Maurice Gran

Birds Of A Feather, which began in 1989, has been away from our screens for 15 years. The trio of smashing actresses who carry the show - Linda Robson, Pauline Quirke and Lesley Joseph - must have been preserved in aspic, because none of them looks any older than they did in the Nineties.

The big change here is that Birds was always a BBC comedy. After the sitcom's West End stage success, writers Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran approached the corporation and were told, implausibly, that Auntie's policy is never to do revivals.

That makes little sense, when you consider that the BBC's most popular drama, Doctor Who, lay dormant for more than a decade before being revived.

Anyway, it's the Beeb's loss, because Birds was as funny and edgy as ever. Sex-mad Dorian had reinvented herself as an erotic author called Foxey Cohen, Tracy was a single mum again and Sharon was still boiling with working-class indignation.

'Mr Cameron says we're all in this together,' she grumbled, 'so how come I never bump into him down by the bins?'

Paul Jackson, great practical grammarian of British television, on how Alan Simpson and Ray Galton's comedy characters, born on a BBC pilot programme in 1962, ruled the airwaves for 13 years after (with native versions in America, Sweden and Holland) and have influenced other British writers over several generations. Simpson and Galton join him, as do Maurice Gran and Laurence Marks of Birds of a Feather, Rob Grant and Doug Naylor of Red Dwarf, as well as Peter Flannery of Our Friends in the North.

Curb Your Judaism saw David Schneider ponder why Britain's Jewish comics often avoid looking to their religious background for material, unlike their opposite numbers across the pond.

This was a hotchpotch of a documentary with different contributors - among them David Baddiel, Matt Lucas and writers Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran - all offering their thoughts on why Jewish humour has largely stayed in the closet. Could it be the effect of political correctness? The performer's fear of being pigeonholed and not making the mainstream? It wasn't clear whether the programme sufficiently answered any of these questions. Perhaps placing the debate in some kind of historical and/or social context would have helped as well as hearing the thoughts of the American performers mentioned.

Sullivan's genius shames today's comics - Maurice Gran

Like everyone involved in British television - and countless viewers - I was shocked and saddened to hear of the untimely death of John Sullivan, who passed away at the age of 64 after a six-week bout of viral pneumonia.

There weren't many duff notes in Friends, the slick NBC sitcom that ran and ran from 1994 to 2004 and, for those of us with homes full of teenagers, is still running and running. But one of its duffest notes was the casting of Helen Baxendale to play Ross's British wife, Emily. Nothing against Baxendale, but amid all that sassy American humour, she seemed as flaccidly English as a stale Rich Tea biscuit surrounded by freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

In fairness, that was kind of the point; we weren't meant to warm to Emily. And Baxendale, deliberately, didn't get many killer lines. But it wasn't just that; whip-smart, wisecracking American humour just doesn't sound right emerging from a British mouth. For the same reason, Daphne Moon (Jane Leeves) was my least favourite character in the otherwise sublime Frasier. It's not that British actors aren't capable of wonderful TV comedy, just that the dialogue in the best US sitcoms is rooted in New York-Jewish traditions of razor-sharp put-downs and one-liners. Think Woody Allen and Neil Simon. On British television, comic dialogue has a different rhythm.

Anyway, all of this brings me to Episodes, in which Matt LeBlanc (dim, amiable Joey in Friends) plays a heightened version of himself in the latest example of what is rapidly becoming a TV genre all of its own: celebrities indulging in a game of double-bluff with us, playing themselves as slightly more neurotic and prima donna-ish than they actually are, which of course suggests that they're not neurotic prima donnas at all. Steve Coogan did this beautifully in The Trip recently, as did Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm. In Episodes, it is LeBlanc's turn. He plays Matt LeBlanc, hugely rich and successful thanks to Friends, who to the horror of married British comedy writers Beverly and Sean (Tamsin Greig and Stephen Mangan) is cast as the lead in the US version of their hit UK show. They wanted their British lead, a fruity RSC type called Julian (Richard Griffiths). But they get LeBlanc.

So far, so good. It's a great idea, with great opening credits: a script flying from London to LA. And there are certainly precedents for television successfully turning a mirror on itself; The Larry Sanders Show of blessed memory did it exquisitely. Moreover, there's something painfully real about British comedy writers being lured to LA by the sweet blandishments of network bosses and the promise of a Spanish-style hacienda in Beverly Hills, only for the semi-detached back in Chiswick to seem even more alluring once the dream starts to sour. You should hear the British writing duo Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran, who did the whole hacienda thing, on the subject. Yet I find myself unable to give a fat thumbs-up after the opening Episodes, and the problem lies with Greig and Mangan, or at least with their script. In a British context, they're both terrific comic performers. Greig was pitch-perfect as the hapless heroine in David Renwick's wonderful Love Soup. But here, trading waspish one-liners in the land of Jack Benny and George Burns, they seemed out of place. And although that's the whole point - that they are out of place - they should at least be talking like Brits, not Americans.

Still, it's early days. I have a feeling that Episodes will get better the more LeBlanc gets involved. And there have already been some lovely gags, like the friskiness that gripped Beverly and Sean when they saw that the vast bath in their rented Beverly Hills home could easily accommodate both of them, only for it to wear off while they waited for the damn thing to fill.

Maurice Gran: All I want is the return of decent TV

Television used to bind us together at this time of the year. However, I fear that's no longer the case.

A toast to the LAST of the Summer Wine

Well, now we know: the last case of the Summer Wine - just half-a-dozen bottles - will be opened and consumed later this year, and then that vintage will be gone forever.

Our grey world does not exist except in the imagination of the blue people. A startling statement, perhaps, but to those who heard the first two instalments of Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran's My Blue Heaven trilogy the concept should be familiar. To all others, welcome to the Douglas Adams-esque world of Graham Slater (Stephen Mangan), who is employed by his childhood imaginary friend, Mr Fluffy, a blue creature now known as Lapis Lazuli. He has to rid his friend's dimension of poisonous cash from the toxic debts that caused the global recession. Keeping up? Good, because this is brilliant stuff, full of neat wordplay and wonderful characters: Graham's indomitable mother (Phyllida Law) and her improbable stories; the child-like Mr Fluffy; and the steely, honey-voiced tax officer. Top marks (and Gran, too).

Yes, Porridge WAS the greatest show ever

An affectionate tribute from the creator of Birds of a Feather.

Greedy? Pah! Our rotten MPs weren't claiming nearly ENOUGH! says Alan B'Stard

He's one of the vilest comic creations of all time - Alan B'Stard, the venal and lecherous Tory MP played by Rik Mayall in the TV satire The New Statesman. Now, as MPs are finally held to account, Alan is back. In this article (written with a little help from the show's co-creator Maurice Gran), he has a few proposals of his own...