Let's put a stop to this right now. There's a growing trend in crime TV to put the opening credits anywhere but the beginning. It's getting silly.
The first episode, for instance, of Holliday Grainger's CCTV thriller The Capture, which has just concluded, left it 12 minutes before running the title sequence.
And as Bergerac returned, we had a six-minute wait for the theme tune. You might say, of course, that any viewer who can't identify a show without watching the same opening shots every week is probably not paying enough attention.
But in that case, what's the point of titles at all? If we already know the name of the programme, why bother?
Done well, the opening sequence can be one of the most memorable parts of a brilliant show.
Think of Dallas or The Sweeney, Dad's Army or Blue Peter. Sometimes, as a series outlives itself, the credits are the only good bit left - Doctor Who is a case in point.
And when they come with first-rate theme music, great credits can become a fragment in the mosaic of our national identity.
Half a century ago, being instantly able to recognise the opening of The Onedin Line or Fawlty Towers was part of what it meant to be British.
The Bergerac reboot has lost much of the shows original magic with Damien Molony starring as the detective
The credits scenes being at the front of the show become silly. We have lost the artform of the credit sequence
That was certainly true of the original Bergerac in 1981. The tune, jaunty but also ominous, combined a swinging bass and saxophone, a stinging electric guitar and, hilariously, a burst of Gallic accordion – catchy, but also a clever summary of the show’s appeal.
A weekly collage of images gave us John Nettles, as Jersey detective Jim Bergerac, watching a suspect from behind his newspaper, driving his Triumph Roadster along the seafront, and making an arrest in a swimming pool, while his dapper co-star Terence Alexander played for high stakes in a casino.
That’s a whole Bergerac episode summed up in 60 seconds. We’ve lost the art of the credits.
The remake features an abstract pattern of translucent blue triangles and exploding Rorschach inkblots, while the familiar tune is now almost unrecognisable as an electronic dirge.
No wonder they bury it somewhere in the first 15 minutes, instead of placing it proudly at the start. Much of the show's original magic has also been lost.
Damien Molony has a permanently apologetic air, with none of the Nettles swagger.
He appears forever on the verge of saying sorry for his own existence.
Zoe Wanamaker, as his mother-in-law and perpetual critic Charlie, is underused, though there's the seed of an interesting double act in her new relationship with boyfriend Nigel (Adrian Edmondson).
The Channel Islands setting is not fully taken advantage of
This year's investigation, into the murder of a bridegroom at a reception - stabbed through the heart with the wedding cake knife - is promising, too.
But it could be happening anywhere. The Channel Islands setting has been all but discarded . . . just like the title sequence.