have no time for those who would argue that we have enough craft shows. If you can make something – if you can combine butter, eggs and flour into a cake the shape of a mermaid’s grotto, or bombazine and thread into a halterneck prom dress, or paint, cardboard and glitter into an eye-catching Christmas ornament, I revere you as a god. To reckon that we have too much of this stuff on our screens, to complain that The Great British Sewing Bee is a rip-off of The Great British Bake Off, or that Kirstie Allsopp should stick to property programmes instead of sticking tape to bauble parts is to say that we need fewer acts of semi-divinity in our lives and, as such, is complete nonsense. Never does this feeling swell more in my breast than a) after an attempted US coup by a mad toddler president, or b) when such opining is done in the face of The Great Pottery Throw Down (Channel 4). This absolutely is a GBBO rip-off – it is made by the same production company – and one that is even more soothing and restorative than the original. It began in 2015 on BBC Two, presented by Sara Cox, then was axed in 2018 after two series, in what some saw as a retaliatory move against its producers for moving Bake Off to Channel 4. It returned for a third series last year, with Melanie Sykes presenting. This time out, it has performed a masterstroke and installed Siobhán McSweeney (best known as the supremely disaffected nun Sister Michael in Derry Girls) as its Mel and Sue; she blends the wit and warmth of the pairing in one handy package. The fourth series has kept the streamlined form of the previous incarnation – just two challenges an episode, rather than the three it started out with. This time, it is two throws. The first instruction is to make a cheese set – dome ‘n’ plate, fondue pot and two identical pickle jars. Perhaps somewhere there are savages who manage to live with mismatched condiment vessels, but neither Keith (Brymer Jones, the master potter who has been a judge since the first series) nor Rich (ceramics expert Richard Miller, AKA “kiln man Rich”) have time for them here. And then – and here is the thing about all these shows – they just make them. They take formless lumps of clay and turn them into domes resembling beehives, homages to beloved rose gardens, grandfathers and remembered beaches, and decorate their sets with scenes from Treasure Island, recreations of motorbike trips down Route 66 and miniature sculptures of adored dogs. The fast and furious goblet-making session brings a nice change of pace while we wait for the big stuff to be fired, then glazed (“Everyone needs to wax their bottoms,” they are reminded, regarding their fondue pots, because we are nothing without our entendres), then fired again. Young Alon throws some metal oxide on his acorn knobs, too. “Bold move,” says Rich, soberly. It is exactly the level of suspense we need in these tumultuous times. At the end, the winner is announced and the loser is, sadly, sent home. The identity of the unlucky contestant was not revealed in my preview episode, but perhaps it was someone whose pickle lids were too thick (this plays havoc with your shrinkage rates, you see) or whose wax resist failed to prevent fusion between plate and dome. It is a precious hour of tranquillity, this vision of talented people giving their best, taking the job seriously but without being ridiculously overinvested or intense. The retention of perspective is rapidly become the most appealing thing about these shows. This is not to say that we can’t relish the sight of the right glaze in the right hands making a hive dome look as though it is smothered in liquid honey, or a delicate rose handle proving robust enough to do its weightlifting job after all. Creating something fit for purpose out of nothing, moulding order out of chaos – how can this not, even in ordinary years, let alone one as stricken as this, be beautiful?