POSH people are just so much better at being mad than we are. They also manage to make letting the housework go to pot seem rather fabulous, too.

If I kept a filthy old gaff and wandered about the garden swearing at the top of my voice I'd be regarded as a tad unsavoury and kept away from children and sharp implements.

But when Francis Fulford does it, it's hilarious - because he's very, very rich.

Frankie boy, the potty (mouthed) star of Cutting Edge: The F****ing Fulfords (C4, 9pm Tues) would argue the rich tag, but as the owner of the Fulford family's 800-year-old estate, set in 3,000 acres of prime Devonshire real estate, he's not exactly joining the Lidl shopping line just yet.

The 'f' word in the show's title was purely designed to attract the sort of person (i.e. me) who perks up when they hear: 'this programme contains strong language from the start'.

It's not the swearing that draws you in, it's just that you know where there's cursing, there's usually a bit of a kerfuffle going on.

And once you've sat through a Hell's Kitchen or two, no amount of effing and blinding can shock you.

It was like the Osbournes with knobs on.

Dad Francis, whose huge fringe would put Boris Johnson's to shame, constantly griped that his enormous pile was giving him trouble. But in textbook aristo eccentric mode he guffawed merrily as he said it and looked thoroughly untroubled by the fact that they need £300,000 a year to keep the old place going; probably because it's like the equivalent of putting a plaster on a decapitation as the house is in such a poor state it requires at least £1 million to properly restore it.

Part of the fun was watching them come up with increasingly hair-brained ideas for raising the dosh as Frank refuses point blank to sell off any acreage and will not apply for grants (not out of any sense of pride, but because he can't be bothered with busybodies from the National Trust or English Heritage telling him what to do).

But as well as the country house, Francis has also inherited the Fulford's incompetence gene, so among his many great money-spinning ideas we saw him buy a metal detector for 99 quid from The Telegraph and wander around the grounds looking for hidden gold coins. He unearthed 6p.

His wife, Kishanda was just as bad, deciding that putting her shirt on the 2.30 at Wincanton was a safer bet. Mind you, as they say 'money goes to money' and she won more than a grand!

All this went on around a life of walking dogs, haphazardly patching up bits of rooms and rambling about the stunning grounds.

Their four children, Arthur (the heir), Humphrey (the spare), Edmund (the reserve) and Mathilda (don't even think about it, love) are, as Francis would say, "like pigs in s***." Where most kids are constantly being told 'don't bring that ball in here' and 'play outside', one scene showed the Fulford four playing cricket in what appeared to be a cavernous disused ball room - howzat for cool?

It's coming home, it's coming home . . .

Yes, Match Of The Day, home of bad suits and daft facial hair will soon be back where it belongs - on the BBC.

And what better way to kick it off than with the nostalgia-fest that was Match Of The Day At 40 (Sun, BBC1, 10.15pm), a real 'jumpers-for-goalposts' look back over 40 years of the true fan's favourite footie show.

With plenty of archive footage and talking heads from some of the game's major players: Bestie, Becks, Cloughie, Owen and Keane, it was enough to make even Everton fans look forward to the coming season.

Among the commentators interviewed was God of them all, John 'oh, and San Marino have scored' Motson, who regaled us with the tale of how he got into wearing his famous sheepskin coats.

Even if you've never watched MOTD, you'd recognise the theme tune immediately. It's up there with Corrie and EastEnders and this tribute brought back fond memories of Saturday night TV peopled by men with bouffant hair and comedy-sized lapels - Brucie, Parky and, of course, Des 'hello ladies' Lynam and not an Arctic Roll ad in sight.

It showed 'Dishy' Des schmoozing his way, 'tache a-twitching, through the highlights of the on-field action with his equally ill-attired guests.

Frankly, if you saw that lot in a bar, you'd give them a body swerve, but on telly it somehow worked.

Going back further there was Jimmy Hill, the man whose chin was so immense it surely had its own agent. All I can remember of Jimmy is that my dad didn't like him and that old comics always did impressions of him.

Now MOTD is in the safe hands of jug-eared whippersnapper, Gary Linekar.

With Hill, it was his opinionated style that got the ratings.

With Des, it was his laid back charm.

With Gary, it's his blandness.

Because he's so inoffensive, he allows the all-important pundits to shine and so you get animated performances from Alan 'that's terrible that' Hansen, Wrighty and the likes.

You still even get the dodgy suits and ludicrous face furniture - but enough about Mark Lawrenson!

Match Of The Day starts August 14