Last Sunday's Arena film about Pete Doherty (BBC2) was disappointingly predictable. Interminably incoherent interviews with the Artist as a Young Addict? Check. Footage of co-dependent band members and entourage indulging the Artist? Check. Quotes from Baudelaire and Byron scrawled on the walls of the Artist's squalid crack-den-style apartment (probably 500 quid a week through Foxtons)? Check. Occasional footage of the Artist looking cute and clean, if only to remind us that this is someone Kate Moss chooses to sleep with? Check.

And on it went, rockumentarily. Poor Pete: never mind the bollocks, he's a parody of excess, albeit closer to Spinal Tap's John 'Stumpy' Pepys (whom you may recall died in a tragic gardening accident) than Jim Morrison. But for those born after Sid Vicious died (which, by about three weeks, includes Doherty) it probably looked like a rock'n'roll lifestyle recruitment ad.