Chris Gardner

Radio Times review

In Jonathan Coe's excellent 2013 novel Expo 58, 30-something protagonist Thomas accepts a work placement in Belgium, the country of his mother's birth. It's with heartfelt intensity that he looks forward to visiting the place where she grew up. Miles Jupp may well have been equally excited as he booked a passage across the North Sea to meet the relatives, convinced that his forebears were Huguenots no less.

But then his Belgian Who Do You Think You Are?-type crusade went awry. Family folklore is prone to increasing exaggeration. My grandmother was certain her ancestor was a former Bishop of Bath and Wells. As in Jupp's case, a little research and the illusion was shattered.

Radio Times review

"How many Beatles are there?" cries Mitch Benn, as if at the end of his tether. Loads, actually, if you're a sucker for tenuous links. Declaring himself number 37, Benn spends a cheeky, musical half-hour running through the other characters on his list, taking swipes at obvious targets like Ringo Starr ("he invented Mark Owen") and Yoko Ono ("the anti-Beatle").

He saves one of his smartest barbs, however, for Jeff Lynne, accusing the ELO frontman of producing the kind of records in the 1970s that he, Lynne, wished the Fab Four were still making. Ouch! When Benn finally explains his right to be on the roll call, the humour slackens a little, but it's great fun getting there.

Radio Times review

The First Dog of the United States is the loveable, if doltish, chocolate labrador Buddy who likes nothing better than to fetch ball for President Bill Clinton. The only fly in the ointment is the seething knot of resentment that is Socks the cat, who's been supplanted by Buddy as the White House pet of choice.

In his deliciously mordant way, Socks bitches about the canine's "dribbling dim-wittedness" and threatens to consume his liver, washed down with a nice chianti. Clearly trying to channel Hannibal Lecter, he sounds more like Katharine Hepburn at her most imperious, which is actually no bad thing. Can Buddy survive as Bill's prized pooch?

This smart two-hander, interspersed with clips of Clinton's "no I didn't, yes I did" farrago over Monica Lewinsky, is a hoot from start to finish.

Radio Times review

When an impressionist has such a distinct face, sketches can fall flat on television, no matter how uncanny the voice. The same could be said of Jon Culshaw and Debra Stephenson, so a return to radio should bode well.

I have to say, however, it's a mixed bag. The John Craven skit was by far the funniest, where he's challenged to sex up Countryfile à la cult US show Breaking Bad. "Have you ever cooked crystal meth?" asks a terribly posh female TV exec. Ironically, the impersonation of Craven is probably the least accomplished in the programme.

Not so the ones of Alan Bennett, Jools Holland and William Hague, whose vocal quirks are caught to a T, though the scripts could have been tighter. In all, the show leaves a satisfactory, if not great, impression.

Winner of the 2009 Edinburgh Comedy Award for best newcomer, Jonny Sweet is a young talent to look out for. He might be familiar from Sky1's comedy series Chickens, penned by Sweet with his co-stars Joe Thomas and Simon Bird, (the stars of The Inbetweeners, Fresh Meat and Friday Night Dinner).

There is an essence of all of these comedies about Hard to Tell, with the emphasis on the younger characters' trials and tribulations, but I think it's a grower. This episode involves Valentine's Day plans that one knows are doomed as soon as we learn that they involve borrowing the prized touring van of a girlfriend's father...

I'm unfamiliar with comedian Tom Wrigglesworth so wasn't quite sure what to expect of a routine based on telephone calls to his Sheffield-based family. But it's a lovely half-hour, with Tom becoming increasingly exasperated by his parents' failure to understand him and their obsession with the mundane.

Far from resenting them, he's actually extremely fond of the mum and dad who come out with batty lines like "I'm nostalgic for a twin-tub... oh, and your brother is in prison". And Tom's Gran is on the line too - to great comic effect: "Your mother is like the National Accident Helpline, always trying to compensate."

For me, the biggest pay-off was to discover she's played by one of our greatest actresses, the incomparable Judy Parfitt. She alone will make it worth tuning in for the rest of the series.

Comedian Isy Suttie tells the story of how her pen pal Dave met this girl called Pearl at Butlin's - a place where "within two hours of arriving you can get chips or felt up" - and their tentative attempts at hooking up via Facebook and Skype. On paper it has the whiff of one of those dreadful Simon Bates Our Tunes, but this is funny, perceptive and none the worse for its songs and old-school vibe. In contrast, Suttie briefly relives one of her own relationships, comparing it to an old sick dog who's continually fed sugary biscuits to keep it alive. A cracking little show, making you yearn for a longer set.

For a precocious 17-year-old from Letchworth, the USA seemed a spellbinding place crying out to be explored. Bucking the parochial grip of 1953 Britain, Michael Winner crossed the Pond and dutifully documented his eye-opening experiences, which he shares here with Rufus Hound'. You can see the germ of the raconteur and go-getter in these engaging diary entries which bristle with wit and youthful arrogance - "New York is a shallow, brash city" - traits he undoubtedly used to get to meet Eddie Fisher and Duke Ellington, though it's not wholly clear how. But there was nothing opaque about America's shocking racism, as a bewildered Winner observed.

My most vivid memory of Hylda Baker is that bizarre 1978 Top of the Pops appearance with Arthur Mullard, but there was so much more to the comedy actress, as Barbara Windsor finds out. She was a diminutive Lancashire lass with a booming voice who soon became a music hall regular, before starring in sketches and sitcoms (most notably Nearest and Dearest). Baker was often labelled loud and vulgar at a time when funny men overshadowed their female counterparts, yet is now considered by many to be an influential figure. Her silent stooge Cynthia was surely a prototype for Dame Edna Everage's Madge, and her performances brimmed with catchphrases - "She knows, y'know!", "You big girl's blouse!" - long before Little Britain and Catherine Tate cornered the market. About time, then, that her unique talent was reappraised.