Lost ended

This was the year in which Lost's rabid fan-base finally felt the sweet release of cancelation (okay it wasn't cancelled, it had a 'natural death'). Anyway, fans tuned into the final episode of the ghost-filled, time-travelling drama about a crime-solving polar bear (or something) at five in the morning (Sky screened the finale simultaneously with the US to stop people downloading it illegally) only to discover the writing team had been dead all along (or something). None of it made any sense. Several people went insane. Channel 4 started screening methadone-like Lost-substitute The Event (featuring aliens, conspiracies, and, unsurprisingly, 'an event'), but accustomed to having their intelligence insulted in a much more ambitious and outrageous fashion, most fans were sucked into religious cults and drug-use instead.

Current Affairs programmes depressed us

Frontline, Prime Time and special programmes with titles like Aftershock and Freefall and Ah, Jaysus! (I may have made that one up) did a great job of informing us how bad the economy was, while old favourites like Reeling in the Years and Scannal reminded us we'd been here before.

Spartacus: Blood and Sand began

Or 'Arse-acus: Boobs and Buttocks', as it probably should be called, is a first for television drama in that it was seemingly developed entirely by 14-year-old boys who have yet to know the touch of a woman... or man. The tale of gladiatorial Roman slave Spartacus, featuring ridiculously graphic violence, gratuitous shots of buttocks, boobs and balls, CGI sets, and the solid acting of Four Weddings and a Funeral actor John Hannah, was strangely compelling.

We ran out of things to say on chat shows

Ireland barely needs one weekend chat-show. We have two. After a year of reality television stars and people from the RTÉ canteen spread thinly across two nights, we are running out of guests. The Late Late Show will soon be renamed 'An Uncomfortable Silence with Ryan Tubridy' (although, to be fair, the Late Late still has its moments, like the recent appearance of the guys from Après Match) and the Saturday Night Show will be called 'I am Ashamed' and will feature nothing but Brendan O'Connor grinning weakly at the camera while his fee flashes in neon numerals across the screen.

Fade Street made us question reality

Inspired by MTV's The Hills, Fade Street is a reality TV programme about four young ladies living in the city. It's 'real' in the sense that the producers have found a bunch of people willing to display emotion-like symp­oms and have over-explanatory conversations on cue and in budget. One of these young ladies is an unemployed gig-promoter, while two of them work for a magazine, which, going by their clothing in the most recent episode, must be a trade publication for circus clowns. I find this show 'compelling', which readers must by now realise is a coded television reviewer cry for help.

24 ended

The producers called time on 24 just before the era of WikiLeaks, which would have outed Jack Bauer's dissident-torturing shenanigans in a series of leaked memos. However, the grumpy pensioner's attempts to secure world peace by applying electrical wires to terrorist testicles had been repetitive and tiresome for ages before that. Apparently a film might be on the cards, but I'd suggest a wacky sitcom instead. "I got to abake this a'cake for Cindy's birthday, but the terrorists have used all the icing sugar! O lordy! I can't do a'nothin' without these a'terrorists a'crampin' my style! I must staba their eyeballs" (I've made him stage-Italian, but I'm willing to negotiate in return for a production credit).

British telly drama began competing in earnest with the USA's

For the past few years, reviewers have waxed lyrical on about the brilliance of US dramas like The Sopranos and The Wire and Mad Men. The British are now beginning to step up their game, but forget the well-produced but forgettable Downton Abbey or the solidly reliable but unsurprising Accused by Jimmy Mc­Govern. The best dramas on British telly this year came from the edges – whether that was Stephan Moffat's Doctor Who (returning the doctor to a weirder, more coherent and slightly darker place), Toby Whithouse's Being Human (a wonderfully imagined fantasy drama about a vampire, werewolf and ghost who share a flat) or, best of all, Howard Overman's asbos-with superpowers drama, Misfits. Brilliant stuff.

There were lots of Irish Actors on British Telly

Two of the aforementioned dramas featured talented Irish actors. Aidan Turner and Sinead Keenan starred in Being Human, while Robert Sheehan and Ruth Negga both featured in Misfits. But there was also an explosion of Irish actors elsewhere on British drama and comedy, including Aidan Gillen (Identity), Sharon Horgan (The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret), and Colin Morgan and Katie McGrath (both on Merlin). During the last recession, Irish people went to London seeking work as navvies. Nowadays we follow rumours of a bit of work down the BBC and doff our caps to high falutin' casting directors ("Any work on d'ould films, sir?").

Big Brother ended

Big Brother ended its 10-year run with Ultimate Big Brother, a programme featuring a cross-section of the D-list celebrities it had created over the years. Most seemed damaged, resentful and regretful. It might as well have finished with a visual montage featuring Davina McCall and members of the production team weeping and mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'. Brian Dowling won. Then he squandered that goodwill by appearing on Wagon's Den alongside Twink doing her cleaning lady impression (I've just been told that was Katherine Lynch!).

Everyone Watched X-Factor

The end of Big Brother caused many commentators to announce the end of reality television. However, it quickly became apparent we weren't going back to evenings reading before the fire, listening to classical music on the gramophone and delighting in the laughter of children. No, instead we watched millionaires bully emotional cripples on live television and cheered on people whose ambitions were to become the type of millionaires who bully emotional cripples on live television. Saintly Mary from Tescos was ousted. Boring Matt won. Simon Cowell got much, much richer and replaced his own brain with a single bollock made of solid gold.

Vincent Browne was on the loose

One of the high points of this recession has been watching Vincent Browne do whatever the hell he wants between the hours of 11 and 12 on week nights on TV3. Sometimes hilariously wayward, sometimes passionate and informed, Tonight with Vincent Browne has become essential telly viewing over the past year. He's even found a way of stealing the limelight at RTÉ by turning up to rant winningly at government press conferences, which they then have to broadcast (or not).

TV3 generally got its groove on

Between the rise of the very entertaining but cheap-as-chips product-placement show, The Apprentice, quiz-shows that barely operate on one level (Take me Out) and the incredibly game way it churns out crime hysteria programmes with titles like 'Bastards!' and 'Aaaaagh! They're Stabbing me!' TV3 is finding a role for itself in post-boom Ireland as a clearing house for gleeful bad taste. Shine on you crazy diamante brooch, says I.

RTÉ made some great documentaries

The bit of the RTÉ budget that doesn't go on Fabergé eggs and panda-skin cushions for its star presenters was used to make some beautifully-observed and painstakingly filmed documentaries including Alan Gilsenan's The Home, Gerry Nelson's Ireland's Young Carers, and Aoife Kelleher's Growing Up Gay. These were films made carefully over time with a commitment to the truth over any preconceived agenda. Lovely stuff.

Corrie became 50

In December, a new character made a shocking impression on Coronation Street and several of its beloved residents. The new character? A big tram. The impression? A big tram-shaped hole in the street and the deaths of several characters. Corrie continues to be one of the best-written and acted programmes on television, and for the week of its 50th birthday, the events of the tram-crash were told across five nights and one live special. Gripping telly.

DÁithÍ Ó SÉ was on the loose

"Right!" says Dáithí Ó Sé, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I said I'd shift everyone in the country and I'm a man of my word. Who's next?" This is what I imagine happens during the ad breaks at the Rose of Tralee, the All Ireland Talent Show and the Daily Show where Ó Sé flirts, shite-talks and generally goons it up. "Ah, sure he can flirt with us anytime," say the plain people of Ireland, "the big sexy eejit."