IT HAS been described as Downton “with tills.”

But I’m sorry Mr Selfridge, when it comes to retail, the customer is always right. And so far, I’m not buying.

Mr Selfridge seemed to have Sunday nights all wrapped up. On paper at least.

Downton sent us all into disbelief mode with its shock horror Christmas special.

Most of us had heard the rumours but how many of us believed ITV would gift wrap actor Dan Stevens’ departure as Matthew Crawley so neatly and deliver it on Christmas Day?

While most of us were choking on what turned out to be an unlucky sixpence in all our Christmas puds, Dan was clearly busy growing sideburns to head off to Broadway and a starring role with another Heiress. It’s clearly becoming a habit – bowling over unlikely females in social circles where affection is all but impossible to separate from fortune.

Still, while some of us might pine for one of the most complete performances in a TV blockbuster for some time, ITV had big new ideas in store.

And with writer Andrew Davies on board, who would doubt that Mr Selfridge could sell us all the promise that Sunday nights were back to the must-see quality of dramas such as Downton.

After all, shopping and telly, the twin obsessions of many these days, must have seemed a combination made for ratings heaven. In fact, the perfect sales pitch.

Pound signs dancing before their eyes? TV executives must have thought so.

But I’m still looking through the rails and haven’t seen anything yet that makes me want to sign up for a loyalty card.

I’m hanging on to the one that says Downton on it and have yet to be convinced to trade it for the weekly rewards offered by Mr Selfridge.

“Scour the world for the finest merchandise, show the world how to make shopping thrilling.”

The real Harry Gordon Selfridge was the P T Barnum of retail. Roll up, roll up for a shopping extravaganza like you’ve never seen. And they did.

His arrival in London lit up Oxford Street with a department store that was innovative, exciting and like nothing the city had ever seen.

But when the doors opened on the TV version of what should have been an Aladdin’s cave of delights, I felt, well, underwhelmed.

Surely the sight of the plane in which Blériot flew across the Channel winging its way across the sales floor of Selfridges should have provided the wow factor that episode two desperately needed.

But once again I was distracted by Jeremy Piven’s grinning, bearded bear of a showman whose charm is challenged by a whole shipping order of insincerity.

Maybe I’m old-fashioned but that sort of charm just won’t do.

It wouldn’t sell fridges to Eskimos that’s for sure and that’s precisely the brand of chutzpah that made the original Mr Selfridge such a giant. Until it finally all went wrong of course.

Sadly from the off I’ve not bought into this Mr Selfridge’s brand of merchandise.

I’ve not been caught up in the glamour, whizzed off on a cloud of nostalgia by all that terrific period detail or been sold on the marketing that ties quality to celebrity. After all look where that’s got us.

And when you spend much of an episode wondering why an actor like Grégory Fitoussi has strayed across the Channel to play a temperamental and pretty one dimensional “creative director” rather than smouldering as tough French attorney Pierre Clément in BBC4’s always watchable import, Spiral then you aren’t about to waste any more time on retail therapy. So I’m sorry, but I’m not sold on Mr Selfridge.