I sit enraptured for a whole hour.
And by the end of it, I have understood absolutely nothing. Not a nano-second of what is surely one of the most stunning and jaw-droppingly amaaaaazing programmes to be seen on telly.
After Coronation Street, that is.
Wonders of the Universe is perfect Sunday evening viewing; the ideal pre-cursor to a good night’s sleep before work. But three episodes in and still the wonders are totally beyond me, no matter how hard Professor Brian Cox tries to explain.
Not that I mind; it is spellbinding stuff.
The ex D:Ream-er is dreamily hypnotic to listen to. He enthuses so eloquently. His passionate descriptions border on poetry. They spiral me into one of those big, yawning, chasms of infinite space he waxes lyrical about.
And by way of visual metaphor, he pops up at the planet’s most magnificent and amaaaaazing places.
Last Sunday, there was lucky, lucky Coxy (who has surely blitzed the image of the wacky, wrinkly little boff of a Prof forever) perched on the very pinnacle of a mountain.
I don’t mind admitting I spent a good ten minutes pondering more on how he got up there than the science.