The near-death experience that was their threatened eviction last week seemed to give the show a new lease of life, and we were treated to a noticeably more entertaining hour than was the case on opening night. Footage from the weekend's games, Eoin and Sean Kelly as guests, and some diverting pieces about a Kilkenny hurling hiphop wannabe by the name of Captain Moonlight, and journalist Denis Walsh trying to scare the nation's children into emulating Clare and Wexford to bring the hurling revolution full circle. And then there was John Mullane.

Mullane took part in a prerecorded segment that involves a player picking cards at random and answering the questions thereon.

Below is an abridged transcript, delivered, it should be noted, in a heroically strong Waherford drawl.

Dream dinner party guest? "Robert De Niro, Pat Shortt and Cheryl Tweedy.

Pat'd have me giggling, always wanted to meet De Niro, and you'd never know what'd happen with Cheryl aftah."

Blonde or brunette? "Suppose I'm not too fussy. Not after having many blondes so I'll go with brunettes yeeah? Seem to be a bit more tastier."

Favourite band? "The Thrillers, chillout music." (An internet search uncovered no such act, which is a shame. I was hoping to find some obscure Lithuanian micro house collective or Paraguayan skiffle group that only Mullane and, say, Donal Dineen knew about. This would have ranked him alongside Mayo's All Star corner-back Kenneth Mortimer who, 10 years ago, when asked by Hot Press what his favourite type of music was, eschewed the stock GAA answer of Garth Brooks or Oasis, to reply "progressive house". Sadly, Mullane probably meant The Killers).

And finally, John, tell us about your pre-match routine. "I always like a moment in the toilet before the matches. I won't tell you what I get up to but, yeeah, an oul minute or two in the toilet seems to do the job." The producers, in an excellent piece of foresight, placed all this just before an ad break, giving the viewer a couple of minutes to get back on the couch from which they'd fallen while laughing uncontrollably. It wasn't nearly long enough.

All this provided Park Live with a priceless "did you see that?" moment that may do some word-of-mouth wonders. There's still flaws . . . how long can we abide the business puns in the GAADAQ? What is the deal with 'Three Kisses'? Where's the (intended) comedy? But there were signs of considerable improvement after a nervous opening.

As there was on BBC2 in Excuse my French, a show that jumped out of the TV listings at first glance. Ron Atkinson.

In France. In a show called Excuse my French. Pardonnez-moi, but my mind was filled with images of Marcel Desailly as Big Ron's next-door neighbour in Provence, rolling his eyes at yet another ill-judged quip as the '70s sitcom music cranked up in the background and Ron turns to the camera with a wink and a shrug, delivering that rascally catchphrase of his, "Excuse my French!".

But no (and I've copyrighted that Channel Four, so hands off), this show took Atkinson, Esther Rantzen and stand-up comedian Marcus Brigstocke to a French villa in an attempt to make them all fluent in the local lingo in four weeks. Considering Atkinson struggles with his own language . . . "Southern Europe has got lots of great qualities.

France welcomes into that category" . . .

it was never going to be easy.

Atkinson had zero Francais, and cut a meek figure in the opening days, with no confidence in his communication skills, the inverse of the brash character we used to know. With the other two having studied the language to some extent in school, Ron was as quiet as possible. "I'm deliberately staying silent as opposed to making a clown of myself by saying things that sound ridiculous later on, " he said, a bit of self-advice he probably came up with some time ago.

It was cruelly funny at times, with Ron starving for a fish lunch and asking random members of the public en francaiswhere he could find what translated as "a very good restaurant for some poison". But at the end of the day Brian, this might be an ideal vehicle for Atkinson's attempt to gain forgiveness for his racist comment a couple of years ago.

Within just a few days, he had won over Brigstocke, a self-confessed "whinging lefty comic" with no interest in football, and his humble manner means any improvement in language skills will be hugely beneficial in his public rehabilitation. It's probably just a bit of fun for the other two, but this could be a very big game for Big Ron.