact or fiction.

Lawyer: “…at the time of the offence, the accused was as drunk as a judge.”

Judge: “I think the correct term is ‘as drunk as a lord’.”

Lawyer: “As Your Lordship pleases.”