On one of the cards was a picture of Malcolm Muggeridge and four questions about him. The game was intended for children and it was a testament to the incredible, now largely forgotten, reputation of that great broadcaster and national figure that eight year olds were expected to know not only who he was but several facts about him. That he was a journalist, an intellectual, and a famous man on the telly. It would amaze me if very many people at all could recall those facts now.

It seems almost fitting then that the retrospective on his remarkable career should have been shown on BBC4, a channel ludicrously criticised for not gathering huge ratings. For Muggeridge himself has now become almost a specialist subject, although the excellent documentary Time Shift: Malcolm Muggeridge resurrected some – there could never be enough time for anything like all – of the achievements and controversies that had made him a household name. To illustrate: in the film I’m Alright Jack, starring Peter Sellers, Muggeridge was used to host the fictitious current affairs programme that brought the various protagonists together towards the end. That this meant that no explanation of the nature of the programme, or that it would naturally be of national interest, points to something of his stature.

Time Shift: Malcolm Muggeridge was made to commemorate the 100th anniversary of his birth and gave a full and rounded insight in to the career, if not altogether the mind, of one of the formerly most vital parts of the intellectual life of television in Britain. Archive footage was chosen extremely well with excerpts of his documentaries on India and the work of correspondents in America used to illustrate the developing career of journalism which he pursued with vigour prior to the outbreak of World War II.

It came into its own though with tremendous footage of the seminal work Muggeridge produced in the post war period: his documentary on Mother Theresa of Calcutta, which created for them both an international reputation; his demolition through force of argument of the likes of Oswald Moseley and the chiding of sacred cow Bertrand Russell; the reappraisal of both history and religion in his travelogues in India and the Holy Land; and most especially the fearsome Face Your Image in which he was confronted with his detractors and forced to respond to their painfully detailed criticisms of his past actions and utterances.

Even a programme of this length – 90 minutes, narrated well by Edward Stourton – would not have been able to capture all of the facets of even his television career in any detail, but since it was obliged, naturally, to deal with every other area of his considerable public and private life this was hardly surprising. But it did manage to capture well the essence of the man and his reputation, from his disillusionment with his formerly ideal state of Soviet Russia through his finding of evangelism and organised religion to his eschewing of television – and just about everything else he had formerly believed in – and reminded the viewer that this was a man who should not to be forgotten.

In later years Muggeridge became the byword for the curmudgeon, an on-screen Kingsley Amis (and it was in these terms that he most likely found his way onto those playing cards), but the programme acknowledged his status as the man who first raised the placard of satire, paved the way for the powerful interview, pioneered the personal and indeed controversial form of documentary as a broadcast of opinion and not just the report of fact. Television and its viewers owe much to Muggeridge. We can only hope that this splendid film makes its way on to more mainstream channels to once again inform them of his former stature.

Importantly this was not a hagiography – the inclusion of Face Your Image was proof enough of that, as was the now infamous film of him criticising John Cleese and Michael Palin over The Life of Brian on Saturday Night Sunday Morning – and contributors provided much information on the criticism as well as support he received from them, and others. Friends such as Richard Ingrams and Christopher Booker of Private Eye were as damning as they were laudatory, bemoaning his descent into that figure of reactionary curmudgeon as much as recognising and celebrating his may achievements. Cardinal Cormac Murphy O’Connor, another friend, was also on hand to provide that same function as was Muggeridge’s niece. No side of him was left unexplored or commented upon demonstrating that this was a character as complex as he was accomplished.

Ironically it is difficult to conclude that it would very unlikely a man such as Malcolm Muggeridge would achieve the same fame in modern television without sounding as distinctly curmudgeonly as he eventually became. The force of the man was his unbowed intellectualism, untempered by populism. We can almost hear him harrumph over the likes of Simon Schama and David Starkey and their sensational history, for example. Yet this film showed that there was more to him than that, exemplified by his fondness for a saying told to him by an unknown man in Granada studios: “Only the dead fish swims with the stream.”

It is to our own disadvantage that we forget the likes of Malcolm Muggeridge, whatever we think of him. It is to our advantage that BBC4 exists to present subjects such as Muggeridge in their schedules and let us make up our own mind with well crafted, quality programmes such as this.

After a spell of unbearable tension Coronation Street finally delivered the goods to its eager viewers (viewers who watched, unsurprisingly, in numbers terrestrial television thought it might never see again this side of Christmas). And who was responsible for this? Entirely responsible? Why, it were none other than Richard Hillman, I say – Richard Hillman and his evil doin’s. Not Tracy and her detestable, tiresome prattling; not Ashley and his pathetic squawking. This was Tricky Dicky’s show from start to finish and a testament to what Brian Capron and the writers responsible for his words have done with him.

From the opening shot the irony bell was tolling heavily and it became deafening throughout the course of Richard and Gail’s leaving do in the Rovers (and for the record, I seem to recall Betty Turpin’s leaving do at the Rover’s this time last year. But there she was behind the bar and has been for the last while – you can’t look away for a moment). Archie, Norris and Audrey sat like three wise monkeys in the corner tut-tutting but they were marginalized at the outset. Only we knew they were right to be appalled and it was wonderful to see all this going on, safe in the knowledge that with a double episode to enjoy we would see this thing right through to a conclusion. (Proof that too much soap is not a bad thing – only too much bad soap is a bad thing.)

There were some added attractions naturally. Ashley and Fred brought their rather piddling differences to a close. Stephen held his disastrous dinner party with That Cow Tracy bringing Dev and thoroughly upsetting Deirdre, which was more entertaining. But the producers had the sense not to let these distract too much from our Special Feature; the unveiling of a psychopath.

Sarah began to twig first, discovering from Aidan Critchley that he had been drugged with Diazepam in the vodka he’d drunk the night of the murder. This was passed on to Gail who found out from Audrey that it had been Diazepam she had left in the house when she had left after their falling out. The truth finally – finally! – began to rise across Gail’s horizon and the insufferable smile was wiped from her face as Richard made his leaving speech. He in turn was stopped short after catching sight of Ashley behind the bar. And his face was shut. Things started to add up now in sums small enough for Gail to understand and she cleared off to the house.

Running into the second episode Richard found Gail discovering that the Diazepam was missing and the fireworks as we launched into what was effectively a two-hander that made the likes of EastEnders attempts at this difficult device look decidedly amateurish.

Gail pressed Richard on his exploits and eventually Richard confessed that, yes, he killed Maxine. Hurray! Caught out! But what’s this? He did it just to frame Aidan and put Sarah off her? No! She can’t believe that? But then Gail did once marry Brian Tilsley so her powers of reasoning are fundamentally shaky. Richard had worked this through and it seemed plausible, except to us of course – we knew better. Then it all came tumbling out as Gail finally refused to believe this ruse.

All the history of his dark past came out and even though he had committed fewer murders than we had thought (he hadn’t killed Duggie Ferguson after all) this made him seem even worse as he was not just a maniac who killed left right and centre. No indeed, Richard had a powerful motive. He wanted his perfect family and he set about making it happen. He killed his ex-wife with a spade and buried her under the flats he was now selling. Hear that irony bell swing! He was going to kill Emily for her house and Maxine was a mistake (we knew that, of course) but it was all for the family. It transpired that Richard couldn’t have children of his own and, in a tremendous but ill-advised reversal of roles, Gail taunted and abused him with this fact, finding voice of the wronged and deluded wife stabbing him with accusations that he didn’t care for her, he only wanted a ready-made family. With a savage blow – “They’re not your kids!” – she stunned him into silence and, again rather rashly, provoked him into a degree of anger.

A bit of a chuck about and a touch of quietening down the children and that was it. Richard loped off into his natural habitat – the night – and Gail was left to finally, gloriously, wondrously, call her mother in floods of sobs. Hell mend you Gail! Mother knows best!

Truly this was a memorable duo of terrific episodes which did just what it ought to have. No surprises or twists of note, it gave us what we wanted and deserved and in spades (ahem). Not only that, but we get to look forward to so much more. We know that Audrey won’t rub Gail’s face in it but we sincerely hope that Norris most emphatically will to Emily. Aidan will be freed and Ken will be grovelled to by Fred and Ashley and all sorts of others. One can only hope that he will rise above his normal reticence and blast them with a mighty: “I told you so, you damned fools!”

Gloating will, hopefully, feature as a major part of the next few episodes.

But whither Tricky Dicky? Will he be back? Of course he will. Unlike EastEnders of late, which strings storylines out interminably and digresses disastrously, we shall have only a brief respite after the humble pie has been stuffed away and the dust has settled and then resolution.

And if you think it all far too predictable, take note: Precedent was broken in the first of tonight’s two episodes by reversing the usual soap policy of troubles taking place away from (and in contrast to) the parties going in pubs and homes. In Weatherfield troubles brew in the celebrations this weather. Stay at home (at least now that Richard’s absconded).

It’s difficult to admit to enjoyment of a storyline as – relatively – fantastical as that of the Weatherfield serial killer, Richard Hillman, when one has spent so much time postulating the windy hypothesis that Coronation Street was always the greater of the two main soap operas (the other being EastEnders, before you ask) because it was rooted in everyday life and humdrum events more akin to reality and that its success and longevity was based upon those pillars of wisdom. It also doesn’t help that much of the criticism levelled in the direction of Walford Square was that it depended on outlandish events for dramatic effect and had lost touch with that same reality. So none of this helps one bit when one considers that the best storyline for a long, long time in Weatherfield has been the appearance of a serial killer so oily and odious that if he were to regularly wear a top hat and twirl a pointy waxed moustache with jewelled glove, no one would notice. But it is a fact, I at least would contend, that Richard and his murderous campaign down The Street, his thievery, threats and deceit, is the best thing to happen in soaps for years.

The highpoint so far came with this evening’s double episodes across which Richard dealt his next dastardly hand and raised the stakes for his liberty – and sanity – and our hopes for even greater and higher drama. Using a ploy more familiar to EastEnders, where the worst happens to some whilst others party merrily away, the axe was to fall on Maxine Peacock and Emily Bishop whilst a double birthday party bubbled away literally over the road at the Rovers. Every regular viewer knew that someone was going to get it and I was no different so it was no surprise when Richard sloped out of the party and began his latest spree. Who was it to be? Odds on it was to be Maxine but Emily was in her house babysitting. Surely Emily wouldn’t be in the line of fire? Poor, drippy, sensible shoes Emily? But she was and the scene where Richard laid the blow on her was one of the most genuinely shocking things I have ever seen on television. I just couldn’t believe my eyes. And that was where the genius of the episode lay. I knew Emily was going to get it. I saw Richard creeping up behind her and I was fully cognoscent of the fact that the crowbar in his hand was not for snagging her cardie. But I was sure that even at this point something was going to happen that would divert Richard from his target. When the blow actually fell I was utterly amazed.

At that point Maxine then stumbled in and the second victim was caught but the real shock was with the first. For the first time since heaven knows when my jaw actually dropped in amazement and everyone with me was equally dumbfounded. I may seem to be labouring the point – I may still be in shock – but I just could not conceive that she was dead. And then another masterstroke. She wasn’t dead at all, only badly wounded and was taken to hospital while poor Maxine was taken to the morgue. Ashley meanwhile was lead away in handcuffs, proving that even in the darkest moment there’s always a little bit of sunshine.

None of this will be of the slightest relevance to the look-in or casual viewer but then this is soapland after all and in this case, as it should be, perseverance bore fruit. The character of Richard has reinvigorated the old place like nothing I could have imagined. Everyone I know who has even a passing interest in Coronation Street was transfixed by Richard and his mayhem and even Peter Kay in concert was able to raise a great murmur among his audience by mentioning his name and awful deeds.

It is of course a truism to say that Richard Hillman is not the representation of an everyday person and it might be contended that he has no place in what ought to be a series set in a supposed reality, certainly his is the most radical character I can recall in Coronation Street from any time. But still it seems to work and work extraordinarily well. Perhaps what we have come to expect from soaps has changed; perhaps reality is not what we want after all? For whatever reason it gels together I shall be watching for some time to come, at least as long as Richard is around, as will all those to whom I spoke immediately after the show and received text messages from in tremendous abbreviated excitement.

We’re hooked again. I mean to say, he has to be caught surely? Doesn’t he? Will Ade, who Richard has put in the frame for the murder and assault, be put in jail first? Will Audrey find something out? Will he kill Gail first (please God!)? Who knows what might happen? But whatever does, I’ll be watching.

Mission accomplished, Granada.

It is difficult to recall the last time a sitcom attracted so much interest in the media. Peter Kay’s recent second series of Phoenix Nights gained a healthy amount of coverage to be sure but, pointedly, pieces on that particular success story almost always managed to include some kind of reference to the first series of The Office. It was as if being broadcast in the same year made it mandatory for the two to be compared against each other, or rather for Phoenix Nights to be held up to comparison with The Office which has somehow managed to become the new gold standard in the genre.

I say somehow, but this is not a part of the inevitable backlash that will surround The Office and its progenitor Ricky Gervaise at some point in the near – probably the very near – future. I enjoyed the first series of the show and have anticipated the second batch of episodes keenly, as have most of the civilised universe, if the press is to be believed. And enjoy the first episode I did but not in the same way that I took to its predecessor last year when it seemed original, smart and relevant as well as funny. The Office series one was an accomplished exercise in character study and dealt well with plot with a good deal of straightforward comedy to hold it together. The Office series two, if the first part is a pointer to the remainder of the run, is to be an exercise in embarrassment more than anything else and it is difficult to see how that can be sustained across six episodes.

Before the programme even began the stage was set as the continuity announcer warned us that we should be prepared to feel the ground swallow us up. We were not to be disappointed on this score as, true enough, I spent much of the show looking at the ceiling, or through my fingers at David Brent – Gervaise’s character – delivering his excruciating speech to the new arrivals in the eponymous office, or trying to wriggle his way out of having told offensive jokes and so on. If this was the object of the programme, as it seemed to be, then it succeeded triumphantly. But is it enough to make a successful comedy out of? To refer back to Fawlty Towers for a moment; it had its fair share of laughs derived from embarrassment, but these nestled comfortably alongside healthy doses of slapstick, barbed one-liners, observations and plain buffoonery to sustain it. The first series of The Office had much of this also, for along with the moments of cringing agony there came the laughs associated with the episodes in the disco and the pub quiz all strung together with a particularly keen sense of observation (or perhaps it is unkind to compare any show to the genius of Fawlty Towers, but the hype rather demands that this show be considered at home amongst such lofty peaks.) None of this broader comedy seemed on offer in the first part of series two.

There seemed to be little sense that any of the characters had developed either, all seemed almost exactly the same. True enough that “in real life” people may remain largely the same but then this is not “real life” and something new is required to maintain interest (even though within the show’s chronology only a period of weeks had elapsed since the end of the first series). The greatest advance in any character was handed to Tim. About to leave office hell at the end of the last series to return to University he seemed to have sold his soul to promotion here in the present day, which was quite a shock as he had been the character the viewer was supposed to actively like from first time around: the sane man in a world gone mad. To see him developed into just another office shit was a surprise and it raised hopes of a new turn for the plot. When would redemption come for Tim? Well, about 10 minutes in when he showed that he was just the same good ol’ fun lovin’ chancer he had always been after all, which was rather a shame.

Meanwhile every other character left over from the first series seemed to be still in exactly the same place – and clothes and haircuts – as when we left them. The stagnation of the players is one thing, the dilapidation of others is something else. Gervaise’s character seems even more idiotic than he was before which begins to present problems of its own. How does someone so patently incompetent and clueless become a senior manager in any kind of firm? Surely that cannot have been Brent’s first time making a speech welcoming a new intake or addressing a gathering of employees? For a show that takes reality as its theme this seems rather anachronistic.

Unfortunately it would appear that the team behind The Office have forgotten much of what made the first show such a success and managed to dismiss the formula that lead to that BAFTA, the possession of which has been trumpeted from the rooftops. Curiously, a show which spawned a million water cooler moments has distilled itself into those moments only and seems to understand itself purely through the recollection of those people who have recounted such moments back to them. It has become a show that does precisely what has been expected of it but nothing more and the expectations are not a true reflection of the actual programme itself. The second series would, so far, appear to be doomed to be a caricature of the first rather than an expansion upon it. Where Phoenix Nights 2 was able to develop a plot across six episodes – admittedly to not quite the effect of the first series – and develop its characters accordingly, The Office has thus far failed in this (although admittedly we’ve only seen one episode so far) and has seen some characters even lapse into cartoons of themselves. Hopefully, now that the characters have been introduced to the army of viewers who were not present first time around, we will see some movement in the right direction over the coming few weeks as it would be a shame to have another original comedy series descend into mediocrity and lend even more ammunition to those tired old lags who would forever have us believe that sitcom is dead.

I’m optimistic, but then I’m also basically just a chilled out entertainer.

Recently however, things have not been as rosy down Weatherfield way and the last few years have not been a golden epoch for Corrie watchers. There are still some fantastic characters, to be sure; Fred Elliot and Roy Cropper are a joy and others, such as the Duckworths, remain entertaining and interesting and each in good measure. But it has always been the characters themselves that have been the reason for Coronation Street‘s success: the characters and the interaction between them. EastEnders is plot driven, in my opinion, to a far greater degree whereas in the Street the plot follows the characters and does not – usually – lead them.

But what can you do with this format when the characters are either too dull, too ordinary, too boring, too humourless, too relentlessly unentertaining to have them engage in anything of interest? Where can they lead us then? Recent storylines have been plagued by these desperate qualities. Maxine Peacock’s affair with the doctor, for example, was monumentally uninteresting (a medical frisson with Hayley Cropper however, would have been worth watching) and even stories involving the likes of Fred and Roy – such as the recent historical recreation for the Jubilee – have seemed farcical and overly contrived (and tellingly had removed them from their home environment; Corrie works best on its own doorstep).

Granada producers are not daft though and all of this must have been focused powerfully in their minds when they decided upon the course of action to help rectify affairs. What they have done, however, is neither original nor inspired as it is something I am sure most Corrie fans have either wanted or expected: they brought Bet Lynch back.

Last night, across two special episodes, the bold brassy Bet made her return to the Rovers as part of an effort to on the one hand mark the departure of a long standing character and on the other to reinvigorate a perilously lackadaisical show. I am happy to say that I believe she did both extremely well.

One of the attributes that Coronation Street can luxuriate in to a far, far greater degree than any other soap is its history; its hinterland of stories and characters that provide a powerful air of reality and continuity. This is partly the reason why new characters have to be introduced very carefully and cautiously and how older characters can be reintroduced very easily. So when a character who has been gone for seven years needs to make a reappearance then the plot device utilised to allow for this can be pretty straightforward. Luckily, just such an opportunity arose allowing for the return of a great character from the Street‘s past. The retirement of Betty Williams (nee Turpin) from the Rovers after 30 years threw up the perfect opportunity for the re-emergence of her former employer. And in she came to the fray, wafted on a cloud of fag smoke, her gold jewellery clanking like Alan Bradley’s tramcar, a leopard print bouffant of clichés and anachronisms.

Almost the entire second episode (she emerged from the train station at the end of the first to lead us by the nose into the second) took place in the Rovers with only a couple of scenes happening beyond its flock confines. Unfortunately the principle stories outwith the Rovers involved two of the most deathly dull sets of characters currently on the go: the perennially and eternally annoying Gail Platt and her godawful family and Curly Watts and his wife Emma with their ongoing vermin control worries. Neither are of the slightest interest and were an unwelcome diversion from the main attraction in the pub.

Of course, as well as one character arriving there was one leaving. Betty’s character’s always been interesting in that although she’s featured for over 30 years and had several storylines, she only ever seemed to be a supporting feature. If some incident she was involved in rose to prominence it tended to be also swiftly resolved and always to her advantage (when Annie Walker accused her of stealing £45 from the till for example, Betty stormed out and threatened to sue: Walker apologised and she returned to the pub). In fact, Betty stormed out of the Rovers four times over the years, was Alf Roberts’ mayoress, was discovered to have an illegitimate son who had been thought of as her nephew and had been to Buckingham Palace again with Alf as he got his OBE. Oh no, Betty’s time was not quiet on the Street but it did tend to be background noise (John Shuttleworth memorably claimed that her single line in the show had always been, “Pint, luvvy?”) so her send-off did not need to be as powerful or heartfelt as that of Hilda Ogden’s, say. And it was the perfect time for another great moment.

When Bet walked back through the doors it became the picture of the western saloon as everyone stopped, looked and listened whilst she announced she was back. Some faces lit up and some fell but everyone took notice: especially me.

Over the course of the next half-hour we had a reintroduction of the character for the uninitiated: who liked her (Ken Barlow and Audrey Roberts), who didn’t (Rita Sullivan and, brilliantly, Les Battersby) and who didn’t know any better. “Who’s the old slapper?” asked Janice Battersby of Lynch, at least demonstrating that Julie Goodyear is unafraid of a little criticism of her coiffed visage. We also got some great lines from her (in response to Vera Duckworth saying, “I see your still smoking,” she replied, “Vera, I’m still everything!”) and some idea of what has been going on for the past seven years plus hints at some tragic events. All sauce for the goose.

Some say it’s hackneyed and unimaginative to reintroduce Bet Lynch (Gilroy emphatically no longer) and many see the character as no more than a joke, a nonsense. But I must say for myself that since her arrival back in town last night, Coronation Street is already a far more interesting place.

The first programme was a piece on Tommy Cooper and was uncharacteristically long at 90 minutes. However it was a superb work that included testimony from Cooper’s wife and showbiz luminaries such as Eric Sykes, a genuinely emotional Jimmy Tarbuck (Cooper famously died on stage during his show) and an extraordinary commentary from Anthony Hopkins where he recounted his impersonation of Cooper to the cast and crew on The Silence of the Lambs. The series went on to include programmes on Frankie Howerd, Terry Thomas, Benny Hill and Peter Cook amongst others.

Sadly these halcyon days are all but forgotten and a once great series has rather fallen into the ordinary.

This is not to decry the subject matter by any means. Last Saturday night a fulsome – and long overdue – tribute was afforded Dick Emery, a past giant of light entertainment who created laughter for so many people and for so long that he deserves all the plaudits he has – and more pointedly, has not – received in recent times. But like light entertainment this programme is not what it was.

After the original run came a further series entitled Heroes of Comedy: The Living Legends, a rather obvious device to overcome the fact that the series creator, former Thames producer John Fisher (also the off screen unheard interviewer of the talking heads), couldn’t think of anyone else to include in his illustrious pantheon. However, since these programmes included subjects such as Ronnie Barker that could be forgiven. Now however, we have departed from even that diversionary path and returned to plain Heroes of Comedy but the stranding has been dropped so that in this most recent run we have been given portraits of the late Dick emery and the still very much with us Ronnie Corbett (although one cannot help but think that this episode was compiled simply out of a sort of obligation to Corbett since Barker had been covered and it might have seemed too obvious a snub to Corbett for Fisher not complete the set, as it were).

So that brings us back to last Saturday’s show on Dick Emery. Many nuggets of information were to be had here: his parent’s act – as described by the man himself during his last interview (such rediscovered gems being one of the few continuing glories of the series as a whole) – his childhood troubles and his spell in military prison amongst them. The quality of researched and archive material on show in these programmes has always been its most interesting facet. The show included much pertinent and relevant commentary from those who had known and worked with Emery (no Jamie Theakston or Kate Thornton here, thank God) including Roy Hudd, Pat Coombs, Bill Cotton and, somewhat erroneously but very happily, Sir John Mills. The content of the show was of a good standard, so what’s the problem? It is not this but the overall listlessness of the programme, the atmosphere that surrounds it that troubles more than anything else. One cannot help but think that if the producers thought so much of Emery, why was he not included earlier in the run? One can picture a production office far inside some innocuous office block with John Fisher and others sitting around sucking biros and posing the question to one another, “Who’s left?”

Too ephemeral a criticism? Perhaps, but these things bother me when such subjects so dear to my heart are in question.

Perhaps we should just be grateful that a tribute is being made at all. Certainly I should be happy that at least some care is being put into their production and we are not faced with the aforementioned Theakston grimacing and drivelling, “Mandy Dunnit? What was all that about? He just looked the same but in a wig!” But like most television viewers I want more. I am a snob where these things are concerned. The first series of Heroes of Comedy was something of an event and to be included in its ranks has lent an air of superiority to those profiled (not that many of them needed it). So when one comes across such a worthy subject so far down the line it irks.

But then perhaps it is only Pat Coombs, Roy Hudd, Bill Cotton, John Mills and me that think that. The programme-makers don’t seem to. The real problem here is that this series has descended from the alpine peaks of achievement into mediocrity and that really is a shame.

Quite a few years ago now I saw Ken Dodd’s Laughter Show at the Pavilion Theatre in Glasgow and enjoyed it immensely. Then in 1995 I saw An Audience With Ken Doddon ITV and enjoyed that hugely too. So as I settled down to watch Another Audience With Ken Dodd last Saturday night I had high hopes. Happiness was on its way and a pleasant diversion from the incessant fixed grins of Gareth and Will and their pop pap. Unfortunately ’twas not to be.

It’s easy to see why ITV1 wanted to make this show. The first Audience With … was a huge success and has been repeated several times. It was the affirmation in the nation’s affections of a truly great comic who had been absent from our television screens for too long. So what could make more sense than doing another one? Since the essence of stand-up comedy is rather given away in the name and therefore perfectly suited to the Audience With … format, and since Doddy is still touring, then surely seven years later it would simply be a case of standing the old boy in front of a camera and audience and letting him get on with it. That, I suppose, must have been the theory. I don’t suppose it occurred to those amongst the wise at ITV1 that our Ken might not have much new material. Perhaps they hadn’t thought to check? What we got then was much the same as the original (very much the same) with only a change amongst the personnel in the celebrity audience very different from the first.

Personally I always find the celebrities in the audience at least – if not more – interesting than the act on show. The calibre of rent-a-face on offer varies wildly depending on who is starring and provides a great guide to the standing of said star. For example, Peter Ustinov had Ted Heath in his crowd; Spike Milligan had Peter O’Toole; Kenneth Williams had the likes of Peter Nichols, Roy Kinnear, Barry Took and Joan Sims and Victoria Wood had Julie Walters – natch. The execrable Freddie Starr edition however featured the glitterati that are Vanessa Feltz and Patsy Palmer. For himself first time round Doddy had questions from, amongst others, Frank Carson and Dame Hilda Bracket. An interesting selection and suitably eclectic, I think. This time there were similarly unusual (nowadays) appearances from the likes of Dora Bryan, and Ricky Tomlinson was present and alluded to once or twice although never called upon.

The questioning itself has evolved from the early glory days of Kenneth Williams’ show when he clearly had no idea who many of those piping up were (“Oh it’s Matthew [Kelly] … Game for a Laugh! It is Matthew isn’t it?”) and used as both a way of introducing the more interesting members of the audience and a roundabout uber-showbiz cue for the next bit of shtick. Nowadays this is their sole purpose as any pretence that these are genuinely spontaneous questions has been dropped. For instance, Dora Bryan asked for a song and (sadly) got one. And that was about it for the input of the audience, their only other involvement being frequent shots showing them rolling in the aisles hysterical with laughter. In fact, a few of them were so good at it that the director used the same clip of them (Denise the agony aunt from This Morning especially, mopping her eyes with mirth) over and over again.

The problem with this show was that it was always going to stand and fall by the material Dodd had to use. This sounds a bit obvious I’ll admit but Kenneth Williams, Peter Ustinov and Spike Milligan, for example, could repeat a screed of their famous anecdotes and mingle them with reminiscence which they could wander off on if it occurred to them. This however is something Dodd has never seemed comfortable doing. On his Face to Face interview with Jeremy Isaacs some years ago, for instance, it took the questioner some time before he was able to break through his subject’s stock “comedy” answers. So one would have imagined that Dodd would have made sure he had some new stuff. Unfortunately he seems to have not watched his first show seven years ago or had maybe hoped that everybody would have forgotten it.

He sang the Floral Dance, which he did last time. This time though he sang it all. An improvement? Hmmmm … Then he sang There Was an Old Farmer who had an Old Sow, which he started last time but which we got more of this time. He followed precisely the same format as before even down to the costumes (part one: regular suit, part two: comedy outfit, part three: evening dress) although whereas in the last show he had a prop basket on stage this time he opened a segment with him in a mock-up dressing room for no adequately explained reason: it was certainly never referred to in the ensuing patter. He produced the Great Drum of Notty Ash and did precisely the same business with it as before (banging on it shouting, “Softly, softly,” and so on). He brought out a diddy man and did almost the same act as before again with just a different song. Although this proved to be one of the more entertaining parts of the programme it couldn’t help but seem repetitious. Most notably were the incessant references to tax, accountants, addition and so forth with obvious echoes of his celebrated evasion of tax and even more celebrated avoidance of going to jail for it. This seems now to take up much of his act. New (or different) material consisted mostly of a routine about the Germans singing a song wearing a pointy helmet. Hilarious.

All in all, the most disappointing thing about this show was that it seemed unnecessary and actually diminished his formidable reputation. It made it seem like the old boy had nothing new to say even despite some “topical” material (are jokes about Posh and Becks being thick still topical?) To drum up business for the programme several listings magazines noted that Dodd once appeared in the Guinness Book of Records for telling 2,000 jokes in record time. But were they funny? This is very much in keeping with the apparent supposition the show made of the viewer: Dodd went through the routine but it just seemed like a man retreading old ground and we were supposed to laugh simply because he was there doing it, because he was Ken Dodd and he is funny – no questions asked. We laughed at the first one, so now laugh at the second one.

Although the Audience With … format has been rather debased in recent years (it had been considered at one point a significant accolade) by using substandard subjects – particularly the current pop music flash in the pan (Ricky Martin) or dreary warhorse (Cliff Richard) – it can still provide a great showcase for great talent to be appreciated in a way that few other shows can. The first Audience With Ken Dodd was a case in point. Another Audience With Ken Dodd was just a disappointment.

The missing link this year of course, is the absence of scandal. Regardless of what tabloid newspapers may parade on their front pages, Helen and Paul holding hands for a split second in the dark does not a Nasty Nick make, and although at that time last year I felt that the entire Nick palaver was overdone I begin to crave an episode that would be at least as noisy if perhaps not as compelling.

But this is a result of what I feel has become the central motif of Big Brother 2; the extreme consciousness of the housemates to the presence of the cameras and the attentions of the audience beyond. It seems obvious that this has been a major influence on the housemates this year to a far, far greater extent than in last year’s show. One could sense, for instance, that the participants in BB1 had very little idea of the attention they were drawing in the outside world and were genuinely surprised to be confronted with the proof of this by Davina when they emerged from the house after eviction. In BB2 it’s been particularly apparent during the last week that a preoccupation with the media has tempered both the actions and words of the housemates to a greater or lesser extent (depending upon their overall engagement with the show).

With six housemates this week we were presented with a situation that mathematically was only going to be offered to us once; three couples. With a tidy purpose, fate decreed that these should be a fairly interesting clutch: Dean and Elizabeth, Paul and Helen and Josh and Brian (Maw, Paw and the kids). Although there has been much talk of the most interesting members of the house having been voted out early we can at least give thanks that we have been left with Brian and Helen (especially Helen) to hold our attention – both the most vocal of the housemates. Dean and Elizabeth, in contrast prompt very little reaction from the viewer. It’s difficult to say much about either of them other than that neither have very much to say about themselves. Oasis of calm to some, boggy morass to others they have proved to be stayers and will, I think, make for fascinating nominations next time round.

While Josh has remained very much a background influence, Paul has rather come into his own this last week with the most direct reasons for a nomination of the series so far. On nominating Josh he asserted that his nominee had been less than frank about his sexuality and had disturbing character traits identified as “slimy” and “poncy”. This strayed from the path the others had taken both in this and previous weeks and clearly highlights an acute awareness of the audience. The others had taken what could be described as almost a coward’s road in claiming that their nominations for one person were purely as a result of them not getting on as well with them (or “gelling”, would you believe) as some others (but not because they dislike them, mind you). The players in the original had also developed this to a certain extent (Darren nominating Craig and presenting it almost as a favour to him so he could spend some time with his business; Craig nominating Darren so that he could spend more time with his family) but never to this extent. Paul, however, decided to come clean and make his feelings (genuine or not) known. In this he may have differed from the others in what he said – abandoning the stock answer – but not in his motive, I think. Perhaps Paul has come to realise that the time has now passed for sitting in the background and not saying or doing much.

(As an unkind thought, if he is – as the assumption of all the participants seems to be – looking for a career in television, he would not be able to achieve that without generating some interest in himself by whatever means, nominations or otherwise.)

Certainly Paul was not the most visible of the housemates during the opening weeks but he still managed to rack up an impressive slew of nominations (and an even more impressive run of avoidance). I suspect he now realises that what is needed is a rather more strident approach. Identify a constituency and play to it. Exploit antipathy to Josh and benefit from it. It surely can’t have missed his attention that Brian has not been nominated once and the massive popularity of Brian must be seeping into the house in ways that manifest themselves to the other housemates. So who antagonises the most popular character? Work off that and gain kudos by it. Perhaps I am too devious or cynical (perhaps I credit Paul with too much intelligence) but the appearance of strategy in his nominations (and in his increasing interest in Helen) is only the tip of the iceberg, I think, in what will become a very tactical game in the Diary Room.

For himself, the week’s evictee, Josh, proved adequately that, apart from faintly antagonising Brian and apparently irritating Paul, he was a character we could live without. The result of the vote (he was evicted by a massive majority over Helen) only proved that this was a TV star the public were fed up with. Before he arrived he promised (among other things) naughtiness and nudity. Nudity we got. Naughtiness? I think not. And not many characters on television have managed to turn the public against them with just a pair of trousers.

What Josh’s eviction must result in at the very least is Brian’s realisation (surely) that by now he is all but untouchable in the race for the prize. The others, naturally one would think, must realise this also (although I’m not so sure about Helen) and that might make for a more interesting dynamic. Certainly I will be listening intently to what new reasons the remaining contestants might be able to concoct for the eviction of the others whilst maintaining their image as lovely people in the eyes of the public. If only they knew that most of the public have made up their minds about them already.