Naked brilliance of braying Brian

The Naked Pilgrim: The Road To Santiago, Five

Soul Nation, Channel 4

An elegant dome rises from the top of the ancient construction, upon which, ladies and gentlemen, may be seen the remains of the original thatching. The elaborate exterior is, as you can see, a fine example of early Elizabethan architecture, though you will also notice that the structure’s faade is weatherbeaten and somewhat warped ...” Not a description of one of Britain’s Finest Stately Homes (Five’s latest attempt to bludgeon all traces of Pole Dance Confessions from our memory banks), but a guide to Brian Sewell; living, bitching monument to How We Used to Live (The Ridiculous Years). The tart- tongued art critic is, in effect, Windsor Castle in a suit; the last vestige of an obsolete empire made virulent pink, outlandishly snobbish flesh.

So silly is the turtle- mouthed old bluffer that, were he to be accompanied by a sound, it would be that of a harpsichord, closely followed by the derisive honk of a car.

The Naked Pilgrim: the Road to Santiago saw Sewell swan off to Paris to commence a “ personal journey” that would force the inveterate snob to confront his religious beliefs while following the road to Santiago de Compostela – a place billed, tantalisingly, as “ the Catholic world’s third most visited pilgrimage destination”. The critic’s arch flamboyance suggested the title was not so much a nod to the emotional exposure of Jamie Oliver as a knowing wink to Quentin Crisp (though one doubts The Naked Civil Servant would’ve been caught dead in white linen trousers – much too recherche, non?). It’s a wonder telly hasn’t already pounced on this singularly odd man. Certainly, the critic has been courted by a variety of art documentaries, his subsequent contributions underscored by a sense of snobbish derision (his) and spluttering incredulity (ours). And, as a guest on Have I Got News For You, his pouting, affected insouciance ensured he became one of the few people to out- git Ian Hislop.

But only now, thanks to the revamped, arts- savvy Five, has the impossibly mannered writer been given his own vehicle. As such, it’s not so much an Alpha Romeo as a Penny Farthing.

Zero to 15 in 30 minutes, the opening episode of this six- part series trundled along at a leisurely pace, with rickety camerawork and a shoddy soundtrack (no sign of any car horns as yet, alas) accompanying the lapsed Catholic’s observations. Was the shoestring budget a deliberate attempt to undermine Sewell’s gilt- edged authority? Or was it merely evidence of Five’s lofty art- aims scuppered by mundane reality?

Whatever the reason, such low- budgetry mattered not a jot. For we soon found ourselves caving in to Sewell’s caustic wit and brilliantly acerbic, stream- ofconscious ejaculations – all of which were delivered, of course, in that patented, preposterous plum- jam bray. In a genre rattling with the self- important clamour of empty vessels, Sewell, for all his elitist curmudgeonliness, gives good quote. “ In Paris,” he announced, apropos of nothing, “ I lost my virginity to a 60- year- old grandmother.”

You wouldn’t catch Rolf Harris admitting to that (well, at least not before a crate of Castlemaine). Before we could probe Sewell on the circumstances of that happy event, the cheeky devil was off again, wrinkling his red nose and declaring the Sacre Coeur to be “ hideous”. Encore! He is the passenger. And he rides and he rides.

Trevor Nelson’s journey through the history of “ urban music” concluded with a drive around South London, a place where garage music is infused with punk’s igneous DIY ethic. Though Nelson’s admissions have lent previous episodes of Soul Nation a tiresome exclusivity, the final episode was so gracefully, reverently directed, we couldn’t help but be engrossed.

“ I have to pinch myself when I realise just how accepted it’s become,” said Nelson, as he watched a largely white dance floor heave to the strains of an obscure two- step number. While there was the faintest whisper of concern (if “ urban” music – once proudly the sound of the underground – is now considered mainstream, what is there left for it to kick against?), it was difficult not to feel part of this Soul Nation.