- WHAT WAS IT?
A capricious ensemble of smartly-dressed songsters whose whimsical pastiches and satirical sideways-looks-at roundelays graced many a TV programme of the 1970s and 80s. A witty yet tuneful deconstruction of the EEC for Nationwide? A colourful yarn about Britain's burgeoning motorway network for Jackanory? How about an acerbic ode on the controversy in the Anglican church for Pebble Mill at One? Instant Sunshine were first choice for all such fanciful frippery.

- WHY SHOULD IT COME BACK?
Technically they've never been away, and are still going strong albeit minus erstwhile bassman Miles 'Franglais' Kington. They don't enjoy such mainstream exposure as they once did, however, so imagine what a respite their mellifluous tones would provide from, say, all the shouting on Watchdog, or the marital mithering on Richard and Judy, or even as headliners in their own show on a dull Wednesday night on BBC1. It's four Richard Stilgoes for the price of one, for heaven's sake!

- WHAT WAS IT?
The perfect lunchtime cocktail of topical chat, cuisine and 1930s doo-woppery, beamed direct from a double-glazed studio foyer in downtown Birmingham. The first hit daytime television programme, Pebble Mill at One was adored by an audience comprising housecoated housewives, pensioners and kids home from school for lunch or recuperating on the sofa from a nasty bout of glandular fever with a gallon of Lucozade. Fronted by the formidable team of rugged frontiersman Bob Langley, whimsical highlander Donny McLeod and matronly temptress Marion Foster, among others, the 'Mill provided 45 minutes of entertainment, interspersed by Peter Seabrook's gardening advice, the Cooking Canon's recipe tips, and music from Wall Street Crash (if wet, Harvey And The Wallbangers).

- WHY SHOULD IT COME BACK?
Because Trisha interrogating errant fathers and pregnant teenagers is surely nobody's idea of afternoon entertainment, especially when we could be watching Paul Coia introduce Stutz Bear Cats instead. Admittedly, the BBC might now show the news at one o'clock, and Pebble Mill itself is facing the wrecker's ball, but the Beeb has recently cut the ribbon on ritzy new premises in Birmingham, and The Mailbox at 12 has a certain ring to it, don't you think?

- WHAT WAS IT?
Well, whatever it was, it wasn’t particularly British, being made mostly from pre-pulped grapes imported from the continent. Nor was it technically wine, often marketed as "wine-style drink". However, in the supermarket and on the telly it gave off at least a semblance of terribly British sophistication, via brands such as Rougemont Castle and Country Manor. Insert your own paintstripper gag here.

- WHY SHOULD IT COME BACK?
Yes, why indeed? Well, not to deride the vine’s newfound popularity, but the humble nature of old fashioned British booze did allow the existence of a notional other world of non-stop jet-set glamour, where diamond-encrusted countesses sipped Chateauneuf from crystal goblets on the sun decks of luxury yachts. But where’s the romance these days, when you can get champagne in the supermarket? Proper vintage champagne! Howard’s Way wouldn’t stand a chance.

- WHAT WAS IT?
It's all your favourite records in one... and without all the boring bits! It's one thing being able to splice Kylie to New Order, or mashing up Christina Aguilera and The Strokes, but in the early 1980s, it had all been done by an enigmatic Dutch record producer named Jaap Eggermont who single-handedly invented the medley and, more or less, the entire concept of dance music. His 'Stars On 45' medleys strung the finest Beatles and Abba songs into one handy-sized, easy-to-swallow portion. In no time, shadowy chancers such as Tight Fit and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra leapt aboard the medley bandwagon in search of a piece of the action, but Jaap's 'Stars on 45' are still turning in our minds.

- WHY SHOULD IT COME BACK?
If the record industry is worried about internet piracy, they could do far worse than address complaints about value for money by compressing 12 tunes into one. The 'Stars on 45' format is perfect for the pick-and-mix, download-it iPod era, and if every song lasts no longer than 20 seconds, it means Simon Cowell will have less to moan about.

- WHAT WAS IT?
A whimsical junior sci-fi game show in which a trio of agreeable celebs of the Johnny Ball/Floella Benjamin variety were set fiendishly complicated mental and physical tasks by a troupe of rather devious shape-shifting aliens, to be completed on pain of death by evaporation.

- WHY SHOULD IT COME BACK?
It is, quite simply, the most well-remembered programme ever shown on British television, pound-for-pound. Only 22 episodes were made in total, but we’ve yet to come across anyone between the ages of 35 and 25 who doesn’t harbour some nagging vestigial memory of growling aspidistras, vortices, Drognas, or Keith Chegwin trying to communicate with a backwards-talking Australian. The pleasant eccentricity that ran throughout the programme is the very thing that has made it so enduring, a vindication of the carefree, pre-focus group era of ‘just stick some chaps in a room until they come up with a programme’ telly.

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