David Tennant

The new series of Very British Problems began this week but seems to have lost its purpose. The show began life as a very witty, observant Twitter account which would blurt out panicked and appalled little tweets about the difficulties of being a repressed British person who's trying frantically to avoid embarrassment in a world full of boors and idiots.

The humour lay in not knowing who was sending the tweets and so we could imagine it was an uptight Englishman in a suit and bowler hat, catching the 8.09 to Waterloo, perhaps resembling a stern-faced John Cleese. Or maybe it's a kindly old lady who makes jam for the Women's Institute and crochets bootees for the church jumble sale, and is quietly horrified at the manners of today's young people. We could imagine what we liked, or slot ourselves into the situations described. But transferring the concept from Twitter to TV has ruined that. Our imaginary and oh-so-typical Brit has been replaced by celebrities. James Corden, Catherine Tate and David Tennant now share their awkward moments and social embarrassments, and there is no longer room for us. We've become observers not awkward, agonised participants.

We all love Christmas but wouldn't like it every day - contrary to what the song says. The luxury of all that food, wine and excitement would soon wear off and leave us longing for an uneventful day at work or a quiet potter around the supermarket. We can only take so much wonder and joy - and that must be the reason why Charlie Brooker is relatively rare on TV.

If I was in charge, he'd be on TV constantly. BBC News 24 would be Brooker 24 and watching would be mandatory. But, as with too much turkey and Prosecco, maybe we'd soon start to groan and wilt: no more, please. I'm full! I can't take another joke. I'm woozy with these witty observations. Another gag will make me gag.

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David Tennant wants to put sushi into the titular dungeon. "It doesn't even come with chips!" "To be fair," says Frank Skinner, "you come from a place where they won't even eat raw Mars bars." Elsewhere, comedian Aisling Bea has it in for pigeons, along with adults on scooters ("like getting breastfed at 40"). But what are we to make of the rapturous applause that greets Sir Trevor McDonald's request for less queuing? Truly, the UK is going to hell in a handcart.

A seasonal episode of the show that - like the Twitter account it grew from - does pretty basic observational comedy, but does it pretty well. On TV, it helps that the status of the contributors is bewilderingly high: sitting in various lovely interiors tonight are David Tennant, James Corden, Rich Hall, Romesh Ranganathan, Catherine Tate and Danny Dyer. Among the agonies wryly shared are how much to pay carol singers and when to abandon a bad party.

For all W1A is, rather inevitably, sometimes too self-referential, there's still much fun to be had from the way the Auntie management-spoofing mockumentary nibbles at the hand that feeds. Tonight's highlights include the revelation Tony Hall is obsessed with pilates, and the notion Newsnight's Evan Davis might be "embedded" with Strictly Come Dancing rather than merely being a contestant. David Tennant's voiceover provides many of the best moments: "Ian has made an executive decision to be late for a meeting for once."

There exists a comedians' in-joke, only very slightly up its own jacksie, in which one asks: "What's the secret of good com..." only to have the second interrupt with the shout: "Timing!" But that is, indeed, the very singular secret of comedy, timing, and W1A, in its second outing, gets it just-so, in the same way that there is only one just-so way in which to shoot cuffs, tap dance slowly, play Chopin or excise a pineocytoma.

Writer and director John Morton has, admittedly, the best of sublime comedy talent to work with. Hugh Bonneville, Nina Sosanya, Jessica Hynes, Jason Watkins. But he has, in this crammed hour, not only to re-thumbnail the personalities with a wizard's thumb but get the timing beyond reproach. To this end, the entire cast are apparently "invited" to spend up to seven hours rehearsing 10 seconds of rapid-fire dialogue. I'm sure the above four could improvise delightfully - been lucky enough to meet two of them, one over drinks after a funeral, another over an extremely fun lunch, and what different people they are, thus what fine actors - but the Morton gene calls for just-so, and the BBC, bravely risking much to rip the ferret out of itself in this wince-out-loud comedy, acceded, in what may well become its finest confection since Fawlty Towers.

Thus, for instance, the five just-so bollards. In more minor hands, the sequence in which the black Range Rover of HRH, an (unseen) Charles, is stymied at the entrance to New Broadcasting House, inside which the welcoming committee have become hogtied by their own insane security protocols, could have been simple farce. The anti-terrorist bollards would just have jumped up and down or spiked Charlie's RR in the sump. Instead, Dave (Andrew Brooke), head of Beeb security, aided only by a ridiculous smartphone and the meaningless catchphrase "we are status-active", manages with a stoic glower to "relent" bollards 2 and 4. And then, in quiet desperation, Nos 1, 3 and 5. There is a full nine-second pause. All bollards down. Then bollard 3 reappears, like a giant erection (as if there's any other kind).

There is glorious timing here, yes, but there's also humanity. Was I alone in quietly cheering whip-smart Lucy (Sosanya) in being the first to make it to the royal meet-and-greet, having left the three witches trapped in their own personalities and also a non-revolving revolving door? Or in feeling, admittedly slightly, a twitch sorry for Will, the good-looking, charming intern with the kind of shoe-size IQ even a mother would struggle to love? If you didn't see it, I just feel for you. Do so. David Tennant's perky voiceovers, dry as sandblasted Ryvita, are worth the licence fee alone.

The BBC has a problem. It's in danger of losing the Wimbledon rights to a rival broadcaster. On top of that it's considered that the tournament is too staid, white and elitist.

Enter PR extraordinaire Siobhan Sharpe, who is tasked with the job of making Wimbledon cool and 'ethnically, not so much white'.

It was just one of the corporation's dilemmas witnessed in W1A (BBC Two), which returned for a new series with an hour-long special. It's the mock-umentary that mercilessly lampoons the Beeb in all its politically correct, management-speak glory.

Just like most of the employees Siobhan (played by the brilliant Jessica Hynes) communicates in meaningless, corporate parlance. 'Yah. Totally. Epic,' is her favourite soundbite. Her solution to the Wimbledon issue was to 'mash it up and pimp it' by calling it Win-bledon, getting people like Alan Sugar and David Attenborough to act as umpires while members of the crowd chant and wave giant foam fingers.

Meanwhile hapless Entertainment Format Executive David Wilkes is desperate to come up with a new family-viewing show following the spectacular failure of Britain's Top Village.

His suggestion is Heavy Petting, a reality show were celebrities swap pets. Alternatively there's Britain's Top Family, where a family of toffs and a family of chavs fight it out to decide who is better.

'That's what ITV is for,' snapped Anna Rampton, the steely, charmless Head of Output. She had a point. I bet I wasn't the only person imagining ITV executives watching last night, pen and paper in hand, furiously scribbling notes.

Jeremy Clarkson's endless gaffes must be manna from heaven for writer and director John Morton. Last night Head of Values Ian Fletcher (Hugh Bonneville) was investigating the number of times Clarkson (whose name was bleeped out) said the word 't*****' following viewer's complaints.

Posh, clueless intern Will had to sit through four years' worth of Top Gear counting the number of times the word was uttered -- and, naturally, he messed that up as well.

Amid all that, the BBC was preparing for a visit from Prince Charles to congratulate them on becoming the first 'zero energy broadcaster'.

The BBC's bungling Head of Security, who bragged about his 'foolproof zonal lock-down system', was as competent as Mr Bean, while producer Lucy Freeman was chosen to greet HRH for no other reason than the fact she was non-white.

Last night's opener was witty, wordy and frantic with David Tennant's voiceover hitting the mark perfectly. At times it felt like too much was being crammed in, leaving the viewer almost breathless by the end.

You have to credit the BBC for allowing its operation to be ripped apart so savagely. Everybody had a daft title, nobody knew what they were doing and all were too afraid to do their job for fear of upsetting somebody else.

If the bumbling buffoons of W1A are even halfway accurate then it's little wonder all the political parties are promising to either reduce or freeze the licence fee!

W1A series 2 preview

Often overlooked, is David Tennant's narration which for me, holds the show together and often most of the laughs are as a result of his descriptions, for example "It's another day, at another time" or "After a year developing a drama, the project is finally nearing another meeting".

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