The way to counteract this turn of affection, of course, is to emerge with a show just as funny, well-scripted, directed and performed as your last, thus rendering backlash virtually impossible. I would wager many a TV critic was ready to pounce with an almost pre-written attack on Gervais’ new vehicle, Extras, only to discover that as an opening episode, it already looks just as much draped in the sort of quality that deservedly saw The Office bestowed with numerous accolades.

Extras is as far removed from that series, as it could possibly be. Moving away from the “fly-on-the-wall” style, and into the plot-based format of sitcom, (albeit, still minus the laughter track) it is already a brave move, in as much that the writing requires a more rigid discipline, with rules to conform to – or break, whichever the case may be.

However there are some similarities present in the leading character, Andy, played by Gervais. Pop a goatee beard on him, and you could quite easily be watching David Brent, a man now given up on middle management and eking out a career as a film extra. Andy, like Brent, is seemingly clued up but a little surface scratching reveals him to be a shallow chancer, who can still manage to secure a little sympathy from those around him.

There will be those who will condemn Gervais for not moving his creation too much away from his previous incarnation, but he has never proclaimed to be a great character actor. He has realised his potential as a good comic actor at the level he is confident at, and simply placed a similar archetype into an entirely different scenario, much how the Tony Hancock character changed his occupation, or location to suit the plotlines of his Half Hour shows.

The opening episode of any sitcom is often a little difficult, usually being the introduction to the cast, and premise of the show. Extras episode one did this, but not in a fashion that appeared clunking or got in the way of the gags and plot.

Ben Stiller was the series first guest star, and pulled off a successful performance, as the actor-turned-director of a film about the “true” story of a widower’s plight at losing his wife and son in Bosnia. Stiller’s character was pretentious, aggressive and conceited. Assumingly, though playing himself, it was seemingly far removed from his real persona, ensuring real comic potential and the role’s success. Anyone who remembers his pre-box office megastar role in US sitcom Friends, as one of Rachel’s aggressive boyfriends, will have recognised the similarity in the antagonistic character traits, particularly in the segment in which he scolded a child actor for laughing during a scene in which he was fleeing from an armed soldier.

Stiller managed not to overplay his part to the point of saturating his screen time, but seemed to relish in the performance that negated the kind of roles he will be usually offered, as a result of his movie star status. The very funny final sequence of the show demonstrated his willingness to send himself and his profession up. During the scene he had made an outburst at the widower whose story had inspired the movie, culminating in him throwing a “do you know who I am?”-style hissy fit. Turning to Andy – after the extra had attempted to calm things down – he shouted, “Who am I, huh?” in his face. With precise comic timing, the bit-parter replied, “Starsky or Hutch, I can never remember which”. A subtle yet impeccably delivered close to the show.

All sitcom’s are based around the central character feeling stuck in a particular situation. Andy’s particular entrapment is being stuck in the world of film extra work, whilst considering himself to be a talented actor. The variety of roles in which he will be placed will allow the character to develop into one as iconic as David Brent, I’m confident enough to predict.

His co-star, the relatively unknown Ashley Jensen, played Maggie, a Rodney to his Del Boy, or Godber to his Fletcher if you will, being of the dim, but harmless type. Whilst being happy to accept her life as an extra, her individual demon is that of an ongoing quest to find love, trapped by her inept social skills battling with an endearing innocence. Her scheme to get a date with one of the film production staff in the face of some early minor faux pas, was going well, until it lead to, for me, one of the funniest sequences in the show, when her shallow personality meant she couldn’t possibly date a man with a club foot once it had been pointed out to her.

It may seem a little early to predict Extras will become a success, after only one episode, but it certainly demonstrated a lot of potential. If the difficult third album theory has to be applied here, then let’s think of the disappointing US remake of The Office as that dodgy LP, and consider Extras the magnificent comeback record.

Part one, “Aliens of London”, certainly went along with this technique, offering no less than a UFO careering into Big Ben, an extraterrestrial invasion and the possible demise of the Doctor as the cliffhanger. However, the start of “World War Three” dispensed with this latter element all too quickly, but that’s not to say the episode was any less enjoyable. On the contrary, it is amazing how a ridiculous storyline involving farting aliens, (still present, and still as funny) masquerading as politicians can hold you enthralled for 45 minutes. This is due, in no small part, to the scriptwriting skills of Russell T Davies, who has a fine knack of breathing a spooky sense of reality into all of his work.

Despite lacking the intensity of the first episode, this one contained enough to keep the viewer entertained. There was blatant humour in the chase scene around Downing Street, and the joyously British Harriet Jones (“MP for Flydale North!”). Alongside this, there was also a little satire with the wonderfully subtle, “massive weapons of destruction”, and of course the usual OTT spills and thrills we have come to expect.

What’s become evident in this new reincarnation of Doctor Who, which was never present before, is the character’s human side. I certainly don’t recall a child-like joy on previous Doctor’s faces when things were going to plan, but this has become one of Eccleston’s defining traits. Neither have we ever been exposed to the vulnerability of the Time Lord. When he begrudgingly tells Mickey and Jackie, “I need you”, it is almost a joy to witness he’s like the rest of us – well, kind of.

Another welcome addition to this version is Rose’s back-story. Previously, the Doctor’s assistants have been willingly two-dimensional: merely eye-candy for him to interact with. Rose, on the other hand, has a life, and one in which much of the audience can relate to. When faced, once again, with the choice of staying at home with Mickey and her mum, or embarking on exciting adventures in a police box with her new friend, her dilemma must surely have struck a chord with many viewers who’s faced equivalent decisions involving new partners or career changes being held back by family ties.

The threat from the aliens – another nice twist from Davies, Slitheen being the surname rather than the entire race moniker – was strangely only so when they were in their human incarnation. Strangely, because at the end of part one, in alien form they appeared to pose a genuine threat. However, by part two they appeared as threatening as Mr Blobby. In fact, overall the script for this episode was lighter in tone, looking to entertain, rather than provide any further tension once the conclusion of its predecessor had been put to rest.

And, in the light and shade of the new Doctor Who, that’s all we really required from this edition. Particularly when an old and deadly foe is waiting in the wings…

Whilst there is nothing at all wrong with programmes that entertain by holding up a mirror to society and confronting the myriad of problems many people endure, there’s also room for a series that sees no shame in presenting brilliantly conceived yarns, draped in slick direction, shamelessly over-the-top acting and immaculate dialogue.

Hustle provides all of this with great pride, and doesn’t care who knows it. After this first episode’s opening gambit, which reunites our happy band of professional “grifters”, in a swanky hotel that will become their operational base, Adrian Lester, in his role as Mickey Stone, delivers the line, “OK, let’s do what we do best.” It seems to be more than a reference to the confidence tricks pulled by the group; it could have also doubled-up as a self-satisfied boast from the writer regarding the quality of what’s on offer.

The show is unusual in today’s “what happens next” style of drama that has become prevalent of late. There is no need to dangle a juicy little tidbit from the following week’s episode at the end, here. All that’s required to keep the viewer watching for an hour is encapsulated in standalone stories that traditionally have a beginning, middle and an end. It’s ability to entertain for those 60 minutes is enough to ensure you will find yourself watching same time next week, and if you happen to miss it, you will not be completely lost when you tune in again.

For this second series, things were reassuringly the same. It would have been a mistake to try and stray from the show’s workable format by coming back as an all-new improved version of what was presented before, as many strive to do. When you buy a candy floss at the funfair, you don’t want it to taste any different to the last one. You want the sugar rush and the sweet sickly adrenalin. With Hustle, you want the gang to target their “mark” – usually a self-centred, smug, greedy city whiz kid who deserves to be stung. You want to see them plan their long-con, adopt their flimsy disguises and even flimsier accents; You want there to be a short series of mishaps and scrapes along the way with hilarious consequences; You want cars parked in side streets visible to all but those that would benefit from seeing them; You want the plan to look as though it’s all going to go terribly wrong, only for one of the gang – usually the one who was against the whole scheme in the first place – to step in at the last moment and save the day.

All were present and correct in episode one, involving a plot to fleece a smug, greedy city whiz-kid, Howard Jennings, by convincing him there was a goldmine under a scrap merchant’s in London. He had successfully foiled a plot to con him previously by old-time grifter Harry Holmes, resulting in his imprisonment. Danny, ever the cocksure rookie, was convinced they could sting him successfully, against the advice of his more experienced companions. This was against the “rules” – to try and work a con on someone who has sussed out previous attempts. Danny, of course, saw his colleagues’ reticence as a further challenge, and set off to prove the others wrong. Cue, the con, which unraveled as expected (flimsy disguises, accents, mishaps, et al) – before the plan looked like it was all going terribly wrong, until someone did indeed step in and salvage the situation.

The final scene, as ever, took place in Eddie’s Bar, where they counted out the money they had accumulated, laughed like they have just caught the baddies in Scooby Doo, and one of them suggested a ludicrous idea for their next “job”.

Same old candy floss? Inevitably. Same time next week? You bet!

On the basis of psychotherapy comedy-drama’s opening episode alone alone, he can’t fail to scoop a nice little handful of awards come the time when such ceremonies present themselves.

The premise of the show itself is very much a simple one. An array of different characters presents themselves and their psychological problems in front of a therapist. In the hands of lesser comic writers and performers, this could have been very much a hit and miss affair, and at worst a disaster. A mistake, would have been to employ a troupe of different actors, each taking on the roles of the diverse characters, therefore causing it descend into an unstructured, series of comedy sketches. However, with Whitehouse courageously taking on all of the client roles and Chris Langham sitting rather comfortably in the therapist’s chair, it’s resulted in a tragic-comic triumph.

The first client, preceding the opening titles, was a particularly unattractive Liverpudlian whose only problem appeared to be that he had sex, “four or five times a day”, much to the therapist’s surprise. This opener, could not have mislead the viewer more as to what the show would later present, in that it could have quite easily worked as a Fast Show sketch. The pay-off to this scene was that this loathsome character was beyond help after delivering his own self-diagnosis with the line: “With a problem like this, I’m not going get a great deal of sympathy.”

Langham’s incarnation of the analyst must also be commended. He fleshes out the role, with a brilliantly subtle, display of understated frustration at his patients inability to take heed of his advice. Again, were this role, to be placed under the charge of a less-talented actor, it could have been given the full pompous, angst-ridden stereotypical angle we have come to expect. No stranger to playing the part of a therapist, adopting, as he did that profession in the patchy sitcom, Kiss Me Kate, he switches from playing it straight for moments of pathos, and then for laughs, with seemingly effortless ease. This gives the role believability, and allows plenty of room for Whitehouse to stretch out fully every nuance of his characters’ respective flaws.

Each patient had the perfect blend of tragic and comedic elements. This gave us the feeling that we were not just witnessing a vehicle for Whitehouse’s talent for characterisation and mimicry, but were watching a very much-understated comic genius at work. The impressive display of personalities in the first episode were wide-ranging, and original. We had the docile hippy who was convinced that he could “squat in other people’s minds” by entering their spirits, but turned out to be nothing more than the influence of a large intake of hallucinogenic drugs. Then, the partially deaf old fellow, with the speech defect, presumed as a result of private school sodomy. Also, the hotheaded Italian, who had anger management issues, which thanks to the excellent writing, skillfully avoided lapsing into a xenophobic portrayal.

The most moving, though, was the old Jewish taxi driver Monty, which with the help of some astounding facial prosthetics did not resemble Whitehouse at all. This patient was a lovable old fellow, whose problems revolved around his wife, suffering from Alzheimer’s, and the traumas that are attributed to the constant care she requires. It is revealed that his mother suffered from dementia, leaving him to ensure professional care for her. As a result, he was left to look after his younger brother. Now with his spouse suffering a similar fate, he effectively became the sole parent for his daughter. The therapist’s, assessment that Monty had been a carer of some kind throughout his life was met with short shrift from the patient. “This word ‘carer’, it’s a modern word, isn’t it?” he protested calmly, “I have merely been a son and a father.” The final story of Monty’s chapter of the episode, would have bought a tear to a glass eye. He told of an occasion, in which his wife had failed to recognise the couple in a photograph of them enjoying a cruise in their younger days. She did, however, remark that they looked like they were very much in love. The ability to deliver, a story such as that, whilst not only adopting a convincing Jewish/London accent – not dissimilar to Michael Winner – wearing what must have been a heavy facemask, and still conveying the emotion required for such a role, is only testament to the actor’s remarkable talent. It’s no wonder he is said to be Johnny Depp’s favourite English thespian.

It can only be hoped that HELP can maintain the high standard set out by this opening episode. With Chris Langham and Paul Whitehouse – who also penned the series – at the helm, we can almost be assured this will be the case.

When happening to chance upon it whilst flicking through the channels, there is a magnetism that can spark a hypnotic gaze to this unlikely pairing. It may be something to do with the combination of their individual skin tones. The natural olive complexion of the statuesque Melanie Sykes, adjacent to O’Connor’s fake tan orange, appears to very compatible. It could also be, despite the 40-year age gap, that there is a definite sexual chemistry between the two.

Never has the phrase “TV husband and wife” been more apt, such is the nature of their on-screen relationship. This is no accident, of course. The couple’s opening banter – after they have made their entrance, as if they were attending a sophisticated evening soirée, holding hands – always ends with Des asking cheekily of Mel, “shall we do it?”

The “it” that they “do”, thankfully for the new teatime audience, is nothing more than an hour of lightweight yin to Richard and Judy’s tiresome yang. There is even confusion evident amongst the younger viewers, it seems, to the state of their relationship. Once sat down, at the strategically cluttered desk, a letter from an eight-year old girl, is read out. It is revealed that the youngster is devastated the pair are not married, but still thinks that they are the best couple on the box. The person responsible for matching Des and Mel, as a duo with all their cheeky banter and cheesy grins, can sleep soundly in the knowledge, that they have found a workable TV commodity.

The usual array of guests found perching on the awkwardly high stool, designed presumably to ensure they don’t get too comfortable, are of the caliber suited to the Heat generation: C-listers, soap actors and chicken-in-a-basket comedians are wheeled out to answer an array of pre-rehearsed questions to provoke their best anecdotes, which merely fill in the gaps between the gold nuggets of nonsense that the show’s hosts have made their own. But today we are promised a special edition. Bona fide guests are actually appearing here, who have earned their celebrity status with work of some cultural merit. Terry Gilliam and Michael Palin are on the show, and Des is wetting himself at the prospect, despite the lukewarm reception the announcement is given by the studio audience.

That’s for later though, first there are the quirky stories from the tabloids to be read out and the gifts sent in by viewers to be chuckled at. Today’s items were sent by the eight-year-old who queried Des and Mel’s marital status and are crude (and frankly scary), papier maché puppets of the presenters. The frightening nature of these dolls are sidestepped and treated with professional grace, given the “aaah, aren’t they cute” angle instead. The paper review then reveals it’s “national kazoo day”, giving an excuse for our ever so humble hosts to play a rough and ready rendition of When The Saints Go Marching In on the plastic instruments. Des giggles inanely as Des does, and Mel is embarrassed. We only know this because she tells us she feels she is blushing; yet the rosy glow has not penetrated her dusky skin. Could this display reveal what it actually would be like were they to have sex? Des chuckling uncontrollably whilst Mel remains clearly mortified by the whole affair.

Part two begins with the introduction of a new female singer from Norway, Deeyah. Her interview reveals that Darin Prindle, who has worked with Madonna, has produced her new record. This is evident when she sings her new single, Plan Of My Own which has all the production hallmarks of a Madge record, minus the style and talent, sadly. As she writhes in a way that most probably she considers seductive, her vest top boldly bears the slogan “Remember My Name …” Her long black hair cascades over the back of her top obscuring the tagline to her request. We can only assume it reads “… because you’ll forget my song in an instant”.

Next up is comedian Ed Byrne, here to promote his 60-date tour. Byrne, a mildly amusing man, clearly in his 30s, yet still dressing as a student, bizarrely has our Mel in hysterics with his observational “wit”. Eager to crowbar in small chunks of his act in response to the questions posed, he speaks so fast a lot of it sounds garbled and unintelligible. The only joke that made the grade was his besmirch of the anti-smoking brigade: “They say that each cigarette I smoke takes five minutes off my life. I also know that each cigarette I have takes 10 minutes to smoke, so I grab myself an extra five minutes there.” He’s no Bill Hicks, but he’ll do for this show, and it’s demographic.

The details of the tour he’s promoting are announced, before it’s competition time. “Spin a Winner” offers the viewer the chance to win a big cash prize by coming up with five words related to a particular subject. Today’s caller breezes through the subject, winning herself £500. She then gets the chance to double, treble or even go for the jackpot of £20,000, dependent on the spin of the wheel and an extra optional question. Ed Byrne gets to extend his role from guest to dolly bird and spins the device. He hits double money, but it is all in vain, as the contestant, decides to take the money she has already won. The sheen of her prize is undermined as they reveal the easy question whilst the caller is still on the line; “What is the name of the elephant that packed her trunk and ran away to the circus?” The hosts eagerly trailing their “special” guests coming up after the break, to spare her further humiliation, muffling the sound of obvious disappointment.

In the final part, there is just time to fit in more of that pointless, cheeky banter before the special duo are introduced. This means more nonsense taken from the day’s papers, including one story which revealed women from the southeast are attracted to men who are good at DIY. “Do you agree with that Mel?” enquires the orange one, clearly ignoring the fact that the woman he is asking is from the northwest. “Well it’s not a criteria I look for in a man, being good with a, err … a spanner?” she splutters, unable to contain a fit of giggles, at the potential blunder she managed to thwart. Des, ever the master of the single entendre, takes it further, offering, “it’s a good job you didn’t say ‘tools’ there, Mel.” No need, Des, you just did.

The theme to Monty Python’s Flying Circus heralds the arrival of Terry Gilliam and Michael Palin. The latter is familiar these days, as a TV traveller, but you can almost hear the viewers shouting, “who is that Meatloaf look-alike with him?” Gilliam, of course spent a lot of his time behind the scenes in the Python days doing the animation, and now still shields himself from public gaze as an acclaimed director. They are here to promote a new live Python show, just opened in the West End. We are not left licking our lips in anticipation for long as it is revealed the effort is staged by a French troupe who are performing classic sketches from the series in their native tongue, with subtitles for English theatre-goers. Whilst both Palin and Gilliam are obviously eager to enthuse on this, even cross-talking in the process, Des is keen to speak about Palin’s travelogues and classic Python sketches. Mel, on occasions when faced with anyone who is not a soap or pop star, opts for the simple questions. “What is your favourite Monty Python sketch?” she asks, rather neatly, as Palin answers the “fish-slapping sketch”, which by TV magic is cued up and ready to play. Time has been good to the skit, which is still very funny. The fact that Palin reveals after, that he almost died in the making of it due to the dropping of the water level at the lock it was filmed, is hastily covered up as the end of the show approaches.

Des and Mel, or at least the production team, wish to prove what “special” guests they were, by offering gifts. Palin is awarded an action figure of his character from The Holy Grail, which he no doubt has an attic full of, and Gilliam is presented with a novelty pair of slippers, with which he looks as bemused as we are.

As the credits roll across the screen, Monday’s guests are revealed. It is a roll call of the usual bunch of has-beens, never-has-beens and never-heard-ofs. Normal service will be resumed, in other words.

Today With Des and Mel is great as chewing gum for the eyes, as you tuck into your beans on toast. When faced with anyone with more than an ounce of substance, such as Palin and Gilliam, it has the same effect as having Swan Lake performed in the interval at a bingo hall. As a result, the show is at its peak when it doesn’t stray from the C-list for guests. Anything above that and suddenly everyone’s a bit embarrassed and out of their depth.