CHRISTOPHER STEVENS reviews Alexander Armstrong Across America: With regal camp, Xander's like a posh pet craving tummy tickles

Alexander Armstrong Across America (Ch5) 

Rating: Four out of five stars 

Swaggering aboard a steam train in his black gaucho hat, waistcoat and watch-chain, Alexander Armstrong looked like an extra in a Spaghetti Western — The Good, The Bad And The Pointless.

'I'm feeling quite Lee Van Cleef,' he growled, narrowing his eyes. But the tough gringo image was rather undermined by a clip in the opening sequence of Alexander Armstrong Across America, where he examined a six-shooter, holding it with distaste between thumb and forefinger as though he were picking up a teenager's smelly sock from the floor.

Xander, as he introduces himself to everyone, is at his most entertaining when he's out of his depth and trying to win everyone's approval by playing the hapless charmer, with a sort of regal camp.

This persona didn't work at all on his last series, in India, where English toffs are largely regarded with a mixture of suspicion and deference. But in the States, where they adore our bumblings and are far too polite to mention our eccentricities, he was able to chunter, wiffle and gurgle to his heart's content.

Arriving in Philadelphia, he tucked into the city's traditional cheesesteak sandwich, a baguette laden with beef, melted cheese and onions. Gnawing the end off it, he spluttered, 'A manly slice of food, this. I'm feeling terrifically butch, can you tell?'

Everyone he met seemed ready to adopt him, which is just how Xander loves to be treated — as a sort of posh pet who craves attention and tummy tickles.

Visiting a family of Philadelphia Dutch churchgoers, who refuse to own smartphones or even televisions, he tucked into shoofly pie, a sort of treacle tart that is crying out to be a 'technical challenge' recipe for the next series of Bake Off.

Before he'd polished off dessert, he was joining the five Gustavsons in song, and did so well that they invited him to join them on stage at their church hall. This is Xander's idea of heaven.

He was much less comfortable on a visit to a mobile medical unit offering help to homeless drug addicts, in the city's downtown Kensington district.

In his button-down shirt collar and sleeveless pullover, he was mistaken for a policeman by the locals, who started throwing bottles at his car. 'To be honest,' he gulped, 'this whole scene makes me very nervous.'

His guide was former addict Sarah, now a charity counsellor, who told him how she lost her job as a hotel executive after sliding into opioid addiction. To feed her habit, she said, 'I started working in a strip club.'

Xander looked blank. He had the look of a minor royal at a palace garden party who has asked a visitor, 'Have you come far?' and been told they've just arrived from Alpha Centauri.

'What were you doing at the strip club?' he wondered. Sarah gaped at him. He's a dear fellow, but perfectly clueless.