Kevin Spacey – remember him? Course you do. Netflix, however, would rather you didn't.

If you decide to watch the latest, and final, season of House of Cards, Netflix hopes your response will be something like: "Well, golly-gosh, wasn't that gripping! Much better than when wassisname was in it.

“Y’know, that Oscar-winning superstar bloke. The one who chewed up scenery like it was Hubba Bubba, and spat out lesser acting talents (ie everybody else) like they were stray watermelon seeds, jammed in his shark-sharp teeth.”

Yup, Kevin Spacey has departed House of Cards.

And, boy, does it show.

Maybe he had to go. There were allegations of sexual impropriety from various sources. No court of law was involved, no guilty verdict. But Twitter Town was mighty twitchy (when is it not?) and Spacey was airbrushed from the showbiz family album.

Such is Hollywood politics.

Politics is also the name of the game in House of Cards. More specifically, the pursuit of Presidential power.

In previous seasons Frank Underwood (Spacey) achieved his White House goal, then lost the top spot due to allegations of corruption.

Season Five’s cliff hanger had Underwood’s wife, Claire, becoming President, and at loggerheads with hubby.

All was set for a thrilling final season, with Frank and Claire battling for control of America, the western world, and perhaps even the entire known universe. (This is State-side TV, remember. No place for Hubris Lite.)

None of the above can happen now, of course. So instead, in the final season Frank’s been murdered, leaving Claire to wage war on lesser mortals, including a corrupt business clan intent on controlling the White House.

Robin Wright, as Claire, is elegant, poised and sports a killer haircut. She’s a decent actress, too, though without the pizzazz needed to romance and entrance viewers through an entire season.

She’s not helped by a script so intent on winning feminist Brownie points it discards Claire’s original personality – a devious, ice-cold baddie – and turns her into a warrior for the sisterhood instead.

After the Spacey allegations, I understand Netflix wanting to replace the stench of seedy bloke with the heady vibe of the uber ‘woke’.

But such desperate tinkering with the mechanics of a popular show reeks of Hollywood hypocrisy.

Pull the other one, La La Land. Better yet, don’t attempt any pulling, whatsoever.

That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.

Talking of messes, Trump’s U.S.A. is now the acme of anarchy. A bellicose bomb about to go off.

Even in its heyday, House of Cards couldn’t touch the plotline of modern-day America.

Trump: What Next? (BBC 1, 8.30pm, Monday) was Panorama’s attempt to figure out how we got here. And what happens next.

Journalist Hilary Andersson talked to lawyers trying to impeach Trump and lawyers who claim Trump is unimpeachable.

She studied footage of marchers enraged by Trump, and sat on the porches of voters energised by him.

Andersson didn’t get anywhere near the truth.

The closest anyone came to articulating Trump’s appeal was a porch-pondering West Virginian lady who shrugged, smiled, and said proudly of the President she voted for: “He’s an asshole.”

One thing you can say about Rory Bremner – he’s no asshole.

Which might be his problem.

In a world of belligerent bampottery, the Edinburgh-born impersonator is a softly spoken, highly intelligent, irredeemably old-fashioned chap. His manners are as impeccable as his comic timing. Yet he hasn't fronted a primetime comedy series in yonks - a yonk-and-a-half, at least.

He is sometimes glimpsed on undistinguished panel shows, and once again took the spotlight on This Is Me (ITV, 8pm, Monday), where he wistfully reminisced about his faltering career.

Rory was excellent company, guiding the viewer through a series of classic clips.

He earned his stripes in light entertainment, before developing the forensic skills of a fine political satirist.

Then the world became a cruder place.

Bremner was demoted to the role of arm-candy on Strictly Come Dancing, before fox-trotting into oblivion.

Oblivion is what Doctors (BBC1, 1.45pm, weekdays) deserves.

I assume the amateurish soap-opera exists as a training scheme for budding writers and directors. Though as far as I can tell, the only lesson learned from Doctors is don’t watch this tosh.

Monday's episode involved Dr. Al Haskey (Ian Midlane) struggling to stop smoking. Whenever he hankered for a fag, he brushed his teeth instead.

A situation fraught with dramatic possibilities: would teeth brushing prove to be a gateway drug to something harder… like flossing?

Nope. Instead, Doc Haskey decided to listen to music – a healthier method of taking his mind off tobacco.

Seriously, that was the plot. Where was the drama? The sense of risk and danger to the protagonist?

The acting in Doctors isn't much cop, either.

Maybe they could hire some resting performers with slightly more talent in the trunk.

The names Kevin and Rory have a certain medical gravitas, don't you think?