Christopher Douglas

In Ed Reardon's Week we found the world's most frustrated author in rather less straitened circumstances than usual, living with the successful writer Mary Potter (the point being made was obvious, but unspoken) and earning regular money by condensing the works of more successful writers for readers with short attention spans. He got Nick Hornby down to half a page, Tony Parsons to a single paragraph.

There was a beautiful little throwaway scene in which Reardon corrected the grammar of the nubile literary agent, Ping. She said something 'would of' happened, he pointed out that 'would have' might take longer to say, but had the advantage of being grammatically correct. Later we learnt that Ping had a double starred first from Balliol. It summed up him, her and the times - he, with his dedication to a language battered beyond recognition; she, with a good brain that has sifted out the bits it needs to be successful and discarded the rest.

Elgar the cat went missing, and Reardon hung a four-page 'Lost' notice on lampposts. Then a large cat was spotted floating down the canal, and Reardon fished it out.

By the end, all was well. Elgar lived still, and Reardon had gone to a lot of trouble to bury a mere lookalike. And Mary Potter had departed, driven away by Reardon's jealousy and inability to change. So, no girlfriend, then, but his flat was his own once more and his cat was by his side. Misery may love company, but it likes to choose the company it keeps.

Maybe I was once married to Ed Reardon. I know him so well. He grumbles (accurately but ineffectively), grinds out the words (but without much reward), is always broke (and always will be). But, my word, he is funny. And true. Especially now the more successful Mary (Sally Grace) has entered his life, buoying him up, buying the drinks, at war with his cat. I have been half in love with easeful Ed, creation of Christopher Douglas (who also plays him) and Andrew Nickolds, since he first appeared. Now he's back, Radio 4's a cheerier place.

Ed Reardon, the writer who made a name for himself by creating a seminal episode of Tenko, is back, and this time he's sharing his one bedroom apartment with a woman. Fans of this series, the funniest sitcom ever to grace Radio 4, will be delighted to learn that this, being Ed Reardon's love-life, is destined to fail. Despite the fact that his lady friend is a fellow writer - hence they can share the pleasures of buying scratchcards and tobacco - even she finds his sneering and his sarcasm too much to bear.

The misanthropic writer returns for a new series of the award-winning sitcom by Christopher Douglas (who also plays Reardon) and Andrew Nickolds. Unmissable.

Ed Reardon is a 52-year-old writer who has drifted into obscurity since his magnus opus was published in the 1970s. He now teaches creative writing at the local Sports Centre and writes gift books such as The Love Poetry Of Nigel Mansell to make ends meet.

Ed finds that 'the besetting dilemma of the life literary is always whether to invest one's time and energies in a project which might realize royalties two years down the line, or, if you and your cat need to eat a bit sooner than that, to nip down to the police station and pick up a quick tenner for standing in line at an identity parade.'

When he's not at identity parades, Ed attempts to write TV scripts for 12-year-old producers and asks his agent to email him a list of writers who are below him in the charts at Amazon. He considers the occasional seduction but, being long divorced, is unsure that he can remember how. He desperately searches through magazines and newspapers for reviews of his work and is gratified to get an honourable mention in Caravan & Camper.

It is a brilliant tour de force.

Joy Klamp is a writer, broadcaster and prominent academic. Her latest venture was born at an unsuccessful dinner party. "I was clattering some pans in the kitchen," she recalls, "when someone said to me, 'You know, Joy, you've really got this passive aggression thing down to a fine art. You ought to share your knowledge with the world.' I didn't say anything because I'd been moodily silent all evening. But it did set me thinking that everyone deserves to experience the fulfilling empowerment of sulking and mooching and staring into the middle distance. Spoiling someone else's fun can be the most satisfying of all the controlling arts."

The result is Mastering the Universe, a six-part course in advanced "nonjoyment techniques".

This is funny. Sadly, its star Dawn French is the worst thing about it. While everyone else is letting their acting play second fiddle to the words - by Nick Newman, of Private Eye, and the great Christopher Douglas, who gave the world the failed cricketer Dave Podmore, and the even better Ed Reardon's Week, the failed writer - French presents her character as though she were Dawn French without the large bosom jokes. As that character shows promise - her job is teaching people how to be miserable - it is to be hoped that French gets the hang of this radio comedy lark soon.

In The Nicholas Craig Masterclass (BBC2) the master instructed students [on] how to make a really ballsy appearance on Question Time. Particular attention was paid to use of the eyebrows, and judicious use of the phrase "in this country". A useful tip is that no one is absolutely sure what a billion is. "All we need to know is that it is more than a million and it begins with an explosive bilabial consonant." So give it plenty of welly.

The sharpest, funniest and most stinging comedy for years.