Like being punched in the face by Sunday night TV ... Doctor Thorne.

Is Doctor Thorne the new Downton? Let's play period drama bingo!

This article is more than 9 years old

Brash Americans? Tick. Shrill ladies? Tick. Over-active eyebrows? Tick. As Julian Fellowes aims to reclaim Sunday night TV, here’s your handy checklist of period drama cliches. First to tick them all off gets to bang the dressing gong

Watching ITV’s new series Doctor Thorne is like being punched in the face by the very concept of Sunday night television. It’s a lush, light period drama about dozens of posh people who live in big houses and don’t really do an awful lot. And Julian Fellowes adapted it. If Doctor Thorne were any more of a Sunday-night show, it’d be an hour-long static shot of a chocolate-box lid.

Sunday night television is not for everyone. There may be some of you – maybe stuck at your parents’ house, or in bed with an illness that would kill you if your nervous system registers even the slightest hint of excitement – who will be forced to watch Doctor Thorne under duress. But never fear, because I have decided to liven up your viewing experience with a game of Julian Fellowes bingo. Below is a list of apparently mandatory tropes from his work. It’s up to you to check them off as they occur. Ready?

Aggressively waspish? Lady Arabella (Rebecca Front) and Countess De Courcy (Phoebe Nicholls) in Doctor Thorne. Photograph: ITV

A scene starts with an establishing shot of a National Trust property.
Somebody speaks with a low, quivering voice.
Somebody speaks with an incessant, shrill voice.
A fat character enters with a burst of insultingly umpy-pumpy oboe music.
A northern character is depicted as feral.
An American character is depicted as comically brash.
An older female character is aggressively waspish.
Someone uses the word “blaggard”.
Someone uses the word “ninny”.
Someone says: “There’s the dressing gong.”
Someone dies unexpectedly.
Someone vomits blood on to a table and it is never mentioned again.
Heavy-handed dramatic irony is deployed over an upcoming historical event.
There are so many characters in a scene, you briefly think you’re watching a Game of Thrones remake that’s had all the boobs and dragons replaced by parasols and constipated facial expressions.
There’s a scene where characters communicate exclusively in eyebrow movements.
There’s a party scene where everyone might as well just stand around going “fim fim fim” for all the good it does the plot.
You spot an actor the Daily Mail’s Sidebar of Shame will instantly obsess over.
Five minutes after it ends, you struggle to recall a single thing that happened.
Your mum tells you she loves it.