Why am I so attracted to male authority figures like Detective Superintendent Hastings?

As Line of Duty heads towards its series climax, Will Gore wishes he was more like AC-12’s gaffer

Boss character: Adrian Dunbar as Superintendent Ted Hastings in Line of Duty (BBC)

If Ted Hastings, that great adversary of police corruption, turns out to be a bent copper, I don’t know what I’ll do. Forgive him probably. Or simply refuse to believe it.

I was a bit late to the Line of Duty party, only arriving on the crime scene at the start of series four. Immediately after it ended, we went back and binged on seasons one to three. The show’s brilliance hardly needs repeating: great premise, marvellously convoluted plots, sofa-grabbing set-pieces and terrific characters.

And for me, Hastings is the king; the character I root for, whose authority and integrity cannot be dimmed however often they are challenged. Keep Arnott and Fleming; I’m with the boss.

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I thought about my attraction to the character at the end of last week’s terrific episode and I realised that Hastings is part of a pattern. When it comes to television dramas (and I use the term fairly loosely), the characters I am drawn to tend to fit a mould: male, middle-aged and in positions of authority. They will almost certainly have flaws and there will always be a bigger cheese above them – but not one who has the same strength of purpose.

This is no recent thing either. When I was in my early twenties, I became hooked on Holby City (I know, I know), waiting for the moment each week when a crisis would reach a pinnacle, only to be calmed by the hospital’s top cardiothoracic guy, Anton Meyer (Mr Meyer to you and me). Meyer was tough, uncompromising, but invariably made the right call under pressure.

When Meyer left the show, I searched for a replacement and found him inSpooks’s Harry Pearce, the head of MI5’s counter-terrorism unit. Another authority figure, upholding the rule of law but not necessarily following it if it conflicted with broader moral principles – you know… like world peace.

After Pearce came Richard Webber, the original chief in the US hospital drama Grey’s Anatomy. A sober alcoholic, he is the beating heart of the place – even when he loses his job or when personal deficiencies come to the surface. He puts himself on the line for others; he steps in when others crumble.

I struggled to think of a further riposte. Meyer would have said something stern and commanding; Pearce would have combined steel with humour

You might assume I have issues with my father. A psychoanalyst would no doubt have a field day but actually, I have a very easy-going relationship with my dad and always have done. He worked long hours when I was growing up but was never what you might call an absentee parent: we had, and have, many shared interests.

No, I think the truth is that these are the guys who, when I was younger, I aspired to be. They are the men whom I now recognise I will never become, even though I, sort of, still wish I could. Is it their supreme confidence I admire? Up to a point perhaps. The assuredness of purpose definitely tickles my fancy and that ability to know precisely the right thing to say, at just the right time and to deliver the line to perfection.

It helps to have a good scriptwriter, of course, and anyway, even if I secretly go through life wishing I was as brave and righteous as a soap spy or TV doctor, I’ve always got my kids to think I’m hero enough, right?

Wrong.

This week, as I walked my son to school, we got chatting about my past and present jobs. I reminded him that I used to work for newspapers full-time.

“That doesn’t sound very important,” he replied. “I mean, it’s not exactly something that has to be done is it?”

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Naturally, I sought to correct him, explaining – as much as one can to a six-year-old – why journalism is important. He made a dismissive noise, before adding: “Well anyway, it sounds pretty easy.”

I struggled to think of a further riposte. Meyer would have said something stern and commanding; Pearce would have combined steel with humour; Webber would have put a firm hand on my son’s shoulder and reminded him enigmatically of how little he yet knows.

But I plumped instead for Hastings and, with one hand on hip, stared into the middle distance, before muttering to myself: “Mother of God!”