Andrea Mullaney

When almost anyone who's had their 15 minutes dies now, social media is awash with people who have never given the deceased a second thought chiming in that they'll be missed. When Rik Mayall died suddenly in June, thousands tweeted their grief.

"He was a golden youth," says Ben Elton. "He was the greatest of us all," says Alexei Sayle. "The sexy genius, Rik Mayall," says whoever wrote Simon Callow's suitably grandiose narration for this tribute programme, which does the usual run-through of all the late star's famous roles, making out that each was incredibly groundbreaking, while celebrity chums say what a great guy he was.

The thing is, with Rik Mayall, for once all of that is absolutely true. He was a bloody sexy genius. He was unique and I'm quite willing to believe he was brilliant to know. And that grief felt real: to a certain generation, at least, he was ours in a way no other entertainer could be and loved as much as any stranger could be. He never sold out, never became a sentimental, corny shadow of himself.

This tribute programme - obvious as it is, missing (totally understandably) any contributions from his family or Adrian Edmondson, but filled with wonderful early footage and photos - reminds us of just what we lost.

You may cry a wee bit. But you will definitely laugh.

A young lad spots Kate Moss in a Vogue fashion spread and falls in love - with frocks. Twelve-year-old Dennis is fed up with everything after his parents split; could dressing up as "Denise" cheer him up? Yes, it turns out, in this sweet-natured adaptation of David Walliams's children's book (following previous Crimbo versions of his Gangsta Granny and Mr Stink).

OK, so Moss's cameo doesn't display any hidden thespian talents and everything is resolved extremely conveniently, but it aims to celebrate difference and individuality, which can't be too bad, given how our commercially-driven youth culture too often tells kids that there's a "right" way to look. And with Jennifer Saunders, James Buckley, Tim McInnerny and Walliams himself popping up among the grown-ups, there's enough here to keep kids and hungover adults amused.

Advertising man and stage magician Norman Hunter first created his quintessential absent-minded professor in the 1930s, in a couple of well-loved children's books. He then took a 33-year break, reviving Branestawm in the 1970s when he knocked off a string of books of comically disastrous experiments, which became fixtures of the story-reading show Jackanory for a new generation.

Nothing much had changed: Branestawm still existed in a dreamy, madcap world where "doing science" meant blowing things up and it was understood that geniuses were exempt from normal behaviour, like dressing properly or remembering anything.

Now, science tends to mean computerised calculations and even landing a rocket on a comet does not exempt a chap from apologising for a dodgy shirt. In fact, not all scientists are even chaps. But we still have this idea - popularised by dramas like The Social Network or Sherlock - that no-one can be that clever and still be, well, "normal".

Charlie Higson, who revived another old franchise for the pre-teen set with his Young Bond books, has adapted Hunter's characters for a nostalgia-soaked family romp, nominally set in the 1930s but actually set in a delightfully artificial never-was.

Harry Hill makes his thespian debut as the eccentric academic, though it's more of a broad performance than actual acting. But he's surrounded by a capable, in-on-the-joke cast including Ben Miller, Simon Day, Vicki Pepperdine and Higson himself. A basically-modern little girl sidekick (Madeline Holliday) stands in for the hoped-for young audience, gleeful over bangs and mess but still, perhaps, getting hooked on science into the bargain.

In his recently-published, tremendously indiscreet diaries, Daily Telegraph journalist Alan Cochrane mused about meeting Rory Bremner before the referendum. The satirical impressionist apparently spoke "in a funny voice" for a few minutes, leaving Cochrane flabbergasted when it was revealed he was supposed to be "doing" Alex Salmond.

Let's hope Bremner has mastered it by now, as this is his last round-up of this extraordinary year of Scottish affairs, including interviews with some of the major players, from punters to pundits to politicians. Now re-settled in Scotland, after a career mostly based around Westminster politics, Bremner's first Holyrood special last year showed him trying to get a grip on the referendum before it really began (something that many national commentators found themselves scrabbling to do at the last minute). So what is his conclusion now? And how on earth will he portray Nicola Sturgeon?

It's only fair to admit that I was quite biased against The Wrong Mans when it began last year. Not only did it have a stupid title (still not explained) but it starred and was co-written by James Corden. Once the well-liked breakout star/co-creator of Gavin and Stacey, his ego and ubiquity led to a backlash that saw him branded one of the most annoying men in Britain. But, much like this series' heroes, he made a miraculous escape, bouncing back with a highly entertaining, carefully thought-out comedy thriller.

As he's about to become the new host of a late-night American chat show, this two-part return of The Wrong Mans may be its last hurrah. It sees Corden's Phil living it up in the US, while pal Sam (co-writer Mathew Baynton) is less happy about what has followed their last accidental escapades with gangsters and spies.

The plot moves speedily, with the hapless pair quickly in yet more dangerous situations which they're completely unable to cope with. Realism goes out the window, but there's charming banter between the duo, who are given to reminiscing about their town's Christmas lights even when banged up in a high-security Texan jail.

Warm, romantic and BAFTA-winning, Last Tango In Halifax was a bona-fide hit last year, neatly refuting the idea that there's no audience for "stuff about old people" on TV.

It's even getting an American remake with Diane Keaton. So it's no surprise that it has quickly been brought back, nor, given that much of its strength lies in its near real-time pace, that the story resumes moments later.

Yet pacing might prove to be an issue this year, as the reunited sweethearts Alan and Celia (Derek Jacobi and Anne Reid) are now an established couple. Having missed 60 years together, they have surely too much sense to fall out again over minor misunderstandings. Their respective daughters (Nicola Walker and Sarah Lancashire) are still entangled in complicated love lives, but this can't really take over the focus of the series from the older generation. So where will the drama lie?

In the first episode, this isn't really resolved, as Alan recovers from his health scare and Celia organises their wedding, while the younger characters continue to flail. But it's still such a warm and well-observed show - with lovely bits of dialogue and performances - that maybe it doesn't matter.

Toast of London was picked up from Channel 4's comedy pilot season last year. It's a mildly surreal sitcom about a pretentious actor played by Matt Berry (doing that same "cinema advert voiceover" voice he did in The IT Crowd and the much-missed Garth Marenghi's Dark Place - can it be his actual voice?) Berry also co-wrote it with Arthur Mathews, who co-wrote Father Ted and the late 1990s sketch show, Big Train, which launched half of Britain's current comedy actors.

Toast shares that off-kilter sensibility within a more conventional format: its hero goes through the usual sitcom set-ups, but with a disturbed edge.

For instance, when he meets a potential love interest, she's played by Emma Fryer with a manic laugh and demented body language, as if miming a crane. And she's called Susan Random, one of many deliberately odd character names (Clem Fandango, Jemima Gina, Kikini Bamalam). There's also a sudden, brief musical number which flares up intriguingly and a really unsettling Bruce Forsyth lookalike.

But there are two big flaws: Toast himself isn't that interesting a character and there aren't enough actual laughs. This could develop into something weird and wonderful but for now it's just the former.

The IT Crowd returns for a one-off special which will most likely be its last ever (since Richard Ayoade is now a director and Chris O'Dowd is Hollywood's most unlikely heartthrob). Despite repeated attempts, I've never managed to find it even the slightest bit amusing - its strained "aren't geeks weird!" jokes and broad performances, accompanied by gales of studio audience laughter, just aren't for me. But for those who have enjoyed the previous four series, the special offers more of the same, wisely keeping to the same basic premise (and basement) rather than sending them all on holiday or something.

Just as the weather turns rotten, here's The Wrong Mans, a bit of fun with a smart enough script and some actual jokes. It's about two hapless chaps who get completely out of their depth in a Hitchcockian adventure with kidnappers, spies and gangsters. Nervous council employee Phil (played endearingly by Mathew Baynton of Horrible Histories) witnesses a car crash, picks up the victim's phone and gets mistaken for someone else by bad guys. His brash colleague Sam insists they "roll deep" and play things out.

It co-stars and is co-written by James Corden... wait, did I lose you there? I know: Corden is a divisive figure, who became so ubiquitous a few years ago that the very sight of his grinning face - shouting about his celebrity pals, flirting with Lily Allen, singing the England football team song, showing off at award ceremonies, etc - could induce sheer rage in otherwise reasonable people. While he always had his fans, there were as many who saw him as a representation of everything grim about modern celebrity culture. But, after an apologetic autobiography, an award-winning theatre run and the forthcoming biopic about Britain's Got Talent winner Paul Potts, Corden seems to be clawing his way out of the backlash. And the sheer energy of this new six-part series indicates that he's gone back to his strengths, co-writing himself a supporting part in an audience-pleasing entertainment, just as he did with Gavin & Stacey.

He is still, essentially, playing that Corden character that became so annoying, but the effect is lessened thanks to a strong plot, script and cast - full of familiar faces in cameo roles, presumably his celebrity pals.

It is with relief that I can report that Ben Elton's new comeback series is hilarious! It is a classic situation comedy with great jokes and ... and funny characters who ... who ...

No. I'm sorry, it's no good. You see, it really is no good; in fact, it's a stinker. David Haig plays Gerald Wright (hence the title!), an annoying man who wants everything done a certain way. It's a perennial sitcom trope, done beautifully by Richard Briers in Ever Decreasing Circles, for instance, or 
decently by Chris Barrie in The Brittas Empire. He's a health and safety inspector for a local council, the department "that introduced the static seesaw and the horizontal slide [and said] babies must wear helmets when breastfeeding near the swings".

But what makes it a stinker are the jokes, which feel as though when the BBC moved out of Television Centre they found an old box at the back of the cupboard labelled "Leftover Sitcom Gags 1973". They are ancient, is what I'm saying, they have whiskers on them.

The main running joke involves Wright trying to wash his hands under a bathroom tap and soaking his trousers, and then someone coming in and thinking he's wet himself, and then shoogling about under a hand dryer and someone else coming in and thinking he's doing something filthy. And this happens three times.

Haig tries to make things sound funny by stretching and emphasising certain words - not a stammer, but a sort of word-mastication which would be excellent for someone trying to practice shorthand or audio typing dictation, if anyone still does that nowadays.

The show's token nod to modernity is that Wright lives with his daughter and her female partner (played by Beattie Edmondson, daughter of Elton's old chum Adrian - how cosy). He has to buy a present and they suggest a shop called Girl Shack - wait, Girl Shack? In 2013? I take it Chic Chicks or Trendy Togs or Burdz Boutique were all taken?

Finally, there is the catchphrase: "Don't get me started!" which Wright says when particularly exasperated. This is very nearly "Are you 'avin' a laugh?" from Ricky Gervais' spoof sitcom When The Whistle Blows. Sorry, Ben: this isn't 
the one that's going to win over your critics.