MY mum usually always remembers my name; most days she can come up with husband’s and she knows I have children and what they are called, though she doesn’t always remember they’re now at school, has no idea how old they are, when their birthdays are or that they like SpongeBob Squarepants.

You see, she’s one of so many people suffering from severe memory loss, under various names such as Alzheimer’s and dementia.

Long term, she’s not too bad. For instance, she can recount how she first met my dad at a local dance and how she thought he looked like Matt Monro and he thought she looked like Doris Day.

And that was with no alcohol whatsoever!

Yet ask her what she had for breakfast this morning, or if she even if she had any and she has no idea.

So, when I saw the trailer for Exile (Sunday to Tuesday, BBC1, 9pm), an intense thriller revolving around a family torn apart by Alzheimer’s, I thought: “Best give that a miss.”

However, it starred three of the finest actors you’ll find on the telly, namely John Simm, Jim Broadbent and Olivia Colman. Oh and Timothy West as a baddy, Claire Goose as the love interest and Shaun Dooley, who’s that bloke who is really good and makes you go: “What’s he been in?” (Answer: just about everything, including South Riding; Married, Single, Other; Midsomer; George Gently; and, especially for triv fans, in 2004 he played Michelle Fowler’s vicar boyfriend in EastEnders!

Plus it was written by Danny Brocklehurst and created by Paul Abbot, so I decided, in the name of duty, to give it a whirl.

I lived to tell the tale, which was a great one and strong enough to keep you gripped right until the end.

Simm was utterly convincing as Tom Ronstadt, a disillusioned trash-mag journo in his 30s and washed up on a tide of drugs, partying and self-loathing. With nothing keeping him in London, he heads home, tail between legs (for a few seconds anyway), to help his sister Nancy look after their demented dad.

Who was touchingly played by Broadbent, effortlessly believable as the once-vital, campaigning newshound, reduced to having his bum wiped and being put to bed by his own kids.

Colman (Peep Show) completed the trio, playing the stressed, baggy cardi-wearing daughter, at the end of her tether to a tee.

The plot thickened, boy, did it, as we learnt that Tom had not been home since running away years ago after his father inexplicably beat him to a pulp.

As a boy, Tom had idolised his old man and wanted to be like him. And he’d never understood his extremely violent reaction to discovering him in his study.

Now, he decided to find out.

A rummage through his dad’s study unearthed puzzling documents, which lead to a web of intriguing secrets and lies.

So alongside what was already a tense domestic drama, a shockingly dark tale also unfolded. Tom, ashamed of the celebrity-style journalism he’d succumbed to, went on a mission to emulate his dad and get to the bottom of some major skullduggery.

On the way, he encounters Wendy, his dad’s former and now very scared PA, Metzler, a town hall bully boy (West), and an old school mate (Dooley) from the past.

He unwittingly sleeps with said mate’s wife (Goose), but is forgiven by said mate, then ultimately assisted by him (a bit far-fetched that one, but by this time I was so hooked, he could’ve introduced a ventriloquist monkey pal and I’d have bought it) in uncovering one ghastly truth after another.

Oh, it was very good.

When Tom smiled sadly at his befuddled dad playing the piano or forgetting how to do up his seat-belt, I knew how he felt.

And the bits where his dad’s dementia caused him to suddenly do random things like take all his clothes off for no reason, amazingly, even made me chuckle.

•WE live in a cynical age, yet even the most hardened, non-romantic republicans seem to agree that the Royal Wedding was a jolly lovely affair.

I didn’t catch every last lick and spit of it, but when I did tune in, it had to be the BBC. It may be the home of the hushed, outmoded deferential delivery, but that’s the very thing that confirms you’re watching history in the making.

As with all of our state occasions, this baby oozed the sort of pomp and ceremony that leaves many other nations wide-eyed with wonder, but unlike previous ones, it also had a sense of fun to it.

Those trees in the Abbey (which, for a moment, I hoped were part of Sir Elton’s outfit), the princes joshing at the altar, and the Aston Martin were all welcome breaks with protocol and a genius PR coup that got the country back on board the royal band-wagon.

It may have cost the equivalent of the debt of a small third world nation, but it cheered people up and, in a conversation five days after the big day, my mum remembered that her wedding dress was similar to Kate’s – now that’s the power of love!