Martin Freeman

They don't make eggheads like they used to. Alexander Armstrong wore his best cosmetic slaphead with distracting ginger furze in Micro Men, the story of Clive Sinclair's race with his former colleague Chris Curry (Martin Freeman) to develop the personal computer in Cambridge. There was a wilfully mischievous tone to Tony Saint's drama, which spanned the late-1970s to mid-1980s: Armstrong as Sinclair was an erratic mix of geeky idealist and corporate tyrant. One minute he would be discussing the finer points of circuitry, the next throwing a phone through a window.

Sinclair was determined to take personal computing to new frontiers: "A man's reach should exceed his grasp - or what's a heaven for?", he said, quoting Browning. But he was also shown to be a control freak, ironically, as the thing he most resented in the early days was the "Stalinist" stranglehold on his company of the National Enterprise Board. Curry jumped ship from Sinclair after Sinclair refused to let him work on computers, insisting he focus instead on Sinclair's masterplan to develop a "personalised motor vehicle".

The early personal computer was quintessentially British: amateurish, user-unfriendly and unbecoming, but also a stunning technical achievement rooted in boffinry. Once upon a time, and not so long ago, the idea of having a personal computer seemed astonishing. Saint's drama included old episodes of John Craven's Newsround and clunky TV computer shows to show how far our expectations, and technology, had progressed in such a short space of time. Sinclair began as the hare, with the ZX80, ZX81 and later the Spectrum capturing the public imagination - although he was initially annoyed that people were more keen to play games on computers than anything else.

Armstrong presented Sinclair as occasionally regretful that Curry had left him to set up Acorn Computers, but his ambition to do things for magically cheap figures - £99 for a personal computer - soon displaced wistfulness. But even the big bucks couldn't extinguish the spirit of invention and innovation, which pinged as brightly as the green neon of the early computer. The conflict in Micro Men wasn't just between Sinclair and Curry, it was between egg-headery and profit; both men had teams of impressively long-haired nerds.

Armstrong caught Sinclair's weird diffidence perfectly. Assailed by a bevy of beauties at a Mensa conference, he banged on about his ambition to put the words of every book ever written on to something the size of a sugar cube. One of the women said it was nice to put his hands on something big once in a while. He nodded, as if she were making another scientific point, and then actually got what she was suggesting and his smile widened for a millisecond.

Sinclair and Curry were ultimately thrown into competition to supply the BBC with a computer system - which, several hundred sleepless nights and many kebabs later, Acorn won. (At Sinclair HQ, another telephone was thrown.) Home computers were all over the shops, but almost as quickly Sinclair and Curry were over-reaching themselves; Sinclair by trying to drive himself upmarket (he raged that he did not want to be known as "the man who bought you Jet Set F***ing Willy"). Acorn tried to go downmarket. They were both out of step. The consumer had moved on to the first CD players.

Sinclair emerged the more moderately triumphant when he swung past Curry late one night on one of his absurd C5 vehicles: his formal attire, his ugly machine and his slap-headedness all combining to produce an immediate visual gag. An absurd fight broke out between the rival boffins in their former local with scrappy punches and feeble attempts to concuss with newspapers. Reconciled afterwards, Sinclair told Curry that he was looking into the possibility of the flying car. Both companies were sold on, but the eggheads were not sunk.

An affectionate telling of the struggle for the home computer market in Britain in the 1980s. The drama is seen through the personalities of classic egghead Sir Clive Sinclair (Alexander Armstrong) and his one-time colleague and friend Chris Curry (Martin Freeman), who originally championed the idea of a micro computer but left Sinclair Radionics when Sinclair sneered at the concept. Sinclair soon realised that computers made more sense than the electric cars he was developing and so the two went head-to-head in the market, with Sinclair's Spectrum up against Curry's BBC Micro. Early on Sinclair says that "inventors are obliged to dream", but the film shows the business world is an unforgiving place.

If you're British and over 30, try and watch Micro Men. It's the story of computers in the 80s, the days when Britain ruled the computing world, a nostalgia trip to make Siralan weep into the top of his game. Alexander Armstrong proves that he's way too good for daily quiz shows in the role of genius inventor and sort-of-idiot Clive Sinclair who ends up competing against his former colleague Chris Curry, a role that's perfectly programmed for the as-ever understated Martin Freeman, for the nascent home PC market. Period details are piled so high that they almost take detract from the main characters, but that's a minor quibble in a really good drama. Oh, and on top of all that it also features a cameo from extremely talented and lovely actress Nicola Harrison.

Shooting Stars: Bad Gags

The bad gag - and the tumbleweed that so often follows it - is an important fixture of Shooting Stars. In the video below you can watch a bad gag exclusive to the web and find out whether next week's guests Martin Freeman and Paddy Considine can do any better (I'd say they're actually worse).

Who could have foretold, when The Office was first aired in 2001, that Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's comedy series would go on to be shown in 80 countries, "break" America and win a Golden Globe award? Tonight, BBC Two delights Wernham Hogg fans with a re-airing of the entire first series (six episodes). The programmes are interspersed with interviews with the cast, including Ricky Gervais, Mackenzie Crook and Martin Freeman. Comedy bigwigs - Richard Curtis and Ben Stiller among them - also offer their thoughts on the inimitable series.

Tonight, BBC Two is screening all six episodes of the first series of The Office, the landmark comedy that transformed the sound of fingernails being dragged down a blackboard into laughter. And like the commentary on a DVD, the episodes are interspersed with insights from Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, the co-stars Martin Freeman, Lucy Davis and Mackenzie Crook, and famous fans including Richard Curtis, Ben Stiller and Hugh Jackman.

Shooting Stars is back! Show us the scores, George Dawes! Isn't that great news? I think so. As always with Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer's surreal quiz show (Tuesday, BBC Two), I found about a third of it hilarious, another third perfectly acceptable, and the final third far too weird to comprehend for even a moment. Aside from last year's Christmas Special, the show has been away since 2002. Could it really have been so long? And how would it have aged?

Um, fine. I think. Or maybe it has just aged at the same speed as I have. Vic and Bob have become less like your weirdo neighbours and more like a pair of creepy old uncles, which suits them very well. Bob suddenly seems to bear a startling resemblance to Martin Freeman, although I suppose that might also have been the case last time around, and we just wouldn't have known. Ulrikakaka is back, and Matt Lucas, incredibly, is too. Does anybody know what has happened to Mark Lamarr? Is he OK? They've given us Jack Dee instead ("a sweaty moccasin!" said Vic), which seems perfectly respectable, and also a sort of delivery-man character comic, who might be a regular feature.

In part, I suppose, Shooting Stars was such fun because it was like meeting up with some old friends and hearing them tell all the same old jokes. Will new audiences find them funny, too? Or will they just be baffled and a little scared, like Christine Bleakley was when Vic started rubbing his thighs? Not a clue. Time will tell. I'd quite like to see them hit each other with frying pans in the next episode, though. I've missed that.

Veronica (Rachael Stirling), who is really Danny, is bored by her dreary fiance's wedding plans and dreams of escaping her unhappy life with her new love. Danny (Martin Freeman), who is really Veronica, is miserable, too, but wants his old life back. And he/she is very determined as the end of this bittersweet and rather endearing gender-swap drama approaches. There are some tender moments as Veronica/Danny tries to hang on to the life she has become used to but, after a chance meeting with Danny/Veronica (it's not really as confusing as it sounds), she knows that that life isn't really hers at all. So the pair come to an irrevocable and possibly dangerous decision as an electric storm approaches. Though the ending may feel a bit flat, there's still a strong sense that the lives of everyone involved have changed for ever.

Poor Paterson Joseph - despite the fact his belle Veronica (Rachael Stirling) shows no enthusiasm for their impending nuptials (that would be because Veronica is really Danny...), he's convinced she's just overwhelmed by his proposal. Yes, Boy Meets Girl has had its plot holes. But the reality-warping gender-swap comedy drama is at its finale now and overall it has worked well: Martin Freeman has done a gentle, tender job of revealing his feminine side while Stirling has been scene-stealingly blokey as Danny/Veronica. Tonight the pair finally meet, hatch a plan to return to their former selves and embroil themselves in a few surprising twists and turns along the way.

Martin Freeman and Rachael Stirling keep up the momentum of this gender-swap comedy in the series's penultimate episode. It's easy enough to catch up with the plot: DIY store worker Danny (Freeman) and fashion writer Veronica (Stirling) have swapped bodies after a freak electrical storm. This week, Danny is carted off to a mental health unit after she announces at work that she is not Veronica, but a man named Danny.