MacIntyre’s Underworld. five, Tuesday 21 November, 11.00pm

As anyone who’s seen shirtless Newcastle supporters on a winter evening at St James’ Park will testify, Geordie men are made of hardy stock.

But the macho bravdo of Toon Army members pales in comparison to the actions of Geordie underworld veteran Paddy Conroy, the first figure profiled in MacIntyre’s Underworld.

Out on license from an eleven-year jail sentence for torture, kidnapping and escape, Conroy’s conditional release is complicated by a rival gangland family taking out a contract on his life. His re-appearance at a time of turf warfare between rival gangs threatens to worsen the fragile balance of power, due to his stated aim to re-establish his profile and reputation within the criminal fraternity.

Although now middle-aged and resembling a leaner Geoffrey Hughes, his eye patch (worn due to his eye haemorrhaging as a result of prison staff delaying necessary treatment for cataracts – or so he alleges) is a permanent reminder of the brigandish nature of his lifestyle.

The show starts with Paddy playing daddy to his two sons, Buster, eleven, and Jack, one. Long-suffering wife of thirty years Maureen also features in this homely sequence. However, as the couple recount the tale of how they met it’s further evidence of the roughness of their environment. Conroy used to mug Maureen and steal her pocket money; unsurprisingly, she didn’t fancy a date with him when he asked. But Paddy wouldn’t take no for an answer and one day, in his own words, he “grabbed her by the hair and took her home… You think I’m jokin’, don’t ya!”.

Maureen’s expression indicated he wasn’t.

Conroy’s father ran a criminal enterprise in which Paddy served his apprenticeship and would later inherit. This provides some insight into his almost nostalgic view of historic criminality. Of his youth he states that “the villain was just a part of life in those days, especially from the more deprived areas. It wasn’t considered a bad thing unless you did bad villainy, immoral things”. Conroy makes a distinction between “gangsters” and villains. To him, a villain is just a product of his environment and upbringing, whereas “a gangster lives in a world of his own, an imaginary world”.

Conroy denies MacIntrye’s contention he might be perceived as a dangerous man (“I don’t think so - if you don’t have problems with me. But if you come attack us, then I’ll be a dangerous man”), and understands the current underworld difficulties as resulting from the new breed – those operating outside accepted criminal codes: “there’s loads of families from our sort of background who are good people, but you get families who are villains with no morals and not fit to walk this FOOKIN’ earth!”

Paddy considers himself a protector in the local community, and it says much for his standing (or, perhaps, the fear he inspired) that when he was jailed for violence against the police in the 1980s thousands of people demonstrated on the streets for his release. Right-hand man Bullock even went to the extreme of climbing to the top of the Tyne Bridge to protest, but only managed four hours because “it was cold. Freezing, proper freezing”. Conroy chides Bullock for not staying up there longer, although the latter defends himself by saying “well, it wasn’t planned properly. Next time I’ll take a sleeping bag and a flask!”

But despite Conroy’s bravado and criminal heritage, he’s clearly feeling the pressure of the license conditions and the price on his head. Conroy wears a bullet proof vest in public, and his associates constantly monitor his surroundings. When the security lapses, as happens when Conroy returns from a night at the track, he starts to panic. After shouting “where the fook are ya?” repeatedly into his phone, he skulks in the lobby until his driver turns up, greeting him with “cunt! You cunt!”, before berating him further off mic.

Unable to retaliate in the way he had before his sentence, Conroy employs various means to deal with the tension, such as escaping to his country getaway thirty miles outside Newcastle. On his allotment he grows vegetables, and to MacIntyre’s surprise is particularly proud of the trophies he’s won for his prize leeks.

But even in his hideaway he has to be careful of his activities. As an example, his lifetime ban from using firearms means even a spot of rabbit hunting would result in an infringement of his license terms.

As Bullock, MacIntyre and Conroy chat in a shed, two associates bring in a couple of rabbits they’ve shot, and Bullock guts them by the riverbank. The shots of Bullock’s handiwork are intercut with MacIntyre asking Paddy if he’s religious (he’s not) and whether he thinks he’s going to heaven (he does). To those he think he’s going to Hell he retorts: “they can think what they like – it’s between me and the big fella!”

Conroy also uses other methods to relax, having smoked cannabis since he was sixteen. The green-fingered approach he uses on his leeks also applies to his cannabinoids (“better to grow your own. See that? It’s fookin’ organic!”).

But the cannabis and leeks are insufficient to keep Conroy’s ferocity in check. When his family plot in the local cemetery was desecrated in 1994 by a rival gang, his inability to tolerate any affront to his reputation or control his anger led to him committing the acts that resulted in his eleven-year sentence.

When Billy Collier, a criminal who worked for a rival family, was allegedly heard boasting in a local pub he’d been paid £5,000 to dig up the grave, chop parts of the body up and put them through Conroy’s window, it was only a matter of time before Paddy and his henchmen exacted their revenge.

While the pain felt by Conroy after the graves had been attacked is understandable, with him unable to hold back tears as he recounts the story, the retaliation he had planned for those alleged to be responsible is chilling, issuing his threat head-on to the camera: “I would have killed the whole family. All their loved ones. I would have murdered every single one of them if any of them had done that to my family”.

Within days, with only the digging up the grave part of the alleged plan being carried out, Collier was kidnapped at gunpoint from a local shop and tortured. He was abandoned in a warehouse by his attackers after having his teeth pulled out with pliers. Conroy denies being behind the amateur dentistry (“I just beat him up. Hit him with a stick, pool cues, hit him with a gas bottle. He got a beating but not a great beating”), but admits to driving him 400 yards and leaving him at the location where Collier’s teeth would be torn out.

Conroy was arrested but managed to escape en route to court, and was on the run overseas before being caught by Interpol. Security was much tougher on his return: to be on the safe side, a seventeen-vehicle convoy, aeroplane, helicopter, snipers and a gunboat made sure he kept his court appearance.

However, his holidays in the sun did nothing to moderate his temperament, and Conroy cracked under pressure in court, attacking the prosecuting lawyer. As a result he was dragged out past the jury by four prison officers, which, as Conroy concedes, “didn’t help” his innocent plea. He was found guilty on all charges and sentenced to eleven years, although Maureen continues to accept Paddy’s version of the attack on Billy Collier.

Conroy struggles to process the changes made in the Newcastle landscape in the decade of his incarceration, and also finds unfamiliar the spectacle of a new godfather (John Henry Sayers) controlling his former patch (“they say they run Newcastle, but no one fookin rules me”). With the old-skool underworld against him, Paddy is forced to make new alliances with local Triad gangs (the ‘new breed’ which he had earlier railed against), and not without reason. A confrontation with 14 members of the Sayers gang led to Paddy having to endure a severe beating, in the knowledge that to fight back could have resulted in his death, and to involve the police (strictly against his criminal code) would have meant he’d contravened his license conditions.

The ongoing feuds and precarious situation cause Paddy to worry about his eldest son Buster, (“one day you will be the Bossman”) and that he’ll inherit the internecine feuds in the same way as he did with his own father. Buster is only now realising the extent of his father’s criminal lifestyle. His copy of Zoo magazine shows a pixellated snapshot of his father alongside a cover feature on ‘Britain’s deadliest gangs’ (‘Meet the men who run YOUR manor’). This side of his dad he finds hard to understand, with the additional implications of what it means for his own future.

One reason for Buster’s concern over his family’s criminal heritage may be the example of his cousin Dylan, who at 22 has already been jailed four times. Despite Paddy’s assertion that he’s a “good lad in general, just bored”, Dylan is back in jail within four days of being released from his latest sentence after brandishing two sawn-off shotguns.

Yet despite having a clear understanding of the reality of prison life (“everyone in there is depressed – whole prisons suffer from depression”), Paddy risks his license conditions being invoked after an unnecessary run-in with the police. During a raid on his sister’s house he allows himself to be drawn into a verbal confrontation with an officer and is charged with a public order offence. Unwilling to face court proceedings, Conroy goes on the run again, despite the knowledge that he risks a heavier sentence as a consequence. However, this proves to be unnecessary, and somewhat farcical, as his 72-day period in hiding turns out to be just to avoid a £130 penalty charge which is sent through the post to him after he avoided the initial court date.

Despite this good fortune, and the end of his license period meaning Conroy is a free man once again, he’s unable to shake off past events, particularly the feud with the Sayles family. Conroy interrupts his cooking of a celebratory family dinner to launch into an uninterrupted four-minute tirade, unintelligible in parts and incoherent in others, where he tries to piece together what may have been slights on his reputation and the intentions of his rivals (his perceptions and thought processes clearly affected by his cannabis use), leaving no doubt that he’ll retaliate at some point, “and it’s coming fookin’ shortly, believe you me”. His rant culminates in him shouting “get that on your fookin’ documentary!”, before resuming his preparation of the family meal.

At this point, just by giving its subject enough rope, the profile allows the true nature of Conroy to emerge, demonstrating that any performance by an actor of a ‘gangster’ role can never fully convey the menace of intent that an authentic criminal has. Despite certain sequences that humanised him (sequences with his family and on his allotment) and a refusal by MacIntyre to allow a caricature to develop - as would be likely in a Zoo feature – Conroy’s inherent brutality continually re-surfaces. His own need to distinguish between his own criminal acts and those of “gangsters” suggests that to some degree he is fully aware of the nature of his lifestyle and its implications, the essence of which it was essential MacIntyre captured in his “fookin’ documentary”.

ITV1, Dating the Enemy,19 November, 10.00 p.m.

Being honest, did we ever want the Blind Date couples to live happily ever after?

The bickering on the plane, tantrums on the veranda and the pre-mediated verbals on the sofa with Cilla, it was Cupid’s misses that made the show a hit, with the occasional happy ending only there to help maintain the illusion that we watched the show for these magic moments.

ITV1’s Dating the Enemy ditches the Blind Date pretence and gets straight down to business: a couple are deliberately mis-matched on the basis of their being the complete opposite of their stated ideal partners, and have to endure three days in each other’s company. The aim at the end of the 72 hours is to see if the wooing by one half of the couple is enough to convince the other to 'date the enemy'.

The show starts with "ambitious Chelsea socialite" Melanie, a cross somewhere between her namesake Melanie Griffith and Geri Halliwell. To illustrate her go-getting nature an Apprentice-esque sequence shows the hard-working girl’s lifestyle: conducting business in the back of a cab ("on my way to a very important meeting") on her Blackberry, being extremely professional with clients and, er, sniffing a bunch of roses at a flowerstall.

Melanie is candid about what she can't tolerate in a man: scruffiness, being dirty, lacking ambition, and not being a gentleman. However, while Melanie listed her beau no-nos, these were intercut with shots of her date-to-be waking up with three-day stubble, munching toast in the middle of the afternoon (and not using a plate, so doubtless getting crumbs over the carpet) and belching.

For "slacker and proud of it" Mark, knowledge, experience and love are the essentials of life, stating that "at the risk of sounding like an old hippie (and probably smelling like one), I would say that I can unashamedly defend why my way of life is the way of life to live".

So the successful Sloane and the scruffy slacker – surely the perfect match for a lorra, lorra laughs.

As Melanie made her way to Brighton (Blackberry constantly on the go), Mark ruminates on how he can convince her he’s more than just a slacker (having a shave would have been a good start). At 36, with "neither academic or career success", and working in a comic store, clearly he has his work cut out. Philosophising over his lack of occupational progress ("on paper I look like a bum, maybe, but to me it’s more a career of life than work") Mark decides on a back to basics approach to win over Melanie: a night of camping under the stars. After all, as the scruffy one notes, "what’s not to like about tenting under the sky – it’s all good". Well the potential for getting wet and dirty for one, things we discover Melanie will not tolerate ("I don’t want to go anywhere dirty").

The love train pulls in to Brighton, doubtlessly late as the service is operated by First Capital Connect. The odd couple meet, with Melanie confessing later in the show how gorgeous she found Mark to be ("he’s just like a tall Orlando Bloom"). Mark decides to reveal the evening’s plans by holding up the tent bags and asking "what are we going to do?", perhaps under the delusion that being such a hard-working city girl means Melanie has never seen a tent before.

After finding a suitable clearing, things don’t get off to the best start as Mark realises he can’t pitch his tent ("I’m absolutely buggered"). Fortunately Melanie, the novice to this camping game, is on hand to point out why he’s having such difficulties ("it’s inside out").

But three hours later, with the tent up and the campfire burning, the two swap notes on how their lifestyles contrast. Melanie always has a plan and her diary is constantly booked-up, with something on "every day, sometimes two things on at night". In contrast, Mark confesses he’s more "a sitter and a thinker than a mover and a shaker". But at least he looks like a tall Orlando Bloom while he’s lazing around.

After surviving the "coldest night’s sleep she’s ever had", Melanie travels with Mark to the Isle of Wight to meet the parents. Melanie is looking forward to meeting them, and over the dinner expects an insight into Mark and his background. On hearing the description of them as "aging hippies" she’s under the impression they’ll be "fun and light-hearted". But before she’s received her first course at the Horse & Groom this proves not to be the case.

After telling Mark’s dad she organises events and parties for a living and the next is a fashion event for the British Red Cross, he retorts with "so lots of anorexic young ladies walking up and down in overpriced clothes, with the odd celebrity turning up?"

Being a professional, Melanie takes this in her stride, and responds with an anodyne question to deflect the awkwardness ("why did you move to the Isle of Wight?"). However, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t have asked the question if she knew this was going to be the response:

"If you go to these new towns in the south of England, everyone aspires to the same boring shite. Not everyone’s aspiring to a four-wheel drive, and the availability of spirituality over here is more accessible, and I do like being away from the human species. I don’t like people very much. It’s a nice place and the trees are nice, but people are a bit revolting, ain’t they, don’t you find?"

While this made for great TV, it’s hardly polite dinner conversation.

The charm offensive continues (Melanie being charming and Mark’s father offensive), with Mark’s dad asking Melanie if his misanthropy has "given you an insight into maybe changing your perception of life?", although by the expression on her face the only thing she seems to want to change right now are her dinner companions.

Taking refuge in the ladies (or ‘fillies’ as daintily signed on the door), Melanie lets off steam about Mark’s dad and how he’s "quite rude to put me down and what I do", which is perfectly understandable. It’s one thing to question someone’s way of life, another to completely disrespect it. To add to the dining debacle, Mark confirms to Melanie that he share’s his dad’s views, which means he’s managed to be both dirty, scruffy and ungentlemanly within the first 24 hours of their date.

On their final day together, no doubt as a response to her treatment by Mark’s father, Melanie turns the tables on Mark, considering him to be "all talk and no action". Over lunch at a café (appropriately called Belchers) Melanie asks him if he has any plans to read some of his poetry at the poetry reading evening ("this is your moment to shine"). The mere thought of it has Mark blushing so much that he has to remove his jumper (Melanie: "are you feeling flushed because of the pressure?").

Melanie continues her probing as the pair engage in some pottery painting at a workshop. Melanie asks Mark if he’s prepared to display his porcelain Elvis in his house for people to see, and if so, why the difficulty in reading his poetry in public:

"I don’t get embarrassed about showing things I’m slightly able to do, but if it’s something I want to do…"
"Or you have more to lose?"
Yeah. "It’s difficult for me to expose the raw inner feelings, and that is what I put into the things I write..."

This becomes evident in the show’s climax at the poetry evening when Melanie meets some of Mark’s friends, purportedly along to offer support. Rather than challenge his preconceptions of how an audience may react they reinforce his negative views, with one opining on how "soul-destroying" a single heckle would be. Melanie proffers that she’d think the same but consider it a "risk worth taking", a phrase clearly unfamiliar to the men as they have to ask her to repeat it.

As Melanie is by now fully aware, Mark’s slacker ideals mask a basic lack of confidence and self-belief, reinforced by a lack of parental encouragement (he later admits that Melanie has given him the "verbal kick in the pants I needed sixteen years ago") and his friends’ meekness. His statements about ‘a career of life rather than work’ reveal a belief system that gives him reasons to get away from attempting new things or achieving anything. It’s not a case of him rejecting ambition, but being scared of it.

But after watching a reading by a relaxed poetess, Mark confounds his friends and Melanie to get up on stage and do a reading, and an accomplished one at that, of a "very well-known poem" (Desiderata by Max Ehrmann). This leaves Mark’s friends "gobsmacked", and Melanie taken aback ("after the last 24 hours I never expected him to do it"). In addition to this, the organiser of the Brighton Poetry Society encourages Mark to attend their next meeting, where he says he’ll "do one of mine". But has this minor show of ambition been enough to compensate for being dirty, scruffy and his early ungentlemanly conduct and convince Melanie to ‘date the enemy’?

Unfortunately, not.

Although Mark has gone up in her estimation due to his public performance, and that he no doubt looked like a tall Orlando Bloom as he read the poem, it wasn’t enough. Her verdict was that "on a piece of paper he’s perfect, but there’s a thing inside of him that won’t move him forward", which leads her to doubt that Mark will actually go through with the performance of his own work, despite his invitation for her to come back to Brighton to watch him.

But the show’s heart-warming moments came not from the potential of any romance between the two but seeing Mark’s personal development thanks to an infusion of Melanie’s carpe diem spirit ("there’s a Mark way of doing things and the slightly more effective way of doing things"). He didn’t get the girl, but he got some of his confidence back.

But as they part with a hug and a song by the appropriately named Embrace plays out over the credits, on reflection, maybe Mark should have chosen a different poem with which to enchant Melanie, as Ehrman’s lines clearly state to:

"Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass."