Emma Colman’s scrupulously manufactured documentary about the weekend travelling arrangements of divorced parents (17 April) began with several of the participating voices reminiscing about their childhoods. One woman recalled that her earliest memory was of her mother screaming at her father to leave the family home. Another remembered staring out of the window on Friday afternoons waiting for her grandfather to fetch her in his car. “There was no conversation,” she maintained, of a pre-teen life that seemed to have been lived out in perpetual transit between alternate domiciles. “I’d just shout: ‘Right, my grandpa’s here.’”The fallout from the fractured relationships on display was, on the one hand, unbearably poignant and, on the ot