The Top 100 Kids’ TV Shows self-consciously took on the role of that ubiquitous baby boomer (at whom all telly appears to be targeted at the moment) looking back on the children’s TV of their youth. And in trying to capture the essence of how our notional ‘boomer discusses the subject, the programme opted for that tiresome brand of ironic revisionist posturing (in short: “what were they on?”) Thus if you were going to enjoy the next three and a half hours, then you were going to have to accept that the shouty Jamie Theakston was supposed to represent our point of view here. With comments such as “the night is young, even if we’re not anymore”, Theakston was siding with us – but with that bitter pill swallowed it all got a lot better.

Although the bias here was strongly towards programmes from the ’70s and ’80s, it’s instructive to look at how other shows from outwith this catchment area fared. Notably, programmes from the black and white era got a reasonable innings, although none were present in the top 50, unless you count Tom & Jerry (the highest ranking from the Watch With Mother stable being Bill & Ben at number 55). Meanwhile, from the scant selection of programmes that are still running now, SM:TV Live managed a very credible number 27, roundly trouncing its most obvious antecedent, TISWAS. And this prompted one of the most worthwhile moments of the programme as Chris Tarrant gave generous praise to Ant and Dec.

As a footnote it was interesting to have the TISWAS/Swap Shop wars resolved, with the Shop just inching ahead of the ‘WAS by a couple of places.

The section on the seminal Screen Test was a delight, going a long way to rehabilitate the notorious “Young Film-Maker Of The Year” award. Michael Rodd and Brian Trueman were welcome presences, both still appearing suave and capable on camera. On a similar tip, all of the sequences featuring the oeuvre of Cosgrove Hall were great, as were those concerned with the various Postgate programmes, chiefly because the programme-makers themselves were interviewed.

Meanwhile Mark Lawson boasted that even as a child he could see Andy Pandy’s strings (erm, wasn’t the character supposed to be a puppet?) and Jill Phythian retro politicked Bagpuss (a societal allegory) and Double or Drop (a metaphor for Thatcherism). Elsewhere Andrew Collins was wonderfully evocative in summing up the cold, sparse beauty of Noggin the Nog whilst an enthused Ian Lee came over as a genuine enthusiast of Knightmare. And really that was the commodity most lacking from the programme – real enthusiasm.

So, let’s wearily look at some more of the shortcomings of the house-style adopted by The Top 100 Kids’ TV Shows and in particular the tiresome, clichéd drug references that snagged throughout. My eyes rolled when a mere three notches into the countdown, Emma Kennedy was already referring to Crystal Tipps and Alistair as being “on acid”. HR Pufnstuf was dished out the same treatment, whilst Theakston later quipped, “That stuff I got off Mr Benn’s shopkeeper is really starting to kick in.” This sort of suspicious and lazy interpretation of genuine off-the-wall imagination is demoralising, although at least in the case of The Magic Roundabout the d-word was only brought up so that Phyllidia Law could roundly deny any such associations. The inferences about the sexual orientation of Robin Hood and his Merry Men and Mr Benn (“If anyone’s coming out of the closet it’s Mr Benn”) were equally tired.

However, before we insert the obligatory reference to the programme voted number one, we should make a quick tip of the hat towards the surprisingly good show put up by the TV-am entrants. Both Wacaday and Roland Rat made good innings here and seemed fondly remembered, rightly proving that this poorly remembered TV company did have some worth.

But – OK – let’s see what can be made of The Simpsons at number one. With episodes dealing with sexual ennui in marriage, the US taxation laws and mid-life crisis, The Simpsons is in no way a kids’ programme. Although it’s wholly arbitrary what makes the number one slot here, it is slightly deflating that the 200,000-odd who voted elected an adult’s programme as the best of the bunch – and that kind of reflects poorly on everything else in the line-up.

Ah well, with that disappointment put to one side, we should ponder upon The Top 100 Kids’ TV Shows as a programme it self. And all in all it wasn’t half bad, with some genuine affection just evident at the core of the thing. Despite a lazy commentary and some equally lazy punditry, the well-rounded, superbly conceived and realised programming celebrated within shone through supremely.

I still can’t get over it, though. Those people who voted for The Simpsons – what were they on?

As a purveyor of fine TV criticism I felt duty bound to lend my watching support to Channel 4′s latest Bank Holiday compartmentalisation of popular culture.

I think, beforehand, most of us had concluded that we were becoming heartily sick of these numerical clipaganzas. The decision to have Ardal O’Hanlon as our party host only served to add to the impending nausea. I know more about these people than he does, they are my friends, so why does he insist on butting his oar in just as the conversation looks as if it ‘s about to develop into something interesting? For God’s sake, they could have appeased us all very easily by handing the presentational duties to someone we actually like. What’s wrong with Johnny Ball, or Derek Griffiths? Or even Fred Dineage, or Richard Whiteley? Joe Public wouldn’t have minded, and it would have been the perfect sop to us.

Casting aside in built prejudices is – in truth – not that difficult to do for a programme like this. Whilst we are still in the middle of the nostalgia storm, the opportunity to reflect upon some of the greatest TV moments is still – strangely enough – appetising, and even though the accepted format of vox populi and light-hearted link man is now very tiresome, I found myself still a sucker for a glimpse again at a bit of great TV. It all began a little quietly though. A brief early cheer for Brian Potter (how did he get in there?) was stifled as the realisation dawned that the programme seemed to have only just started and we were already at number 96. Four down, and nothing particularly meaningful had been communicated. Watching with a keen certainty that bloody Del Boy would top the charts (unless those pesky Doctor Who fans had been out block voting again) I found myself being dragged into a game of fictional character one up-manship. My greatest triumph occurred as Edge of Darkness‘s Darius Jedburgh came in a whole six places higher than Philip Marlowe from The Singing Detective. I’d always felt the latter programme had been overexposed and over praised. Here – however arbitrarily – (and boy this was arbitrary) a few TV scores could be settled.

Typically, this programme was to prove most enjoyable when dealing with programmes or characters you had a special affinity for. So for me, The 100 Greatest TV Characters was at its peak of watchability during those minutes in which the 91st, 84th, 58th, 37th, 28th, 7th and 6th most popular TV characters graced our screens. In particular, Bleasdale continued his recent – and welcomed – willingness to discuss some of his greatest works in an open and interesting way. Tellingly though, the intervening periods upon which we were subjected to celebrations ofBirds of a Feather‘s Dorien, Inspector Frost and Ab Fab‘s Patsy became a chore. In the past such programmes have worked best when they have forced you to grudgingly re-assess that which you have taken an irrational dislike to. Here, the necessarily celebrative hyperbole dished out for the likes of Hyacinth Bucket (six places higher than Yosser Hughes for goodness sake!) was irritating in the extreme. This was perfect fast forward TV. If you didn’t much care for the subject matter there was nothing here to make you wish to linger. Onwards to the next number. Furthermore, in many cases it seemed that Channel 4 had obtained only partial clearance for footage to accompany each character. Thus it was that eventual number one Homer Simpson was represented by footage taken from only one, early and rather misrepresentative episode. Blackadder fared little better with viewers never introduced to his first or fourth incarnations.

So what of the selection itself? Well this was an exercise in re-arranging names. Voters were invited to select their top 10 favourite characters from a predetermined list. Thus, there was no recourse for fans of The Phantom Flan Flinger or Alf from Home and Away. As such the selection, whilst trying to retain an element of diversity, trod faithfully down the path of accepted TV Greats. It was perhaps the familiarity of the cast list that ultimately prevented The 100 Greatest TV Characters from becoming a truly interesting programme. Nonetheless, there was some merit to this rather mainstream, straitjacketed approach: as much I love him, I suspect that given a free vote Darius Jedburgh would never have made the final cut, whereas the virulent Raquel Wolstenholme would have certainly been in there – just above Casualty‘s Charlie, no doubt.

Funnily enough Wolstenholme was on my short list for the five characters we most love to hate. In this we were afforded a blank palette upon which to work, but disappointingly the selections made were – in the main – rather predictable. My own criteria had been to select characters that had been badly realised within the context of the programme they appeared in (Raquel), or incorrectly assumed to be dear to our hearts by the programme makers (Raquel again). Admittedly this was to deliberately misunderstand the brief, but I for one am tired of the predictable invective afforded to the likes of Ian Beale and Ken Barlow. The selection of Phil Mitchell represented the only genuine expression of disbelief and disinterest in a supposedly popular character. I feel sure this was not a vote of confidence for his new tough persona, rather derision for the implausible character development of the elder Mitchell since brother Grant was tow-roped into the Thames.

Of course, the list of the Top 20, or Top 10 Greatest TV Characters found its way in to the middle pages of most of the papers, and in truth it is for easy column inches that this type of programme works best. The grist for the daily chatter mill, TV seems to be absorbing all of our most favourite pub conversations at the moment and turning them into programme formats. Whilst the subject matter is still appealing, the across-the-bar style adopted has become so unremittingly ubiquitous that one now feels inclined to go for the home brew option: abandon the mediated memories, stick your Fawlty Towers video in the machine and pundit the night away.

Strange the aversion some people have to this kind of methodology. After all, a list brings order and structure to an otherwise sprawling, slippery jumble of images, recollections and feelings; a list turns a subjective roster of taste and preference into a semi-objective, definitive one, and helps rationalise, clarify and justify those tastes in the process. TV retrospectives that base themselves round lists are always intensely exciting (who is number one?), have a natural momentum so they don’t become boring (the gradual acceleration in tension as the countdown continues) and best of all make great catalysts for debate and argument. And anyway, if you’re into TV history the list format has provided (with Channel 4′s Top Tens and previous 100 Greatest … shows) some of the best treatments of nostalgia and use of archive footage for decades.

This particular show was different to its predecessors, which promoted themselves as straightforward celebrations (Best TV Moments, Best Adverts). For while claiming to be 100 choice moments from TV Hell none of the clips on offer were really bad television at all; a chart of truly worst TV of all time would comprise of footage taken from actually offensive broadcasts (like the BNP’s 1997 Election Broadcast) or unforgivably tedious shows (a debate on macroeconomic theory on Weekend World) or crass, tasteless self-indulgence (Alastair Burnet’s interview with Prince Charles and Diana).

In this instance all of these clips were voted for not because people thought they were so horrific they never wanted to see them again; no, it was the reverse – clips were voted for solely because people wanted to see them again, they were funny or or fascinating or simply promised some nice Saturday night nostalgia. It meant the actual sequencing of the clips was almost immaterial – who’s quibbling if The Black and White Minstrel Show appeared seven places higher than The Comedians? – and really Richard Madeley as Ali G could’ve been at number one or 100, and vice versa for Frostie and the yippies (though why people really thought Madeley’s rather endearing take on this dubious comic creation was the “best” of the “worst” is uncertain; it seemed quite inoffensive, and indeed helped prick the pomposity of the original).

To try and pick this chart apart, it’s useful to break down the clips into a few categories. 45 were proper TV “moments” that occurred during ongoing shows or broadcasts; 38, however, were actual shows themselves, which renders the programme title (Moments …) instantly problematic. Compounding this, three of the entries were actual people – Benny Hill (number 73), Pam Ayres (64) and Timmy Mallett (30), two were TV channels – QVC (24) and L!ve TV (22) while seven were just programme genres – regional beauty competitions (60), keep fit (49), kids’ variety (39), novelty showcases (36), DIY shows (32), docusoaps (18) and dubbed kids’ TV (13). There was also one actual “event” which TV cameras just happened to be there to record and therefore shouldn’t really have been included (John Redwood gurning his way through the Welsh National Anthem at number 12). The remaining four clips defy categorisation, being respectively “character changes in soaps” (9), “Norwegian Eurovision entries” (31), “Pan’s People dance routines” (44) and the catch-all label “swearing football managers” (57, though this failed to include any Cutting Edge Graham Taylor-isms).

Over a third of the clips (35) came from live transmissions; just over a quarter (26) were music-related, either an actual performance of a song or involving musicians in another context. A dozen clips were both music-related and live, clearly the most lethal and potent combination of all.

Out of those 38 actual shows which found their way into the chart, most belonged to one of three categories: comedy (a total of six, including all the usuals such as Mind Your Language, Love Thy Neighbour, Curry and Chips, but which were only given rather tokenistic summaries, with nothing mentioned about the actors at all); the game show (six again, including some of the greats: 3-2-1, Bullseye and Going For Gold); and the catch-all term “variety” (again, six, including New Faces, Minipops, Game for a Laugh and the ITV Disco Dancing Championships). Other strong categories here were “educational” (always a fine source for fond lampooning, including here Play Guitar With Ulf Goran, Origami, Out of Town and Ask Zena Skinner) and the ever-reliable “youth” (those fine early BBC efforts The Oxford Roadshow and Something Else, along with Club X and The Girlie Show).

But other shows that may have deserved a similar catch-all single entry ended up split between several clips, such as The Word (three separate appearances) and This Morning (three again, including the number one). The reasoning behind this wasn’t made clear – surely Club X deserved a similar plural representation (the nude body painting incident as well as the dinner “to futurism!”). Again, three soaps just appeared wholesale: Crossroads (54), Prisoner Cell Block H (35) and Eldorado (11), as did one chat show, Harold Wilson’s Friday Night … Saturday Morning (87) seen here together with its surprisingly raunchy title sequence. There was also an entire charity event (the ITV Telethons at 71) an award ceremony (the 1989 Brits at number two), two kids’ programmes (the incredible Animal Kwackers at 82 with the horrific blue Rasta lion, and the unfairly maligned Why Don’t You … ? at 53), two sports shows (the stunning Indoor League at 84 and World of Sport wrestling at 48) and finally two alternative/access slots, the great Epilogue (56) – “I was jumping like a mountain goat from boulder to boulder” – and Open Door (94, summed up here by the “Albion Free State” episode giving free air time to a tree).

When it comes to that collection of clips documenting actual moments within shows, however, there is one runaway winner: the chat show. As perhaps the ultimate arena for making mischief and creating indelible, memorable TV happenings, this was bound to score highly as a category in any chart. 13 entries in all came from chat-based programmes, from David Frost’s ebullient dual with Jerry Rubin and his band of selfish yippies (100) to Jonathan Ross and Paul Morley tackling the odious Tony Colston-Hayter and ending up handcuffed and soaked with water respectively (68) to Paul Shane committing treason with You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling on Pebble Mill (91) to Stan Boardman’s intensely lame “Fokker” gag in front of a squeaming Des O’Connor (65). There were some inspired inclusions in this category, such as Michael Winner’s triumphant snubbing of Richard Littlejohn in a debate over homosexuality, and James Whale’s legendary encounter with a very tired and emotional Wayne Hussey of The Mission. The chat show also provided the number three entry – the decline and fall of Tara Palmer Tomkinson on Frank Skinner’s sofa.

Other high scoring genre in this category included what could be termed “youth”. Here’s where all The Word clips reside (and they were all predictable: “The Hopefuls”, L7 dropping their pants, Lynne Perrie bawling I Will Survive), along with Tony Banks rolling a joint on Naked City (96), child goon Felix drying during his interview with Paul McCartney on The Tube (59), the “Private Dicks” game from Something For the Weekend (40) and Shaun Ryder on TFI Friday (17). This Morning accounted for three of the four “magazine show” entries (thanks to their attempt at Stars In Their Eyes, the streaker, and Richard as Ali G) with The Stone Roses shambling through a technical cock-up on The Late Show providing the other (41).

There was a slew of clips from music related programmes including several vintage TOTP moments – at last a chance to see the famous Dexy’s performance with the Jocky Wilson picture, plus Arthur Mullard and Hilda Baker struggling with You’re The One That I Want. It was good to see Annabella Lwin of Bow Wow Wow putting the awful BA Robertson in his rightful place (“This is a pretty shit show”); John Lydon on Check It Out, Tyne Tees regional music show in 1979 (so who actually voted for, or could remember, this?); Iggy Pop’s see-through trousers on The White Room in 1997, and Shakin’ Stevens attacking Richard Madeley on another regional music show, Calendar Goes Pop.

Two news moments (Jeremy Paxman by the Berlin Wall in a firework display at 43, Chris Mayhew getting high on Panorama at 23), two variety moments (Roger De Coursey being attacked by kids at 67, the special Royal edition of It’s A Knockout at 26) and four quiz moments (the pair of “wankers” on Countdown, the pathetic score on University Challenge, and two fine clips from different incarnations of Juke Box Jury, one with Fluff telling John Lydon to “shut up”, the other the famous Glenn Medeiros humiliation) brought the total up to 100.

The whole programme was well-served with a high calibre of punditry. Meera Syal was concise in her views on Curry and Chips (“It was so blatant: let’s have a laugh at the wogs”) in contrast to actor Kenny Lynch’s rather unique interpretation (“It helped race-relations”). Sid Waddell fondly recalled The Indoor League (“Raucous, lowbrow, redneck entertainment”) justifiably proud of bringing shove ha’penny to national TV screens. Mark Lawson and Robert Elms provided breezy intellectualisms, Paul Ross some cutting insults (“Anything from European television is rubbish”). Nicholas Parsons turned up to defend Sale of the Century from the evil clutches of the loathsome Garry Bushell who as usual had nothing worthwhile to say, with pitifully clichéd responses on all his pet topics, principally homosexuals – “Watching Julian Clary [you thought] this man has got to go. There’s no way this behaviour can be accepted …” – and racist comics – “It was magnificient … all that matters is, is a joke funny?”

Adam and Joe were their usual erudite selves (on Pam Ayres poems – “the punchline always seemed to be ‘fuck’”), Russell T Davies confessed to nicking all the ideas for Why Don’t You … ? from books in WH Smiths, and Paul Morley offered revealing insights into those clips he himself appeared in (the Colston-Hayter fracas, and the great Club X 6th edition birthday dinner: “What about the fascism?,” asks Paul of the host, confused).

Oh, and of course, our hero Stuart Maconie was on hand, as usual, enjoying some vox poppery here on C4 and BBC2 (I Love 1977) simultaneously and on course for multi-channel domination by next summer. Maconie co-wrote the programme with producer Paul Robinson, and while the links by Zoë Ball were instantly forgettable they weren’t that harmful, and certainly not as intrusive as Graham Norton’s during The 100 Greatest Adverts.

Other highpoints during this three hour marathon: seeing Robert Elms painstakingly explaining the 1981 People’s March For Jobs on The Oxford Roadshow then recalling his producer spluttering “I’m not here to make good television; I’m here to start a revolution!”; a bedraggled girl named Sally Williams on Something Else recounting her background of living homeless on the streets of London “and so I’ve written a song about that … ‘Who am I?/Who am I?/Who am I? …’”; Iain Johnstone, producer of Friday Night … Saturday Morning alleging that Harold Wilson’s memory loss was already in the ascendant in the late ’70s (“I said after rehearsal ‘We’ll do the show at 7 o’clock’ and he said ‘Haven’t we just done it?’”) There was 10 year old curly-haired ponce James Harries on Wogan in 1988 valuing antiques; and the incredible Heil Honey, I’m Home from BSB in 1990, the only non-terrestial clip of the 100, and from the only episode ever to be shown (Hitler: “I’ve got to think nice thoughts … mmm, ‘Poland’, ‘the Sudetenland’ …”)

It was great to actually see footage like Julian Clary’s 1993 Comedy Awards appearance (“I’ve just been fisting Norman Lamont – talk about a red box”) which was supposedly never to be shown again on British television. Best of all though had to be a tie between Paul Morley commenting on John Lydon’s behaviour on Juke Box Jury in 1979 (“The way he would look at Noel Edmonds is eventually how an entire nation would look at Noel Edmonds”) and the Blue Peter garden vandalism. Cue Janet Ellis: “It’s very sad to think that a few people take such pleasure from harming their fellow human beings and from hurting animals as well.” Percy Thrower, however, had his own thoughts: “They must be mentally ill,” to which Janet replied, “Yes.”

On the downside, the voting system wasn’t explained at all – were these clips compiled from random suggestions from anybody in particular, or from a preordained set list of options which the public had to rank in order of preference? Similarly there were some clips which featured on pre-publicity – “Well, what am I supposed to tell the Panorama viewers?” and the lesbians invading the Six O’clock News – that failed to turn up in the actual programme. And whilst on a pedantic, fussy note, some of the clips were wrongly captioned (Shaun Ryder’s TFI “fucks” were in 1995, not 1999) and erroneously contextualised (Paul Ross appearing to take some sort of credit for the Word‘s “Hopefuls” feature even though he’d left the show two series earlier).

But this stuff is mere grist to the mill of the anti-list brigade, who would only have watched this programme to find faults in it rather than try to enjoy or appreciate it. Cheers to the (half-dozen?) remaining staff who actually still work for Tyne-Tees Television for another superb night’s telly.

It could have been worse for JFK. His assassination 36 years ago at least secured him a top 10 entry in The 100 Greatest TV Moments.

It’s just that unfortunately his death wasn’t quite as affecting, as entertaining, as good as that of Edmund Blackadder and his companions. But, it could have been worse … he could’ve died, instead, in the Ethiopian famine of ’84, and only made number 41. God bless that magic bullet.

OK, it’s facetious to rate fictious death against the actual variety, but this is what happened when The 100 Greatest TV Moments played the numbers game. You can do anything with statistics, witness the juxtaposition of Michael Portillo (who astonishingly placed third in the poll) and Nelson Mandella (ranked second). Curious bed-fellows indeed. And of course it’s now proven that we would rather watch a baby elephant crap than witness the release, from a life-sentence, of a wrongly convicted man.

Hosted by the ghoulish Graham Norton, The 100 Greatest TV Moments was always going to be a folly, but it was a grand one at that and made for an excellent night’s entertainment. Flitting through 100 moments of television history, with welcome commentary from, among others, the well-informed Peter Kay, David Jason and Jean Alexander the programme briefly illuminated each choice before moving briskly onwards. Two highlights, among many: the delightful take on the broadcast of the ’66 World Cup final which brought together the famous Wolstenholme commentary with that of the forgotten Hugh Johns’ effort (our man on ITV). Johns himself was happily resigned to his ignominious position in the annals of telly history and came across as rather well-adjusted about the whole thing. Certainly not the Pete Best of commentators he could have been. And then there was that Sex Pistol’s footage, which got another airing, accompanied by some candid insights from Glen Matlock. He pointed out John Lydon’s much celebrated profanity initially slipped out by mistake. And it’s true, when you see the footage again, Lydon does indeed smack his hand over his mouth after that first “shit”. It is also great fun to see the pompous, school marm-ish Grundy fatally misjudge the whole situation and attempt to make for the moral higher-ground, whilst provoking that florid, infamous abuse.

I could have done, however, without the inclusion of Claire Raynor, or Trevor MacDonald whose comments added little of interest to the evening. I didn’t really think this sort of punditary was necessary, particularly when neither had any direct relationship with any of the clips chosen. Both came across as superfluous to requirements and provided only an annoying distraction. But that’s only a small gripe and let’s face it, the presence of Raynor is pretty much a given nowadays when pundits are required. What we need to deal with here, is the choice of the best TV moment. That was the Moon Landing of course, and I don’t think anyone’s really going to disagree with its position as top of the pops. Unlike – say – the shooting of John Lennon, this was a TV moment and a news story. The biggest OB ever. Not only were the viewers of ’69 lucky enough to be witnessing history, but by doing so they also become a part of it.

But we’re back to talking numbers again, and let’s dance with some statistics. Out of the 100 greatest TV moments, 15 were from dramas, 18 from comedies, 13 from sports events and the rest from what we could (lazily) term as factual programming. And eight out of the top 10 were from that aforementioned cannon of factual programming. Interesting, eh? News Flash: this doesn’t translate into viewing figures, which only recently consigned World In Action to the scrap-heap. Still, there’s always Tonight with arch-pundit and face-on-the-telly Trevor MacDonald. Maybe he’s striking for a top 100 entry next century. And then Claire Raynor can comment on it.