Jack Seale

It's the turn-up of the TV week: BBC1 has a Saturday show that's not just watchable but consistently funny. If they can tinker with it to crowbar in lottery results, this could run and run.

Essentially it's a You Bet! remake, as eccentrics perform obscure feats in front of what today's telly thinks is the ultimate arbiter of taste: a panel of comedians. If they do it, there's a contrived gambling bit where they guess how much the comedians thought the trick was worth. Get it right and it's an "epic win". Flunk out and it's a "fail".

Those terms are internet patois, don't you know, and Epic Win sends itself up with a sly, modern chortle. Alexander Armstrong quippily hosts it, visibly bemused that this lark constitutes paid employment; the secret comedy weapon is compere Joe Lycett, who mimics The X Factor announcer in voiceover and then appears on screen, still doing the voice.

Tonight's main guest ensures this episode won't be quite like any other: it's Dame Edna Everage! Yes, from the 1980s. But the old girl still knows how to derail a chat show, and within minutes she's taken over, the peerless timing of her put-downs more than compensating for their familiarity. Brydon laughs helplessly, as will you.

Will Young is in the studio, too, and proves to be a good foil for Edna, although their duet on Something Stupid by Frank and Nancy Sinatra is rather hampered by Edna visibly not recalling the song. Young returns later to perform his new single Jealousy, a record we are all destined not to recall.

Rob Brydon's cheerful dismantling of the chat-show format continues. After a chinwag with the audience, culminating in a couple being presented with a tin of biscuits for their anniversary, Brydon welcomes Bill Bailey. He's not plugging anything, and Brydon barely interviews him at all before moving on to musical japes: a punked-up show tune, a fantastic Elvis cover with Bailey on Swiss cowbells and, later, a massive horn. In between all that are light but likeable stand-up comic Celia Pacquola, and the persistent Beverley Knight, who has a new covers album to promote, and somehow looks just as good as she did when her first LP came out 16 years ago. Her duet with Brydon at first seems to be one of the most embarrassing TV moments of the decade, but don't worry, there's a gag coming. Finally, Knight blasts out Cuddly Toy by Roachford. Tune!

In this unthinking cross between The Inbetweeners and US geek/jock movies, three randy Brits have just graduated and blagged jobs in California at a summer camp for rich older teens. The trio's aim is to have sex with everyone, which slightly dubiously seems to include the people they're supervising. Thankfully, in episode one our lads stick to chasing their fellow staff. Even more offensive, it uses every possible cliché, from meat-headed bullies to fat kids who keep being given wedgies. Generic lines that most writers would be embarrassed to consider for a first draft have made it to the screen. So kudos to the three leads - Samuel Robertson, Arsher Ali and John Dagleish - who somehow manage to charm.

The Scottish are coming...

...but the BBC still isn't making the most of its standout Scottish comedies.

Brydon's personalised chat show returns for a second run. It was entertaining last year in part because virtually all the guests were his friends, a shortcut he presumably can't use for ever. He does tonight though, chatting easily with Matt Lucas (Brydon worked on and appeared in Little Britain) about comedy, musical theatre and exactly how tall Tom Cruise is. They take the mickey and riff off each other in a way that most host/guest combinations never could. Brydon's opening banter with the studio audience is an offhand hoot as well. Brydon likes to jam with his musical guests, which has previously provided some unexpected spine-tinglers, but tonight's band is insipid talk-show scourge the Script. Brydon attempts an odd mime routine as they plod through a David Bowie cover, then lets them play their own song later on. The stand-up guest is Nina Conti, who's been doing her lo-fi ventriloquist routine for years, and should have it honed by now.

Another new episode of a refined sitcom that bathes in a ridiculously good cast: alongside writer John Finnemore are Stephanie Cole, Benedict Cumberbatch and the man I refer to simply as 'The Guvnor', Roger Allam. This one's a bit special, boasting as it does the sort of tricksy, quadruple-crossing story that comedy writers often like to attempt but don't usually have the sheer plotting muscle to pull off. Finnemore has those chops. When Carolyn (Cole) entrusts Martin (Cumberbatch) to stop Douglas (The Guvnor) stealing some expensive whisky, a mystery worthy of Miss Marple unfurls. Sadly, Martin's investigating it instead.

"I feel overexposed": Stephen Fry on the perils of fame

He's one of the most popular figures in British entertainment - but, in an extraordinary, confessional new interview, Stephen Fry has spoken of his deeply uneasy relationship with fame, and how it has grown beyond his control.

Series seven of the baked sitcom, which returns every year to a space several yards to the left of leftfield. It has a voice and a style all its own: not laugh-out-loud funny so much as grotesquely amusing and just slightly disturbing, thanks to imaginative, off-kilter camerawork and music, and the fact that the characters all seem like the sort of people who'd be selfish and mercurial even if they weren't on drugs. Tonight, indolent hash dealer Moz (Johnny Vegas) orders pizza from the fascist place across the road, before trying to win his girlfriend back. He's soon distracted when a friend is stabbed and has to fight for his life, a development that would make virtually any other show quicken its pace. Not Ideal.

Panel-gamers Kevin Bridges, Jason Manford and Lee Mack are Matt Lucas's guests tonight, nominating things that are the most or best something, for comic effect. Many of the observations are established classics such as British tennis players being disappointing, or Taggart being dead. The laughs sneak through the cracks between the formatted spiels: tonight there's a good riff around Lucas's chocolate obsession, and it generally helps that the host is a fearsome comic performer. By far the funniest moment is Lucas's anecdote about a barney in a Scottish newsagent's, where he switches between Indian and Glaswegian accents with dizzying skill.