Alison Graham

Although there were times when the last series of TV Burp lost its mojo, there's still no other straightforward laugh-fest quite like Harry Hill's weekly demolition of bad telly. And it did have its moments, like his remorseless ribbing of The X Factor and Jimmy's Food Factory, not to mention Simon King on Autumnwatch. The clip-meister returns for a new series to brighten Saturday nights with a bit of wit and sauciness, poking fun at lazy and idiotic pieces of digital-television nonsense, plus the likes of Emmerdale, EastEnders, Coronation Street and anything else that takes the fancy of Hill and his small squad of assiduous, square-eyed researchers.

You won't get any clues from the terrible title, but this feature-length chunk of rosy 1960s nostalgia is a "prequel" to the beloved Only Fools and Horses, which left our screens for good in 2003. Doubtless there'll be a ready-made audience of millions for John Sullivan's fond look at the beginnings of Del and Rodney Trotter, and their hopelessly small-time business empire. As for anyone else, it will depend on your tolerance of cheery cockney wide boys and diamond geezers. There's no David Jason - Rock & Chips' Del Boy is a cheeky, mouthy fresh-faced teenager who's already a bit of a wheeler-dealer - as this is really the story of Del and Rodney's sainted mum, Joan (Kellie Bright), a beehived, brassy, hard-working woman who's married to a layabout. But Joan's head is turned with the return to Peckham of the suave crook Freddie Robdal after ten years in Dartmoor. He's played by Nicholas Lyndhurst and Only Fools devotees will be in on the joke straightaway, as they all know that Freddie "the Frog" was Rodders' dad. Don't expect broad Only Fools belly-laughs, though; just gentle smiles of recognition.

A painfully revealing episode of Radio 4's The Reunion in 2005 shed a bright light on some of the darker recesses of one of television's best-loved topical comedy shows. In this look back, producer and driving force John Lloyd talks again of the backbreaking effort that went into Not the Nine O'Clock News, first shown 30 years ago: "My memory was that it was a nightmare of overwork. I mean, everything was stressful. We used to be green with exhaustion." Not Again looks at a show that launched some great British comic performers, and also Richard Curtis, Clive Anderson and Andy Hamilton, who contributed to the scripts.

One of the many great things about Outnumbered is that it's lovable without being nauseating; the humour is warm, but not cloying. Everything gels. There are great scripts from Andy Hamilton and Guy Jenkin, and a super cast: Hugh Dennis and Claire Skinner as sweetly exasperated parents Pete and Sue, and a trio of astonishing child actors.

This could possibly be the most deranged variety show you'll ever see, the only place on earth where you can watch Christopher Biggins pretending to be Boris Johnson, and Jerry Hall impersonating Katie Price. If that doesn't draw you in, how about Joe Pasquale as Lady Ga-Ga? Or Ulrika Jonsson as David Beckham? No? Surely Vanessa Feltz masquerading as James May is irresistible. As is Eamonn Holmes as Elvis Presley. And David Gest as Elton John. Les Dennis as Gary Barlow... The list goes on, and just gets odder. The All Star Impressions Show could be completely awful or it could be enjoyably barmy. It certainly has a very good pedigree, being co-produced by Steve Coogan's and Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer's production companies. And it has a certain surreal gloss that could be quite winning. Harry Hill will make a guest appearance, though we don't know whether he will reprise the Morrissey impression that won him Celebrity Stars in Their Eyes all those years ago.

Even devotees of BBC1's cute historical drama Lark Rise to Candleford would admit that it's deliciously spoofworthy, what with its myriad of quaint Victorian niceties and arch dialogue. So it will surprise no one that the masterly Victoria Wood presents Lark Pies to Cranchesterford as part of her much-anticipated Christmas special, telling the touching story of young Araminty, who leaves her rural hamlet for a job in the Post and Potato Office.

Midlife Christmas promises to be a real treat for anyone who thinks Wood has been away from television for too long. Yes, she did Housewife 49 (very successfully), but that was a drama and Wood is queen of the sharp, pitch-perfect sketch show.

Here she looks stern as Sir Alan Sugar's sidekick Margaret Mountford in an Apprentice send-up, and we revisit Bo Beaumont (Julie Walters), the pretentious actress who plays Mrs Overall in Acorn Antiques. Guests include Delia Smith, Torvill and Dean, Anton du Beke and Reece Shearsmith.

There's something of the sexy, oversized pixie about Russell Brand, a filthy imp who's infamously priapic yet desperately romantic, profoundly literate and articulate, yet mucky-mouthed. And he loves trouble. Brand hides nothing in this documentary as he talks to Frank Skinner of his former addictions to heroin, crack, cannabis and alcohol and of his realisation that they were killing him. "I used to like being smacked up, out of my mind... it was the annihilation of the self... there was nothing... [Being an addict] was demanding, debilitating and lonely."

I won't apologise for the fact that I love Brand; he's a magnetic, fearless performer with a brilliant wit. But it's when he's at his most introspective that he is at his most interesting. Revisiting his home town of Grays in Essex, he speaks for everyone who ever came from somewhere dull when he says: "My identity was formed by not being part of it."

Well-meaning Miranda faces yet more social horrors when her friend sets her up on a blind date and her mum organises a themed party. Even worse, it's Valentine's Day. "I don't know who St Valentine was, but I hope he died alone surrounded by couples," shrieks Miranda before she falls over the furniture, yet again. There's too much falling over in Miranda. Yes, I get it, Miranda Hart is very tall and she's an accomplished physical comedian, but enough. She's much funnier when she's hopeless without being pathetic, like when she goes on an excruciating blind date arranged by her mobile-phone-obsessed friend, Tilly. Hart's artlessness is winning and in her own roundabout way she makes some good observations.

The ailing government is spiralling into the abyss and Malcolm Tucker is both waving and drowning when he tries to charm a group of journalists. Though "charm" is an overstatement: "Journalists...one day you are writing for the papers, the next you are sleeping under them." It's typical Tucker bravado, but you can tell he's feeling insecure. There's a real sense of panic in the penultimate episode of Armando Iannucci's skin-piercing satire. Over at the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship, Secretary of State Nicola Murray (Rebecca Front) is thrilled to have won the support of tennis ace Andy Murray for a healthy-eating campaign. But the arrival of Steve Fleming (a terrifying David Haig), Malcolm's bete noire and fellow spinner, pitches everyone into chaos. There's something almost frightening about The Thick of It when it's this intense. And when Fleming and Tucker have a titanic, foul-mouthed battle, be afraid.

Hear that? It's the sound of arthritic gags trying to pull themselves up from the bottom of a deep barrel. Welcome to Big Top. Amanda Holden plays the ringmistress/owner of a terrible circus full of pathetic acts, so there are plenty of broad, wheezing jokes. The grumpy clown puts ferrets down his trousers! The acrobat has a comedy Russian accent! As you feel the last of your life force drain away and you decide eight-year-olds will love Big Top, it spoils everything with an off-colour routine about sleeping with a health and safety inspector in return for a good report. And if anyone thinks that will pass safely over the heads of tinies, then I beg to differ.