Alison Graham

Nervous Nicola Murray, now Leader of the Opposition, is practising her solemn walk for the Remembrance Day wreath laying ceremony. She's not very good at it, as her éminence grise Malcolm Tucker observes, "You're not throwing a straw frisbee in slow motion." Yes, mighty Malcolm (Peter Capaldi) is back, surfing a rip-tide of invective, and he's already plotting to bring down the hapless Murray (Rebecca Front) whose first major policy initiative, under the unfortunate heading of "Quiet Bat People", is torpedoed by everyone, particularly those closest to her.

Tucker is greyer than ever, like an ash-cloud of malevolence, which is an effective camouflage when he practises his dark arts in even darker cupboards, pulling would-be allies to one side for a little word. Of course, most of his words consist of four letters, so brace yourselves. Malcolm, you have been missed.

Often the best bit of The Rob Brydon Show is his banter with the audience. Here he has fun with a mother and daughter who "show miniature horses". "Show them what?" wonders Brydon. "A good time?" There's a similar laidback feel to the sofa chat. Sir Tom Jones roars into the studio to tell us of his blues and gospel influences and how he was held at gunpoint on his first trip to the States. Deadly 60's Steve Backshall shows us a nasty bite on his leg and Emilia Fox, from Silent Witness, joins a read through of Brydon's new crime drama idea, CSI: Cardiff.

All is right with the world, The Thick of It is back to wade through the mulch of coalition politics. The new Secretary of State at the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship is Peter Mannion, looking as ever as if he hasn't actually got dressed, his clothes have fallen on him from the sky.

Mannion was an inept opposition politician and now his chronic lack of connectedness leads him straight into an appalling gaffe at a school when he tries to launch an apps initiative to a group of switched-on teenagers.

Roger Allam is laconically brilliant as Mannion as he lurches from one crisis to the next; if he isn't debasing himself on the phone to his furious, neglected wife he is grappling with his paisley-shirted spin doctor and his hated junior minister. Every line is quotable in what is 30 ruthlessly clever minutes of comedy treasure.

This is so frenetic, furious and fast-paced you'll be panting for breath by the end. Everything hurtles past at insane speed, which is no bad thing for a sketch show, notoriously hard to get right.

It probably says more about me than about For the Win, the latest BBC3 online comedy to be given a TV airing, that I laughed hardest at a fart gag involving two pompous TV film reviewers, but much of it is dizzyingly surreal and cheerfully vulgar. Filthy, even, especially the bit about a woman with a cartoon mouse living where no cartoon mouse should ever go. Fart gags aside, I liked the biblical Come Dine with Me ("there was a bit of an atmosphere with Judas") and the song about an obnoxious City banker.

Doubtless the cheers of the studio audience will be as deafening as those from the thousands in the Olympic Stadium when national hero, all round good bloke and charity fundraiser Mo Farah joins Jonathan Ross. Farah passed into legend after those two brilliant, epic races where he won gold medals in the 10,000m and 5,000m. It seemed that the whole nation was on its feet as the shouts of "Come on, Mo!" ricocheted around living rooms across the land - before we all did the Mobot in triumph.

Another national treasure, Gareth Malone, is on the show to talk about plans to make The Choir for American television. The evening's music guest is Plan B.

There's no getting around the fact that this is a monumental feast of backslapping: a two-hour, self-loving parade where Channel 4 tells itself just how wonderful and influential it is. Which is pretty insufferable if you think about it. Luckily for Channel 4, it does have a lot to cheer about.

This was the channel, after all, that gave us Green Wing and Spaced, Peep Show, Brass Eye and Father Ted. And we should be forever grateful to C4 for giving Harry Hill his TV debut with The Harry Hill Show (1997-99), which figures in the foothills of the top 30, voted for by members of the public.

Elsewhere Dom Joly, from Trigger Happy TV, bemoans the albatross of the giant mobile phone gags, where he yelled "HELLO!" into a fake mobile ("I really hate it [now]. I hate it with a passion uncontested. It's my Emu"), and Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer reveal they filmed their Big Night Out 20 minutes after leaving the pub.

There are fears that the fireworks at the Opening Ceremony will trigger ground-to-air missiles in London. Perhaps, wonders a member of the heroically dim Deliverance Committee, they could be incorporated into the display, even though the weapons "can't tell the difference between a Roman candle and a hijacked Airbus".

There are other problems: the Games' electric cars are under-powered, no one has thought to organise the national bell-ringing (called, with terrible, pin-brained inevitability, the Big Bong), and three of the team are fighting for the Director of Posterity job. But really, the last episode of this wonderfully silly comedy is all about the great unspoken love between Sally and Ian (Olivia Colman and Hugh Bonneville). Can they ever be together?

No one was surprised when a member of the Olympic Deliverance Committee was shot in the foot last week. After all, they do it to themselves all the time. But this was an actual bullet from a real gun. As you would expect. the incident is smeared in a thick gloss of PR, when it's described as "a totally routine accident".

Meanwhile, bluff Nick "I can't help being from Yorkshire" Jowett takes command as everyone discusses Inclusivity Day. Dame Tanni Grey-Thompson makes a game cameo, Danny Boyle wants more nurses for the opening ceremony, Ian's PA is stolen by Sebastian Coe, though his replacement hits the ground running, and there's an excruciating tree planting ceremony. Hilarious.

The blockheads from the Olympic Deliverance Committee return for three episodes before the Games begin. As usual, Ian Fletcher (Hugh Bonneville, who should win every comedy award going) and his quarrelsome minions are wading through a towering mess of inconsequence, PR drivel and pointless bureaucracy.

There are problems with the Olympics travel advice pack, which is too dull and needs a "brand refreshing exercise" so is renamed, with exquisite vacuousness, Way to Go. This is all down to dead-eyed halfwit Siobhan (Jessica Hynes), who seeks to "dial in visual noise".

Then Ian has a disastrous, painfully funny meeting with a nervous and inept police chief, the head of the "catastrophisation unit", who quite obviously has no grasp of her job or the business end of a starting pistol. A joy.

Every generation needs a family sitcom

Gathering around the TV and sharing time together as a family is an important comfort blanket, says Alison Graham.