Harry Venning

Episode One of Misfits saw our quintet of young offenders engulfed by a bizarre electrical storm that left them with superhero powers. Rather than joining forces to fight crime the Marvel Comic way, they killed their probation worker and buried him in a shallow grave. Although, in fairness, he had been transformed into a psychopathic zombie, intent on their murder.

Episode Two was no less eventful, with the Misfits obliged to do voluntary work amongst the elderly. Gobby Nathan - still to discover his superpower, unless it is to really annoy people - enjoyed a very passionate affair with the young and beautiful Ruth, only to have her revert back to her octogenarian self mid-coitus. That pesky electrical storm playing its tricks again.

Age-wise I am probably just outside Misfits' target audience, by 30 years or so, but I am already hooked. Funny, irreverent, subversive, clever and scary, Misfits contrives to be obnoxious and irresistible at the same time, and succeeds totally. Great scripts, great cast, great series.

For several years Miranda Hart has been cheerfully stealing scenes from under the noses of her more illustrious co-stars, so it was only a matter of time before TV producers rewarded her with a comedy series of her own.

Episode one of Miranda would appear to justify their faith. It has a genuine sense of fun, a distinct style, several very sharp lines and some cleverly constructed set-pieces. But, God, it was manic. In the words of Michael Winner in that memorably atrocious insurance advert: "Calm down, dear."

Hart, who also wrote the script, works very hard for her laughs, but an occasional change of pace would have been very welcome. It might also have afforded a little breathing space for some character development, which was in seriously short supply. A disproportionate amount of the jokes were predicated on Hart's size, which, personally, I don't find particularly disproportionate.

When not addressing the camera, Hart is busy bantering with joke shop co-owner Stevie (Sarah Hadland), being socially inept and lusting after hunky chef Gary (Tom Ellis) who, in an interesting reversal of traditional sitcom gender objectifying, is underwritten to the point of non-existence. Hart is much more generous towards her female co-stars, providing Patricia Hodge and Sally Phillips with the opportunity to do some scene-stealing of their own as neurotic mother and bitchy best friend respectively.

It's Only a Theory has Andy Hamilton and Reginald D Hunter as resident hosts and together they discuss the relative merits of various scientific theories. The pair have starkly contrasting comic styles, but they nevertheless work well together and the banter they produce is consistently intelligent and amusing.

My only gripe with It's Only a Theory is that it's actually a radio show. The producers haven't even bothered to dress the set. Shut your eyes and you will miss absolutely nothing. There is a shredder, to which rejected theories are dramatically consigned, but even that makes a perfectly recognisable shredder noise.

Micro Men was a light-hearted, cleverly realised and wholly entertaining exercise in techno-nostalgia about the battle for dominance of the British home computer market of the eighties.

In one corner Clive Sinclair (Alexander Armstrong), the maverick and tempestuously bad-tempered inventor, in the other, his ex-employee Christopher Curry (Martin Freeman), founder of Acorn computers. Their bitter rivalry culminated in an actual pub brawl, lovingly recreated in the film.

All good fun, but what was going on with Armstrong's make-up? It was terribly distracting. Someone needs to invent a bald wig that doesn't look like a flesh-tone swimming cap.

I like Charlie Brooker, I like Dara O'Briain and I like Graham Linehan. If those three can't persuade me to take an interest in computer games, nobody can. All three contributed to Gameswipe, a helpful guide to the computer game, with Brooker as host.

Brooker was his usual grumpy, caustic, brilliant self, but the subject matter just left me cold. The show helpfully introduced the uninitiated to the various categories of game available - platform, shoot 'em up, role play, combat - and provided a brief history of each. By far the best bits featured archive clips of anxious teachers, concerned parents and fretful community leaders getting all hot under the collar at the latest screen outrage, of which there have been many over the years.

But even with sumptuously realised and immaculately detailed graphics, the games under review appeared infantile and repetitive. Especially the modern shoot 'em ups, which have somehow contrived to make the act of mass murder appear very dull indeed.

I wonder how many viewer complaints ITV2's raunchy new soap Trinity garnered. Personally, my biggest grievance was the total absence of raunchiness. Come on ITV2, you can be ruder than that. Nobody's watching!

The announcer warned us of imminent nudity, but the anticipated feast of flesh turned out to be the same poor actor obliged to show his buttocks twice. And even from behind, the actor involved looked uncomfortable, which is quite an achievement.

Trinity is set in the country's most prestigious seat of learning, the fictional Bridgeford University, where, amid the gleaming spires, intellectual pursuits come a poor second to murder, casual sex, class warfare and bullying.

Charles Dance stars as the sinister Professor Maltravers, who takes instructions from a shadowy figure lurking in a secret hideaway behind the oak-panelled wall. It's early days, but I suspect Maltravers is involved in the sort of illicit experiment that gives science a bad name.

Characterisation is gossamer thin, production values are spartan and the plots risible, but there is a self-satisfied knowingness to it all, as though the producers are more than aware of the show's B-movie sensibilities and inviting viewers to share the joke. Which is all very well, but I'm not altogether sure the joke is that good.

Much maligned of late, CBBC has responded with several ambitious, innovative and entertaining programmes - Roy, Horrible Histories, Sorry, I've Got No Head - the latest of which is My Almost Famous Family.

Cheerfully chucking together elements of The Partridge Family, The Brady Bunch and pThe Monkees and infused with the cheesy spirit of High School Musical, the show is a musical comedy about the Swanns, aka Perfect Harmony, a multi-talented, Anglo-American family who win a stab at fame as the house band on a teatime TV chat show.

Episode one saw Perfect Harmony fall foul of the show's teenage host Annabelle, an adolescent anti-Christ clad in bubblegum pink, and her scheming, cringing, fawning manager /mother. Annabelle is a splendid, scene-stealing monster and I sincerely hope the series doesn't go spoiling things by giving her any redeeming features in later episodes. Meanwhile, in a separate sub-plot, the Swann's teenage brainbox Toyah is forced to choose between careers in classical and rock music.

It is all very jolly, colourful, energetic, entertaining, funny, frivolous and slick. That the comedy was broad and the musical numbers slightly underwhelming can be easily overlooked amid all the exuberance.

Off the Hook follows a group of freshers as they embark upon a new life at university. Stock student behaviour such as partying, slovenliness, unrequited love and stealing your flatmate's provisions are all present and correct, the last of which providing a neat and unexpected plot twist when the purloined pint of milk turned out to contain a bacteria sample.

Jonathan Bailey as Danny has the thankless task of playing straight man to the various inadequates, slackers, party monsters and misfits he shares digs with, but he pulls it off with considerable charm. Danny Morgan as his brash, insensitive mate Shane is a little too reminiscent of Smithy from Gavin and Stacey for my liking, but was horribly watchable nonetheless.

If the protagonists and set ups aren't wildly original, Off the Hook does capture that curious combination of innocence, invincibility and imbecility typical of many 18-year-olds away from home for the first time.

Home Time could almost be seen as a companion piece to Off the Hook, showing what happens when youthful aspirations turn sour.

Emma Fryer stars as 29-year-old Gaynor, reluctantly returning to her home town of Coventry, after 12 years trying to live the big city dream in London. The school friends she abandoned are slow to welcome her back, offer sympathy or forgive what they see as a terrible betrayal.

Fryer, the series' co-writer, generously provides her co-stars with all the best lines and is content to quietly wander through proceedings in a state of bemused distress. But don't be put off by Home Time's bitter-sweet premise. It is a delight - consistently funny, frequently inspired and very moving.

Do you remember Johnny Morris and Animal Magic? Well, somebody at the BBC does and they've decided to resurrect his old gag of lending funny voices to our furry, and scaly, friends.

Morris, mindful of his obligation to educate as well as amuse, used the device sparingly. Walk on the Wild Side, however, tries to fill an entire half-hour with wildlife verbiage and the joke is stretched very, very thin indeed.

Some moments are genuinely inspired. Who amongst us has not laughed at, discussed with friends or summoned up on YouTube the doctored footage of the marmot calling after his mate Alan? And who can blame the BBC for trailing it endlessly to promote the show?

Unfortunately, nothing else in Walk on the Wild Side is anywhere near as funny, clever or perfectly synched. The gorilla squeezing out farts is fitfully amusing, as was Stephen Fry expressing the languid musings of a giant panda. But Walk on the Wild Side is a novelty filler, not an entire programme. Talking animals merit ten minutes' screen time, maximum.