Billy Connolly

You might remember a great slab of television from 2007 called The 100 Greatest Stand-Ups. This is an updated and revised version of that particular epic; four hours devoted to one long list, padded with clips and interviews. The winner last time was Billy Connolly, closely followed by Peter Kay and Eddie Izzard. But could Izzard's recent successful tour and his staggering Sport Relief marathons hike him up to the number one slot? Or will Michael McIntyre, who wasn't even on the 2007 list, surprise everyone? The answer lies in the hands of the voting public.

Billy Connolly claims British comedy is 'too censored'

Billy Connolly has spoken out against censorship, complaining that comedians who swear on stage are unfairly branded "vulgarian and foul mouthed".

Rab C Nesbitt, who has been played by Gregor Fisher for the past two decades, has retained much of its grungy, cooncil-hoose ambience - the men wavering between fantasy and uselessness, the women unillusioned and razor-tongued. Some of the sting has been drawn, though: Rab, an unemployed drunk for the past 20 years, is now off the booze, his son off drugs. Scotland, still the place to go for these prompters of illusion and hasteners of death, is striving to be proper but can, in this show, still provide soil for good wit.

It is no disrespect to the show and its star, nor to its writer and creator Ian Pattison, to say it rests on and draws from the comic traditions of Glasgow, a city that saw, in a long postwar glory, the maturing of the talents of Stanley Baxter, Rikki Fulton, Jimmy Logan and the master, Chic Murray - as well as the later blaze that was and is Billy Connolly. They were acid, fantastic and in hateful love with their city and its culture, which they helped create. Fisher recalls them at their best when, in a moment of park bench amorousness towards his inevitably long-suffering wife, Mary Doll, Rab C suggests that they "nick intae the lavvie and gi'e ye a belt up the knickers fur auld times sake ... we cud gae intae the disabled, it's roomier noo we've filled oot a bit". When he waxes romantic about his own past, she reminds him that he had become a "psychotically disabled alcoholic". "Ah'm frae Govan," he snaps back. "It wudda happened onywey."

How taking a Stand saved Scottish comedy

It hosts the world's biggest arts festival and has produced a string of world-class comics from Chic Murray to Billy Connolly.

Chain Reaction (Radio 4, Tuesdays, 6.30pm) has been the highlight of my late-summer listening. Through it I've come to like Frank Skinner, discovered that Eddie Izzard can still throw aside the ponderous trappings of Hollywood semi-stardom and be himself again and found, in Alastair Campbell, a charm that he managed to hide so successfully during his years as Tony Blair's minister of propaganda. And every week I've told myself that, this time, I'll resist the temptation to write about it here and focus instead on the new.

But then last week Campbell only goes and interviews Alastair McGowan and all best intentions exit stage right. Last Tuesday's Chain Reaction was probably the best of the series so far, as McGowan gave a masterclass in how he does what he does so well. Slipping from one voice to the other, frequently during a single sentence, he analysed how they came to be. The Nerd Voice, for example, which he was already using as a generic, suddenly acquired a real-life person to attach it to: John Major. "The reason why it's the Nerd Voice," he said, "is because it's completely devoid of emotion and heart.

"Technically, it derives from the back of the throat, which is also used by Brian Perkins" - changing gear ever so slightly to become the legendary Radio 4 newsreader - "but Brian has a connection with his chest, so you have this wonderful, resonant open voice, while Major" - shifting the voice a couple of inches upwards - "is stuck in the throat, so he's cut off from feeling.

"Michael Heseltine," he continued, on a roll now, "had a fabulous oratory voice. He had a trapped 'R' and he couldn't speak properly, but when he really got going he was trapped and there was a little bit of shyness there and there really was a great power to it."

And by God he was right. So simple, and yet so intricate. "There are places the voice goes to," he summed up, "and the deeper it goes, the cooler you are."

Prompted by Campbell, McGowan gave us his Tony Blair, which derives much of its authenticity from the former PM's habit of replacing his "I" sounds with "U" sounds - "Uff the Honourable Member thunks..." but confessed himself stymied by the next PM, David Cameron: "Just sound posh and whisper."

But of course, McGowan is best-known, not for his political voices - Rory Bremner has that covered - but everything else. David Beckham, for example, is an unconfident Stuart Pearce, and when McGowan segued from one to the other you saw exactly what he meant. The same voice, but with a different man behind it.

Look, the latest series of Chain Reaction will soon be naught but a beam in the eye of memory (McGowan talks to Simon Callow today; should be interesting), and I'm going to write about something else in a minute, but there was one last McGowan moment to warm our way into winter. "I've recently discovered Neil Oliver, of The One Show," McGowan said, in Scots character, "and one thing I've noticed is that he's really passionate about everything he does, but he really has to keep his passion under control, because if he ever gets carried away with it, he's just going to turn into" - mid-sentence segue - "Billy Connolly!" The mind's ear caught the connection and thought 'I could do that.' As if.

"This man seems to have spent his entire career dressed in women's clothing," declares Eddie Izzard at the start of this enlightening biography of Stanley Baxter. That's rich coming from a man not averse to a full-on flirtation with frockery himself, but it is said with nothing but admiration. In fact the warmth with which Stanley Baxter is described by the likes of Maureen Lipman, Barry Cryer, Billy Connolly and Julia McKenzie would keep the 82-year-old comic actor comfortable for years if it was converted into central heating. What they all recognise is that beneath the multiplicity of funny faces, extraordinary voices and relentless costume changes, Baxter has never shied away from humour that requires a bit of intelligence and cultural awareness from his audience.