The Clinic may be gone but the breathing of new life into Raw ensures RTE still has a Sunday night drama series on its hands that’s worth staying in for.

In fairness, anything that has Charlene McKenna in it is worth the admission fee on its own; she was superb in Pure Mule, but Raw gives her the platform to show her full range as Jo Jo Harte, the feisty, mouthy sous chef with the big heart of gold.

For those who missed the first series, Raw is a restaurant in downtown Dublin where the good times used to roll but where the marriage of co-owners Mal and Tanya unravelled and spiralled out of control even faster than the economy.

So the doors closed and the staff dispersed to the four corners, none of them achieving anything even bordering on job satisfaction – to the point where they didn’t even think twice before running back to Raw as soon as they got word it was re-opening.

The Clinic connection is copperfastened by the arrival of actress Aishling O’Sullivan as Raw’s new owner, Fiona.

Because she was Dr Cathy Costello, wife and business partner of the clinic’s original owner Ed; then partner on all fronts of Dan the plastic surgeon man, and finally last seen clinging to life outside the Clinic after she was run over, before she eventually died.

But apart from the new boss and a new waiter in the person of former banker Dylan, it’s all of the old team at Raw back together – albeit a different Raw, representing a changed environment with the emphasis now on value for money as opposed to spending like the last days of the Borgias.

The strength of Raw is the variety and depth of the characters; Jo Jo positively steals the spotlight but there are equally rounded contributions from babe magnet Bobby behind the bar; head chef Geoff and boyfriend Pavel, and Jo Jo’s brother Shane, back in Ireland after a broken marriage and seeking a change of career.

The storylines positively belt along, but – unlike The Clinic – they never resort to the unbelievable. Each week sees new dimensions (Jo Jo and Shane’s mother arriving to stay, and then revealing she has cancer, for one; Fiona’s mysterious sister, Kate, for another) but this doesn’t feel the need to find a parallel plot under every stone.
The title doesn’t come from the food; it’s more the raw passion that’s around every corner and the reality is that the restaurant is more of a backdrop than a focus point.

RTÉ is to be complimented for continuing to make such fine drama in the face of tough economic choices – and even if we’re down to one right now, it’s a reason to keep paying the licence fee.

On the other hand, there are a couple of turkeys being served up from Donnybrook just now – That’s All We Have Time For is just an awful rip-off of Have I Got News for You, starved of scriptwriting standards or production values and a dreadful vehicle for the undoubted talents of presenter Barry Murphy. Maybe he should do it as Bill O’Herlihy in his Aprés Match guise.

Your Bad Self – the new vehicle for another former Clinic star and rugby WAG Amy Huberman – received loads of coverage after finishing week one with a bestiality sketch, but the real reason it should be panned is that it is simply appalling. One clever line surrounded by half an hour of dross.

Then there’s Katherine Lynch, a woman who has all the appearance of someone who once came up with enough material for one good sketch and then made the fatal mistake of trying to build an entire career around it.

Her latest regurgitation of hackneyed old clichés is currently lulling insomniacs everywhere into a well-deserved night’s sleep as she pedals the same old smack for all it’s worth.

Her Single Ladies series is getting a run on Wednesday nights but her characters haven’t improved with age; Singing Bernie Walsh has her moments,, but Leitrim lesbian Liz Hurley or man-mad middle-aged Sheila Chic are two-dimensional caricatures that wouldn’t be out of place on a drag night in your local progressive pub.

Singing Bernie Walsh went on a trip to London last week and that had its moments, as you looked through your fingers at the cringe-making propositions she put to unsuspecting English patsies.

Looking like Geri Halliwell would in her Union Jack mini if someone had pumped her up like a car tyre, Bernie tried out for a pole-dancing post in Peter Stringfellows’ latest emporium.

And while she saw advertising possibilities in the launch of the Pikey on the Pole, Peter was suitably unimpressed by the whole palaver – which is much the same as the rest of us felt at home.