When Lost delivers a metaphorical mouthful, it doesn't seem to be satisfied until we're gagging on the mediocre morsels that it leaves in its wake.

This week was like a bank holiday Monday on the Island; everyone important has buggered off for a day, leaving it to that woman from The West Wing to do all of the work.

So back we flash to a time, which, is really far back, but people speak English and have really white teeth. First we are thrust into front row seats for the birth of Jacob and his brother, who turns out to be the Baby in Black ? latterly the Man in Black. Poor BIB?s mother isn't alive long enough to give the embittered bambino a name – or an umbilical cord, apparently.

So it's up to the non-mother ? another character who frustratingly refuses to have a name – to raise the couple of miniature deities herself. So it's just like Muppet Babies; stagnant, devoid of creativity and akin to staring into the abyss.

Well, that was all a bit of a Cocketease now, wasn?t it? If ever a Lost episode did so much and accomplished so little, then colour us surprised. But as all the candidates come together, we at least have the game set for an explosive finale – that's if they have enough pyrotechnics left in Hawaii.

Finally, after what seems like years, Lost?s most emotional, romantic and sexually charged pairing were reunited in blissful harmony – and when Jack and Locke finally came together, it didn't disappoint. Cocke seems to be playing the good guy, telling Jack about how he penetrated his father?s body and led Jack to water because he loves him or something.

Still, Jack doesn't know which way he's leaning. On one side he's got Jacob with all his destiny policies; Cocke?s talking about change; and then we've got Widmore in the middle. we're not quite sure what he's doing but when he looks at us our toes feel all tingly.

Hurley has been plagued with bad luck throughout Lost; he won the lottery with cursed numbers, was part of a plane crash and he kind of looks like a hairy ball bag. Yet, for some reason, you've got to love the enduring optimism of the old chubster.

This week the camera does its best to focus on the schlub, as he leads the gang across the Island in search of Cocke?s band of brothers. Also, another zombie passenger arises in the form of Michael, coming back to say more than “Walt!!!!” ? thank christ.

Michael shuffled along to tell tubby that blowing up another part of the Island (the plane, mentioned by Richard last week) might not be the brightest of ideas. Still, because it's Lost, we got a double explosion extravaganza this week, that offered enough Island firepower to keep Jack hard up until the finale.

The most tranquil man to leave Scotland, Desmond Hume, finally returned to the island this week armed with his super-duper time travel powers. The two Lost timelines were thrust together in another bright explosion of illogical lunacy.

Desmond faced his arch-nemesis, American TV’s go-to geriatric arsehole, Jim Robinson, who has grabbed the wounded Scotsman (We haven’t seen Des in this timeline since he was shot by Ben last season) and demanded to use his melon for his dharstadly scheme. Desmond’s rational response was to beat Widmore with his IV bag. If Charles had turned around and whipped out his colostomy bag, then we could’ve had a right ruckus going.

Before Desmond knew it, though, the evil clone of Tina Fey had strapped him inbetween two giant doughnuts. It was a bit like that machine from Watchmen, except the difference is that after Desmond was engulfed by white light he didn’t return with a giant blue schlong.