Reggie Yates

It's not often you see Frank Skinner completely lost for words. So full marks to Miranda Hart for reducing him and her male fellow panellists to utter embarrassment with her unexpected nomination for a pet hate to consign to Room 101.

The re-imagined format is the same as it was last year when Frank Skinner stepped into Paul Merton's shoes. Three guests compete to have items in particular categories sent to pretend oblivion. Presenters John Craven and Reggie Yates also gamely do the business tonight. But it's a tougher gig than it looks.

The secret to being a really good Room 101 guest is being able to be amusingly irate about some quite trivial detail of modern life, without tipping over the edge into actual, genuine, scary anger.

The late Peter Cook calmly pointing to the mind-numbing dullness of the countryside - "has this film been speeded up?" - is still the gold standard by which all guests will be judged and Reggie Yates, bless him, is no Peter Cook. But then how het up is it possible to get about the existence of yogurt drinks?

It's hardly a dream line-up to kick off the new series of the Frank Skinner-steered Room 101: Reggie Yates, Miranda Hart and John Craven. It's a kind of post-Cameron vision of Middle England - a well-spoken young black man, a well-spoken, sexually unthreatening woman and a well-spoken John Craven, the Hawkshead catalogue of broadcasting.

Predictably, none of this lot has anything much to get worked up about: it's difficult to imagine any of them getting worked up about much ever, but really it's the format that's at fault. Room 101 doesn't work as a panel show: it needs individuals to warm to their theme, then accidentally-on-purpose reveal a colossal, Kenneth Williams-style inner Looney Tunes life. It also leaves Skinner with little to do, though he does manage to get in a decent gag about the Nazis to remind people that there are whole dark volumes of his comedy that rarely get opened these days, especially on the BBC.

ITV2 has axed university comedy drama series Trinity after one series. The eight-part series, which starred Christian Cooke and Reggie Yates, opened to 596k viewers last September.

"We wanted to try something different but it didn't work," an insider told The Sun. Speaking in August, the controller of ITV2 and acquisitions Zai Bennett praised the programme but said that ratings had not matched expectations for the expensive drama.

"It did really well, half a million as an average," he said. "But that's not quite enough to bring it back. It's a terribly expensive show - £3 or £4 million out of what is overall a small budget."

ITV2 is not interested in family audiences. It just wants the under-34s. Last night it aimed for them with a comedy drama that predicts or recalls the terror of your first term at university. The eponymous Oxbridge-style college in Trinity contains plenty to be scared of. It is run by a sinister snob played with lethal silkiness by Charles Dance who keeps a troll-like boffin called Linus working on a secret necromancy project. Scarier than them, however, are the students, hoorays whose eccentricities stretch from hooting at jokes in Latin to having sex with their cousins. In the opener's best scene, Trinity's version of the Bullingdon Club hold a Feast of Fools in which two gullible proles are volunteered to prance around the party in their underpants as court jesters under the impression that this is a good way to meet girls.

Into this madhouse arrive the pleb freshers Theo (Reggie Yates), who is not averse to finding a way into some posh knickers, Maddy (Elen Rhys), who is daffy and Welsh, and Charlotte (Antonia Bernath) who is a Christian but otherwise normal and whose father has just been killed. The characters are well drawn, the plot is ingenious, the sex is raunchy and the look is opulent. But Trinity has about half as many jokes as it needs. If ever a script needed punching up, it was this one.