Jane Anderson (I)

As any JAM fan will tell you, it's not often that a panellist speaks for the whole minute, uninterrupted, without deviation, hesitation or repetition, but that's exactly what Graham Norton does here. Admittedly, he does have a distinct advantage with his subject matter - it's the Eurovision Song Contest - but even so, it's a rare enough event to inspire a warm and spontaneous round of applause from the audience.

And Nicholas Parsons takes some gentle ribbing from Paul Merton when he manages to work his forename into a round entitled "Fur coat and no knickers" - "You've been waiting 45 series to use that gag," says Merton.

Part autobiographical, part radio version of The Kumars at No 42, stand-up comic Nathan Caton deftly weaves lines from his routine around a glimpse into life at home with his mum, dad and, on occasions, grandma. The stand-up material covers familar ground - why do women talk so much more than men, yawn. But the mini-drama of life at home with the Catons is much more satisfying.

In this episode, his mum (Adjoa Andoh) has had enough of her ungrateful son and husband (Curtis Walker) and leaves them to fend for themselves. She moves in with Nathan's grandma (Mona Hammond), which would be all right if this foxy older woman was not trying to spend the night with the local pastor (Don Gilet). What could have been a slapstick farce has a refreshingly contemporary edge.

Wednesday evenings will be dull without Eric. As this neat little four-parter draws to a close, the Faustian tale reaches its fiery depths as the frankly hopeless team of time travellers find themselves in Hell.

Fortunately for petulant human teenage spell hacker Eric (Will Howard) and jinxed junior wizard Rincewind (the understated comic genius that is Mark Heap), the King of Hell's demons are easily confused and distracted. And then there's the infernal bureaucracy to tackle. But have our anti-heroes learnt their lessons and will Eric ever get to return to his bedroom?

The devil only knows and he's not telling.

A gentle fantasy drama set in a scrapyard in rural Cornwall that follows the fortunes of the three Kneebone children, left on the verge of penury by their dead father. If they are not being visited by the bailiffs, then it's a mysterious American man, dressed in black with Cuban-heeled boots and an overly generous moustache, who's taking an unwelcome interest in the family.

With the house built on foundations as wobbly as the "truths" the Kneebone offspring have been told, there are some surprises to come.

I hope this is a pilot rather than a one-off comedy. Humorist Guy Browning has co-written a spiky piece on celebrity ego and set it in the Serengeti, where a wildlife series is being filmed. It's a delight.

From the moment comedian Bridget Christie announces herself as an ideal woman for Islamic fundamentalists - "I haven't had an education and you can't see me" - the polemical tone of her act is made clear. And she does not fail to deliver, in either sabre-toothed satire on a society that thinks feminism is a dirty word or in above-and-below the belt punches at the violence, abuse and misogyny women experience around the world.

Fellow comedian Fred MacAulay plays all the male and one of the female characters needed to illustrate her points. Her husband gets some revealing shots fired at him, too, but as he is Stewart Lee he can probably handle it.

Audience participation is taken to a new level in the return of the comedy series that puts its panel through a moral wringer.

Sue Perkins is quick to spot flaws in the panel members' justifications for their actions in hypothetical dilemmas, but even the unshakeable Sue is taken aback by a member of the audience who confesses his problem is which of the two women who have accompanied him to the recording he should go home with.

The funniest moment of the night, though, comes from comedy stalwart Graeme Garden. The dilemma he faces is whether to ensure the future of the BBC for ever by spending the rest of his life viewing what was, until recently, called ITV1.

Anyone who can claim that watching Emmerdale with all the lights switched off is a suitable replacement for Borgen is a comic genius.

Sunderland psychic Ian D Montfort - the comic creation of Tom Binns - is back with a vengeance, not to mention some troubled spirits from the other side.

Simultaneously taking the mickey out of celebrity psychics he also practises the same astonishing techniques as Derren Brown. I cannot fathom how Binns manages to land upon such exact readings of the audience, but he does it with a deliciously dark wit.

London comic Roisin Conaty made one of my favourite observations on modern life: you can have 150,000 "followers" but still eat alone. In anticipation of Earth having made it through the Mayan annihilation prediction, Conaty reviews her past with a new apocalyptic perspective.

William Brown is confused. Some literary expert has been lecturing class 3A about a writer called Shakespeare and a cove called Bacon who stole all his work and sometimes went by the name of Ham. Or Eggs.

Martin Jarvis delivers a live performance of one of Richmal Crompton's finest outings for William, which ends in him delivering his own version of the "To be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet. So what if the words are not in the right order or, indeed, actual words?

It's William's moment in the spotlight and one of the funniest things on the radio this fortnight.