On TV

NEVER mind the wrong type of leaves on the line causing trouble on the railway. It's far more problematic having a certain Belgian detective as a travelling companion.

I'd never climb aboard a locomotive on which Hercule Poirot was a passenger. He's a Jonah, a bad omen who ensures that more will go wrong than the refreshment trolley running out of hot water just as it reaches your seat.

We all know the mayhem that follows Agatha Christie's sleuth when he goes on the Orient Express. At the end of this particular mystery, he was reminded of the pleasures of travelling on that luxurious railway line.

"I expect you have been on it a million times," someone commented.

"Not once, but I must," replied Poirot, a twinkle in his eye.

You'd think a trip on the Blue Train would put him off rail travel for life. Alas not.

To be honest - which most people in an Agatha Christie whodunit aren't - this isn't vintage Poirot. At two hours, the film seems to last longer than the journey between the North-East and Kings Cross.

It all looks splendid with gorgeous period costumes and sunny Riviera settings, and there's the pleasure of watching the detective as David Suchet's portly Poirot waddles across the screen like he's auditioning for the sequel to March Of The Penguins.

He is such an irritating little man at times, isn't he? But I suppose no more unpleasant than the suspects parading through the carriages as a family drama is played out, literally to the death.

Elliott Gould is the American millionaire Rufus Van Aldin. "I'm in oil," he said, making himself sound like a tin of sardines. He's accompanied by his glamorous daughter Ruth (Hustle sexpot Jaime Murray) who's a magnet for unscrupulous, gold-digging men.

Poirot's waxed moustache gets stiffer than usual as he agrees to chaperone a shy, awkward young lady on the journey aboard Le Train Bleu (that's your actual French for The Blue Train).

"Papa Poirot, he is at your disposal," he tells her - a bit creepily I thought. Never trust a man who refers to himself in the third person.

The discovery of Ruth's dead body in a sleeping compartment gives Poirot a chance to exercise his famous leetle grey cells as he's told that "there's nothing left of her face".

This is the sort of situation on which Poirot thrives, giving him the chance to show his masterly ways in matters of detection. Watching him display his superior attitude does make you want to slap him, though, or tweak that silly moustache.

Tradition demands that he assembles the surviving suspects in one room after the last commercial break and delivers a long, elaborate resume of what's happened and who's responsible.

I've always longed to shout at him "Get on with it" at this point. So hurrah for the suspect who tells him: "Will you please stop buggering about and say which one is the bad egg". My sentiments exactly.