Ian Hyland

ITV2's new spoof reality show Lemon La Vida Loca may well sail over the heads of those Celebrity Juice fans who think Keith Lemon is a real person.

But there have been enough knowing winks in the first two episodes to suggest it could have legs.
One thing, Keith. If you do want a second series, you and your lovely lady, Rosie, need to get busy in the baby-making department. These shows seldom survive if there aren't at least a couple of cute kids to coo over. Just ask Peter Andre (who, by the way, still loves his kids.)

Are you in the market for incredibly gullible D-list celebrities having incredibly silly pranks played on them? Then catch up with Celebrity Bedlam on E4 or C4. It's part Brass Eye, part Bo' Selecta! and part Shooting Stars. And the first episode made me laugh more than anything else on TV this week.
Yes, even more than the Singapore water polo team's trunks or Boris Johnson's Mr Bo Dangles routine.

I don't wish to raise unnecessary alarm, but there was a rather strange development at BBC1 last Monday as the continuity guy introduced the Absolutely Fabulous Olympic special. Because these were his exact words: 'Next tonight, comedy gold as Eddie and Patsy get into the Olympic spirit.'

My initial concern here was that the BBC appeared to have caught a nasty case of 'reviewing our own show' disease, which medical sources suggest was first brought into this country by a Mr S Cowell, of London. Half an hour later.

If this is to be the last we see of their grotesque creations they will never be able to say with any degree of honesty that they went out on a high.

I had an even greater problem. Namely, how do I go about suing the national broadcaster for a flagrant breach of the Trades Descriptions Act?
Because this was not gold of any kind, least of all comedy. In fact, for the most part it wasn't comedy of any kind, either.

Yes, there was the odd wry Olympics observation, although nothing that could touch the satirical majesty of BBC2's brilliant Twenty Twelve. And yes, there was a very clever sight gag when Patsy held up Eddie's body contouring all-in-one.
But the rest of the jokes were so lame that on more than one occasion I swear I spotted Derek Redmond's dad rushing up to help them over the line.

They saved the worst one - a real stinker about Clare Balding which I cannot even bring myself to commit to print here - until near the end. (Presumably the thinking was that they would get away with it because most people would have switched off by then.)

Of course, it is Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley I feel most sorry for. If this is to be the last we see of their grotesque creations they will never be able to say with any degree of honesty that they went out on a high.
In Olympic terms, they never even got near the podium.

At best it had the feel of a tired and uninspired end-of-the-run panto. At worst it was like watching a low-rent drag act spewing out filth and innuendo in the vain hope of getting at least one laugh in a grotty East End pub.

Plus, it was in no way helped by the most irritatingly intrusive laughter track in history, which featured one spectacularly loud woman who sounded like a hyena on HRT being fed into a woodchipper.

On a more positive note, it will have provided a welcome boost to David Jason's ego. Because thanks to some of the physical comedy on show here, his performances in The Royal Bodyguard have now slipped to No 2 on this year's Most Toe-Curling TV Slapstick chart.
David can also boast that the BBC didn't hijack his show and fill it with sneaky and self-congratulatory plugs for their upcoming Jubilee coverage. Jennifer Saunders didn't get off so lightly.

First say (the criminally wasted Julia Sawalha) had a line about how much better the TV coverage of the Olympics is in Britain than in Africa. Then Gran (the genuinely wonderful June Whitfield) gave the BBC another premature pat on the back with this closing thought: 'I don't understand why anyone would actually want to be there when they can watch it in comfort on the good old Auntie Beeb.'

In BBC2's Olympics comedy Twenty Twelve Hugh Bonneville might not get to dress up in fancy costumes or enjoy furtive liaisons with frisky young ladies in maids' outfits. But he looks like he's having much more fun than he ever does on Downton Abbey.

That's probably because his character and the rest of the cast are given some of the sharpest lines I've heard in a British satire since The Thick Of It.

Although the idea that the real London 2012 organising committee hasn't got a clue what they're doing is quite ridiculous. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

Sky Atlantic's second Partridge offering, Alan Partridge On Open Books, was far too clever and self-indulgent for anyone's good.

The kind of arty programmes it was sending up are so far up their own luvvie backsides they are almost beyond parody. So we were treated to an hour of Steve Coogan being clever and pleasing his ego, rather than being funny and pleasing his viewers.

As a cheeky plug for his latest book it worked a treat, though. No wonder Coogan went to Rupert Murdoch instead of the Beeb this time.

Earlier this month Rufus Hound said he quit Celebrity Juice because he wanted to take a break from comedy. Last night he appeared as a team captain on Paddy McGuinness's new panel show Mad Mad World. Objective achieved already, Rufus.

If you could forgive the hypocrisy of Steve Coogan selling out to his supposed nemesis Rupert Murdoch then Sky Atlantic was the place to be on Monday.

However, I found Welcome To The Places Of My Life, Coogan's latest Alan Partridge project, the least impressive of its three new comedies. It had some fine moments, but it just wasn't vintage Partridge.

I worry how much mileage the old guy has left, even if he does buy the new Range Rover (with the tan interior) in time for next year's movie.

First things first. Chris Moyles was brave to have a stab at being a comedy compere on BBC3 last Monday. But if Chris Moyles' Comedy Empire was an attempt to prove he is ready to step into Michael McIntyre's shoes on Comedy Roadshow or Live At The Apollo I'm afraid it's bad news.

Because not even Jimmy Carr's accountant could make the memories of this performance disappear. It's one thing making a radio studio full of toadies rock with laughter, Chris.
But a theatre full of paying punters will always find you out. Especially if you don't actually tell any jokes.

The funniest new show of the week, possibly the year, was BBC3's prison-based comedy Dead Boss starring Sharon Horgan.

It's easily the most amusing thing I've seen behind bars since Jeffrey Archer. It has a sharp script, a great cast and some beautifully worked set pieces. Plus, for those who care about the finer details, Emma Pierson from Hotel Babylon guest stars in it wearing one of those dresses she likes to wear.

To be a success, Alistair McGowan's new TV Burp-style comedy sports review show You Cannot Be Serious! needs two things: a) access to the pick of the week's sporting footage, and b) a gifted host who can elicit top-drawer comedy from said footage. On the evidence so far, point a) could end up being a huge headache. And b) already is.