Jesse Armstrong

When Peep Show is on this kind of form it's like a perfect toy you want to play with forever. Tonight, writers Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong work in so many great lines - mainly for the twisted inner thoughts of Mark and Jez - that you may need to pause the TV to allow for laughing time.

Mark's worries about someone stealing girlfriend Dobby have switched from Gerard (RIP) to her ex, Simon. The latter organises a paintballing day for his birthday, and keeps Dobby suspiciously close. ("Holding hands?!" Mark notes, furiously. "That's not military! I'm pretty sure Rommel never held hands!")

Then Mark gets stranded in a bunker with drug-addled team-mate Superhans and a dog-eared biography of Napoleon. The latter proves more help.

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Part of the enduring appeal of Peep Show (Sunday, Channel 4) is that you want to believe that Mark and Jez are exaggerated versions of David Mitchell and Robert Webb, the comedy partners who play them. Actually it is written not by them but by Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong (though Mitchell and Webb do provide some "additional material").

Whether or not they are like their characters perhaps doesn't matter. What is important is that those characters don't have anything in common apart from their shared flat. Mark is pessimistic, conservative and neurotic; Jez is feckless, uninhibited and shallow.

After almost 10 years, and eight series, Peep Show still feels quite subversive and edgy. The stylistic device the show pioneered - of using point-of-view shots with the thoughts of the characters audible as voice-overs - still seems fresh and it is surprising that this has been so little imitated. (There's Miranda, and that's about it.) There was a wonderfully timed moment in the first episode when Mark and Jez were having a back and forth argument which Mark ended in his head, having the last word.

To bring their story up to date: Mark is now a father, though he is not with Soph (Olivia Colman), the mother. He is trying to gets Dobby (Isy Suttie) to move in with him and get rid of Jez in the process. Jez is still unemployed and has been persuaded to see a therapist, whom Mark pays for. The humour is as black as ever, with Mark being annoyed with a rival suitor for winning sympathy by dying. My favourite line from episode one: "A squirt of Lynx: the busy man's shower."

Peep Show still feels relevant, capturing well one aspect of the aspiring but doomed middle classes. Though they are in some ways a conventional flat-sharing "odd couple", they both need each other because they like to think there is someone who is even more of a loser than they are. In many ways Jeremy is a child - a hedonistic and casually cruel one. Mark is easier to identify with. Most of us are more connected to our inner Mark than our inner Jeremy, though we would like it to be the other way around.

If Peep Show has settled into a groove, Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong's other hit, Fresh Meat, has come of age with the end of its second run. First time round, the student sitcom was chipper but clunky fare. But, just as its fresher gang have grown up, so the whole thing has become sharper, wiser, and more lovable. Now here's hoping it doesn't mirror the classic uni trajectory too closely and succumb to a third year of soft drinks and solipsism.

Fresh Meat is from the people who brought us Peep Show which, just to make Secret State jealous, is back for an eighth series. Student behaviour, albeit from two men who should know better? One of whom is a rail museum? If Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong only have one joke, it's a very good one.

Peep Show, Series 8 episode 1: review

It's admirable Peep Show has lasted so long and remained so consistently funny, so kudos to Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong for keeping the show fresh and hilarious.

No sign of a slump for Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain's student sitcom, which concludes this week. Quite the opposite, in fact: the gags have been sharper, the characterisation stronger and the few missteps of the first series - Howard's shift from singular oddball to cliched geek, for example - have been corrected. It's up on 4OD until forever for your delectation.

The award-winning sitcom returns for an eighth series after a gap of two years. Starring David Mitchell and Robert Webb as a flat-sharing odd couple (as the original tagline put it, "two very ordinary weirdos") the show, written by Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain, has never attracted a mainstream audience but retains a dedicated cult following and deserves its reputation as one of the best sitcoms around. It is also the longest-running sitcom in Channel 4 history.

Despite the long interval, we pick up exactly where season seven left off - with Mark (Mitchell) trying to eject Jeremy (Webb) from the flat in order to install his love interest Dobby (Isy Suttie). But neither seems eager to comply with Mark's plans. In fact, Dobby is more concerned for the welfare of Mark's chief love rival Gerrard (Jim Howick) who's milking a flu attack for all its worth; while Mark's efforts to move Jeremy on by funding some psychotherapy sessions prove predictably futile. Meanwhile Super Hans (Matt King) has traded in his musical ambitions for a job in a bathroom fittings firm and suggests Mark try out for a position there too - something he's determined to go for even when tragedy intervenes.

I know Fresh Meat didn't start out as a rom-com and writers Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong still might be horrified to find their creation described as such. But that is undoubtedly what it has become, albeit in a very street-smart, sharp and funny way. It's amazing how many rom-coms forget to add the com part.

But if it was the humour that initially caught people's attention, it has long since become just one element in a show of increasing depth. Much as I admired the performances of Derek Jacobi, Anne Reid et al in Last Tango, I wasn't greatly involved with their characters and I wasn't at all put out when their hour was up. With Fresh Meat, I am. I feel a sense of loss when the closing credits roll. I've come to care about these people. I love the way they move from the deadly serious to the totally absurd mid-sentence, in the way only university students can. I love the awkwardness of their relationships. Or rather, entanglements.

As JP - his Stowe chums call him JPaedo, but be careful what you tweet - Jack Whitehall is in danger of making posh boys sympathetic and Josie's attempts to make the housemates believe she hasn't been kicked off the course were becoming more and more poignant. Only Vod could imagine Josie must have acquired a smack habit. Don't ever change, Vod. Nor you, Kingsley and Oregon. And as for Howard ...? How could Sabine have gone back to Holland?

Even the minor characters - the geology lecturer excepted - are well drawn. Professor Shales (Tony Gardner), Oregon's ex - she has now got off with his son - is a case in point. As John, the slightly seedy man having a midlife crisis in Last Tango, Gardner was fairly one-dimensional: as Shales, the slightly seedy man having a midlife crisis, his desperate sadness is almost touching. Almost. When rom-coms are this good, what's not to love?

Thank cosmic order for Fresh Meat, almost an hour of laugh-out-loud comic astuteness that single-handedly restored faith in the British ability to be funny. Written by Peep Show combo, Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain, who are truly enjoying a beautiful creative moment, it's a student comedy neatly pitched between Peep Show and The Inbetweeners, and is arguably better than both.

Now in its second series, the show works on a multitude of levels. Each character is fully realised and integral to the set-up, the plots are loose but satisfyingly coherent, and the caustically absurd yet uncannily authentic dialogue succeeds in defining its own inspirationally demented world.

In Howard (Greg McHugh), the paranoid Scot, and JP (Jack Whitehall), the smug public schoolboy, the show boasts two of the finest comic creations to come along in years. Whereas the contrast between Sabine, the plain-speaking Dutchwoman (Jelka van Houten), and Me and Mrs Jones's Inca says everything that needs to be known about the difference between fresh and stale.

In last week's second episode, JP had mumps and, advised that he risked infertility, he rashly chose to store his sperm in the student house's shared freezer ice cube tray. Meanwhile the newly arrived Sabine was still getting to grips with the haphazard communal workings of the kitchen.

You might have thought you'd know how or, more precisely, where this particular climax was going to finish. The mark of the best comedy, however, is that it subverts the obvious even while playing it for all it's worth. In the end the payoff was hard to swallow, but only because it left me spluttering so violently with laughter.