Sean Lock

Ideal, the tale of shut-in drug dealer Moz (Johnny Vegas) began its sixth series last night with Moz apparently being decapitated by PC Phil. From there, things unfolded with their usual skill, with Vegas's beautiful, idiosyncratic brand of melancholic comedy infusing everything. It now comes with added Sean Lock - as Brian's ex- and now transgendered wife. Rich, dark and satisfying as best plum cake.

With a plot line that's bound to be nicked by CSI if they haven't already used it - a cunning twister involving a beheading that turns out to be a case of mistaken identity - Ideal (BBC3) returned for a stoned-out-of-its-brain sixth series. Who'd have thought there'd be so much mileage in Johnny Vegas as a deadbeat drug dealer?

It probably helps if you're under some kind of influence in order to stomach scenes where Vegas gets pleasured, but once you've drifted into Ideal's alternative world of bong, it offers a smorgasbord of surreal pleasures, not least answering the troubling conundrum of what Sean Lock would look like if he sported a pair of fake breasts. Well, it had troubled me.

"Huh, huh, huh, huh," is the first thing you hear, the unmistakeable laugh of Tommy Cooper, comedian, magician, a man so funny that you just had to see him to start laughing. Eric Morecambe wouldn't go on the stage after him, says Barry Cryer, one of the many stars who line up here to remember a unique giant of light entertainment. He died in 1984 but memories of him are still vivid. His humour wasn't in the joke, says producer Royston Mayoh, but the delivery of it, and it lives on today through the internet. Sean Lock, comedian, presents.

If you can find a gap between football games this week, the last of Micky Flanagan's series What Chance Change is well worth a listen. Partly recorded at his standup gigs, partly in conversation with his family and friends, Flanagan has charted his life from Billingsgate fish market to middle-class delis. This week, he chatted to Sean Lock and considered middle age - thankfully managing to swerve Grumpy Old Men territory.

There were some great lines on Bruce Forsyth: A Comedy Roast last week. For those who aren't familiar with this largely Yank tradition, it's when a decrepit entertainer is celebrated and mercilessly teased in equal measure by his peers.

"And we've got a list of celebrities here tonight that literally reads like a who's who of who was available," said Jimmy Carr, kicking off proceedings. "Many say a knighthood for Bruce is long overdue, after all, so many of his contemporaries have already been honoured," he added. "Lancelot, Galahad..."

But the best lines came from Sean Lock who had a pop at the 82-year-old, doddery-dubbed Strictly host who lives at a mansion in a secluded part of Surrey. "So secluded it seems that even The Grim Reaper can't find it," Lock joshed. "I mean, at your age it's fine to wander into your kitchen and wonder, 'What did I come in here for'? But it's not so great on live telly, Bruce," he added.

Sean Lock says that he was reluctant to appear on this show. "I knew I'd have to write jokes about Chris Tarrant," he says. "Can you imagine a more barren, uninspiring, emaciated topic than that? I'd rather perform an hour of new material about pylons to a submarine crew after the stripper had cancelled." But after he has set the tone at the start of the programme, there are some wonderful contributions during the evening. Jamie Theakston is unwittingly hilarious because of his inability to read an autocue and Terry Wogan (who says that Tarrant is "always drunk and nobody likes him") gives a masterclass in comic timing. Mind you, Tarrant gives as good as he gets. His performance at the end proves that you don't work in television for more than 30 years without developing impregnable self-assurance.

Sean Lock begins by claiming he didn't want to be on because there's "no more tedious and emaciated subject for comedy than Chris Tarrant. I'd rather perform a set about pylons to a submarine crew after their stri p per has cancelled." Terry Wogan steals the show with one line, however.

My reviewer's DVD of the first of Channel 4's enterprising Comedy Roast was incomplete. It lacked a title sequence and, at the end, a caption read "CRAWLER CREDITS". But there were no crawlers to credit. Perhaps for the first time on British television the showbiz mafia came not to praise but to bury one of its godfathers. Still, as with the best man's speech, the tone is hard to get right. On The Larry Sanders Show the fictional chat show host was rendered suicidal by his friends' merciless "tributes". You don't want that. But you do want some of the barbs to hurt.

Bruce Forsyth's age was a subject of jokes back in his 1970s heyday and, even though, at 82, they are rather more acute now, they are still more affectionate than cruel. Jimmy Carr, the show's MC, led the way with them - Brucie was the first in his community to walk upright and use tools etc - but it was Jonathan Ross who took on Forsyth's real vulnerability: his marital record. Doing a passable Brucie impression, Ross mimicked him saying "I've told my wife we are working late, so we have ten minutes for a quickie, Anthea." Anthea Redfern, The Generation Game's lovely hostess, was to become, younger viewers may not know, the second, but not last, Mrs F.

He was not thanked for his efforts, even though Wilnelia Forsyth, herself, pointedly mentioned her husband's three wives. It was a deadly reminder of how lonely it is when you fall from favour as Ross, following the Andrew Sachs debacle, clearly has. Sean Lock was surprised Ross had turned up in person "because normally if you want to insult an elderly national treasure, you do it on the phone". That was good but it was Forsyth himself who did most damage. Eric Morecambe would have ripped into Ross ("I am sure he would," said Ross glumly). Ross was "all washed up and not even 50"£. The Ross-hating press has been accused of hyping Forsyth's attack but I think Ross had got to him, and for that he should be congratulated. A well-concealed side of Forsyth was briefly exposed.

It's a fate you wouldn't wish on your own worst enemy: Bruce Forsyth must have done something very bad in a former life to have his recent gruesome grilling by Piers Morgan, a man who insists on probing where no one wants to go, swiftly followed by the undercooked fawn-fest that was Bruce Forsyth: A Comedy Roast.

Starting with the dreaded words 'please welcome your host... Jimmy Carr!', a phrase guaranteed to have me instantly gagging (but not in a good way), C4's resident Smug MC, a ventriloquist's doll in human form, launched into his unique brand of makes-you-want-to-slap-him charm. 'A roast is like good-natured bullying,' he smirked. 'Good-natured in that it's happening to someone else, not you.' Unbelievably it was downhill from there, a gruesome selection of backslapping/stabbing blokes taking turns to out un-funny each other. Jonathan Ross started off with his tired effing and blinding routine, clearly miffed he wasn't talking about his favourite subject (himself). No, he was there to dishonour Bruczie, so what did Ross's rapier-like wit conjure up? No idea, it was instantly forgettable, other than setting up the night's weary theme: wow, Bruce Forsyth is, like, really old. He's done lots of dodgy gameshows. And he's got a chin. And a beautiful wife. Satire it wasn't.

Jimmy Hill's chin twin guffawed through gritted teeth throughout, taking it on the proverbial. But his lizard-like stare needed double-glazing to get through the kill-the-room combo of Bruno Tonioli and Arlene Phillips, whose contribution was up there with such classic double acts as Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood and Rula Lenska and George Galloway for making you want to stab your eyes out.

All this crackling-free, toothless 'roast' proved was that the more people ho think they are funny there are in a room, the less likely you are to have a laugh. Only Sean Lock emerged with dignity intact but his best line - a dig about being surprised that Ross turned up in person instead of persecuting a national treasure by phone - was all over the trailers, so you'd heard it anyway. Next up it's Sharon Osbourne then Chris Tarrant - truly, C4, you are spoiling us.

Great Ormond Street Hospital is the recipient of this fundraising gala - the biggest live stand-up concert in UK history. And they couldn't have asked for more from the roster of stars who each donated five minutes last week at London's O2 Arena. Some hefty editing will be needed to get this show down to the two-hour running time it's been allotted and if the rude bits from Jonathan Ross and Mark Watson end up on the cutting room floor, then they may survive in the DVD which goes on sale on April 26.

Among those who'll definitely make the cut are, in no particular order, Michael McIntyre, Jack Dee, Bill Bailey, Kevin Eldon, Jason Manford, Jo Brand, Sean Lock and Noel Fielding.

The evening opens with a raucous dance number from Stomp and closes with a legendary performance from Lee Evans, looking the grand old man of stand-up in every sense.