I THINK I’m slowly learning to accept wacky TV dramas. Watching melodramatic shows recently with their implausible plots, frilly dialogue, and nagging chunks of illogic, I’ve stopped getting out my mental red pen to underline all the daft bits. Instead I’m sitting back and trying to – where it’s possible – just enjoy these crackpot stories.

A TV critic must criticise, especially one as bad-tempered as I am, but I’ve reached a tipping point. I’m like a frazzled mother with a bunch of brats. They’re drawing on the wallpaper, they’re slopping their Coco Pops on the floor, they’ve smashed a window and kicked the postman and so I’ve decided to stop trying to discipline them. What’s the point? Do you know what, kids? Run riot. Do your worst. I surrender.

This new easy-going frame of mind is unnatural to me, but I’m coming to terms with it. I’ve no choice, have I? Not when I’m surrounded with bonkers dramas like Trust Me, Top of the Lake, and Valkyrie.

So I’m slumped on the couch whilst the dramas go wild, and I’m just going to wave my hand dismissively, or maybe even try to smile and join in with their fun. There’s just no point trying to reason with this lot.

THE first drama to prompt this deep, philosophical change was Top of the Lake (BBC2, Thursday). I’ve written previously about how ludicrous it is, and I lack the mental energy to go through it again. Besides, there’s no need: my criticisms still stand. I just want to add that I’ve now watched the series in its entirety and there was a scene in the finale which made me roar with laughter. The old me would have puzzled over this: why is the plot so silly? Why are the male characters straight from a Viz cartoon? But the new me just sank further into the sofa and decided to chuckle. Is this supposed to be funny? Who knows? Who cares? I’ve stopped my scrutiny and I’m now just enjoying it as a daft, wacky show. I’m here purely for the fun.

Likewise with Trust Me (BBC1, Tuesday). I knew all my yelling at the screen had to stop. What was the point in shouting at the TV and occasionally jumping out of my chair to declare, “But that wouldn’t happen!”, “Hey, this is mad!” and “What’s wrong with everyone?”. My neighbours were thumping the ceiling with a broom, so I gave up and sat quietly, and decided to watch out of sheer curiosity.

These two dramas are trying to be hard-hitting and serious – or maybe they’re not. Who the hell knows what Top of the Lake is supposed to be? A weird, drugged dream someone had, perhaps, and they scribbled it down at 3am in a bleary haze, sure they had the best script idea ever. Only to wake up in the morning, rub their eyes and peer at the notebook by their bed to say: “But this makes no sense at all! Never mind, some TV channel will go for it.”

Both dramas present themselves as thrillers with strong female characters kicking back against injustice so I assume they want to be taken seriously. That’s their big whopping, flashing flaw. If you want to be taken seriously, then be serious. Iron out your wrinkles, bring reality to your characters, straighten your wonky plots, and maybe then we can talk.

SO you might wonder why I’m fond of Valkyrien (C4, Sunday). Surely it’s the wackiest drama of them all, featuring a man, Dr Ravn, who has set up a secret, underground laboratory where he treats the criminals of Oslo who don’t feel able to turn up at hospital with their various bullet wounds. But he’s not just a physician to the bad guys. There’s another reason why the good doctor has gone rogue and gone underground: his wife is dangerously ill and the stuffy medical establishment won’t allow the bold Ravn to try out an experimental treatment. They’re afraid of being sued. So the husband and wife vanish and disappear underground where Ravn toils in the damp and darkness to cure his dying wife.

Yes, it’s outlandish but at least it knows it, and doesn’t have any pretensions. It’s trying on purpose to be wild, so you can enjoy it without niggling despair.

DESPAIR was evident in this week’s Panorama (BBC1, Monday) which looked at the growing numbers of idiots who get drunk on flights. Anyone with Facebook knows it’s now obligatory for friends to post a picture of their early morning pint as they sit in Departures. I booze in the airport too.

Being claustrophobic, I simply couldn’t board without a brandy to ease the panic I feel when they swing the cabin door closed. So this programme was infuriating, showing the morons who choose to get horribly drunk and then abuse fellow passengers and crew.

Naturally, some people start demanding booze is banned at airports or on the plane, so it’s the same old story: there’s always someone who ruins it for the rest of us. Having a drink at 6am as you wait to fly out is part of the holiday ritual, because drinking in the morning is just so strange and cheeky that it springs you immediately into holiday mode.

Plus there are the nervous people like me who need their brandy, but the drunks will probably have the pleasure taken away from us. Instead, we should take their passports away, turn them back at the gate and tell them to holiday in Skegness instead. That’ll soon sort them out!