Jack Seale

Charlie Brooker's spoof of overwrought murder dramas returns for another two-part saga. Jack Cloth (John Hannah) is off the force, sitting in his car with a whisky optic installed on the dashboard. When actor turned policeman Todd Carty (Todd Carty) is shot up in a robbery, however, Cloth returns to help his old colleague and flirting partner, Anne Oldman (Suranne Jones), catch the criminal bigwig responsible.

The show was borne of a desire to slay all the tropes of British detective shows, but the genre in-jokes - there's a line about characters who talk facing away from the screen having their dialogue dubbed in later to fix plot holes - don't provide as many big laughs as the silly visual gags and the shameless smut. Perhaps this should be a different kind of comedy altogether.

A seventh series of the quiz that makes A Question of Sport look like Pathé newsreel of over-60s crown green bowling. These days the quiz questions are few and far between: with money almost visibly dripping from the screen, it's all about big stunts and big-name comics.

Tonight, the regulars - Jack Whitehall, Jimmy Carr, Jamie Redknapp, Andrew Flintoff and host James Corden - go rally-driving with near-fatal consequences, play football against Edgar Davids while stuck in giant plastic bouncy balls, and complete a hellish military assault course. In between are some very funny pre-arranged zingers - mostly delivered by Whitehall, so if you're not one of those people who's violently allergic to him, you're in business.

Back to Valco in Warrington for series three, and the staff are going through the motions. Trollied's sketchy sitcom format, cutting from one section of the supermarket to the next without worrying much about crafting a story, feels a bit worn when we're watching the familiar characters: weird Leighton, lustful Colin and Lisa, and the Tim/Dawn dynamic of Katie and newly divorced Kieran. Here to shake things up, in the story and the show, is Chris Geere as Richard France, a berk in flip-flops who's the new Valco management guru. But a jargon-spouting strategist isn't a fresh enough comic idea, either.

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This news-comedy show was the unexpected star of the 2012 Paralympic Games: led by comedian Adam Hills, its irreverent round-up of the day's events won a following all of its own. So much so that it came back earlier this year, not to comment on sport but simply on the week's news. That's a crowded marketplace, in which The Last Leg has found a niche.

Along with the wry, sideways, irreverent looks at some of the quirkier stories you might have missed, there's a convivial and inclusive atmosphere that softens the sharpness of the gags - the first 2013 series was best known for a piece to camera in which Adam Hills eviscerated US comedian Joan Rivers, but he was doing it because Rivers had made fat gags about Adele. That's The Last Leg all over: right-on, usually spot-on and brightly funny.

Hills is flanked by co-hosts Josh Widdicombe and Alex Brooker. Tonight's guest: Russell Brand.

A faintly awkward follow-up to the tremendous Old Jews Telling Jokes, with British clergy in place of streetwise Americans. The vicars simply take turns to stand against a plain background and tell a joke. Not all the gags are classics - in a couple of cases I'm not sure they even make sense - but it's a likeable set-up. There's the odd racy punchline and the fascination of seeing what vicars choose to wear on TV. Jazzy dog collar? Amusing waistcoat? No-nonsense bomber jacket? Or cassock with colourful knitted trim?

More gentle ups and downs in Matlock. Terry (Brendan Coyle) is getting high blood pressure from his building project, while his wife Jan (Lesley Sharp) is further enchanted by her creative writing class, and its sensitive but hunky teacher (Vincent Regan). Meanwhile, Bell (Rebecca Night) clashes, in some nicely timed scenes, with her fussy mother-in-law-to-be (Jaye Griffiths).

As usual, creators Steve Edge and Matt King give themselves the most fun, as Fergie and Loz set up an organic glamping business, but are thwarted by Loz's morbid fear of ventriloquists' dummies.

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The television version of the Radio 4 cult favourite looks set to be a mainstream smash - its creators tell RadioTimes.com how they did it.

Last year, Starlings got that difficult formula for cosy comedy drama exactly right: visits to the Starlings brood in Matlock were warm, funny and welcoming without quite descending into vomitous tweeness. So it continues with the series-two opener, where a mishap for young Charlie (Finn Atkins) and a new suitor for matriarch Jan (the gently authoritative Lesley Sharp) bring threats we know very well the family will eventually overcome. This year, Cherie Lunghi joins the superb cast.

A skewed new sitcom by Georgia Pritchett, who wrote Life of Riley for BBC1 but is in much saltier, funnier form here. Doon Mackichan is Sue, proprietor of a hair salon where the staff struggle to focus on cutting barnets properly. Foolhardy customers come and go, mostly playing stooges as chaos sets in. The scattergun style and lines like "You just frittered away my boobs on a giant chipmunk" could easily lead to a lack of warm authenticity, but don't: the gang feels real. Tonight, Sue hoovers some Mexican tranquillisers, a comic short cut Mackichan brilliantly exploits.