Terry Scott

Sussex has been a magnet for the comedy greats

Today's Timeout focuses on a group of comedians who came to Sussex many times throughout their careers, spanning the 50s, 60s and 70s.

The originalDanger Mouse was an Eighties cartoon on ITV that was essentially a rough parody of James Bond. DM, with his eye patch and his flying car, was charged with saving the world from a large toady Blofeld called Baron Greenback. David Jason used to voice the mouse with Terry Scott as Penfold. Now Alexander Armstrong is "DM" and the comedian Kevin Eldon as Penfold the hamster.

I also wondered what children would make of Danger Mouse v2.0's narrative style, which was so self-reflexive and knowing that at times it was like an episode of Sherlock. "Now, the world's 12th greatest sidekick Penfold will speak the first line of the new series," said our narrator early on, before going on to point out the show's improbabilities, saying "I'm sure the writers will have perfectly reasonable answers to these questions."

But just when I was about to get really angry about what had been done to another childhood memory I went back and watched a few vintage DMs. It turned out they were all pretty arch too.

My instinct was that all of this would go way over the heads of my kids, who tend to laugh at pratfalls and fart gags (and I hardly need stress that I have no idea where they got that from). But I have a feeling that the wordiness and the ironic humour seeps in. That might be one reason why I remember Danger Mouse fondly without, until this week, being quite sure what it was that I fondly remembered.

Radio Times review

I know, Citizen Khan is puerile and silly, and possibly promotes unhelpful stereotypes. I'm in no position to comment on the latter (Khan is created and played by British Muslim Adil Ray), but in comedy terms, I love its old-school innocence.

Khan is every fumbling sitcom man-child since Terry Scott in Terry and June (which Citizen Khan resembles), a buffoon surrounded by sensible women. There is nothing sophisticated here, it's not Veep or Modern Family.

This is a very British comedy. Khan gets into scrapes because of his own stupidity, arrogance or overweening ego. He tries to get out of them, and digs himself deeper into the mud. It's a pantomime and its laughs are broad.

In the first of a new series, Khan tries to stop his wife's mother from going to live in a care home. But only because he thinks she's worth £25,000.

Lost episode of Hugh And I Spy recovered

A lost episode of Hugh And I Spy - featuring popular 1960s TV double-act Terry Scott and Hugh Lloyd - has been recovered.

They are the "most gregarious, garrulous, gorgeous creatures in the history of British theatre", says Michael Grade of the pantomime dame as he takes a tour through the character's history on stage. "It all depends on the eyes and knees," says one observer, of someone who can be "motherly, vain, outrageous and anarchic". Grade looks back to the pantomime productions of the 19th century and to vintage performances by Terry Scott and Arthur Askey. In the company of Richard Briers and Berwick Kaler, the latter having played the part for 30 years at York's Theatre Royal, Grade discovers why the dame has proved so popular.

"I never touched your mother until after we were married," announces Alf Garnett. "Well after," adds his wife.

Sex and the Sitcom was all very enjoyable but over far too quickly. Provide your own punchline.

Narrated by Madeline Smith, the cause of erotic frenzy in many a seventies sitcom male - and my adolescent self - the documentary chronicled sexual mores and manners in the UK as reflected in its situation comedies.

Frustration featured quite prominently, as did inadequacy, embarrassment and anxiety, mostly located in male characters like Rigsby, Reginald Perrin and Hancock. Even the arrival of the permissive society failed to loosen the British sitcom's stays, although the programme did find a bizarre and disturbing clip featuring Terry Scott and June Whitfield planning an orgy.

For years the only man seen revelling in the physical delights of the opposite sex was Frankie Howerd in Up Pompeii, testament to what a fine actor he was.

When sex itself eventually made an appearance it was women characters who were invariably in the vanguard - the insatiable Dorian from Birds Of A Feather, Mildred trying to seduce George, Miss Jones' pursuit of Phillip in Rising Damp.

Leslie Phillips did play a sexually predatory man in Casanova '73, but public outrage caused it to lose its prime time spot after three episodes. The sitcom male has remained resolutely inadequate ever since.

Miranda really shouldn't work. If it were any more mired in Seventies sitcom cliches it would feature Terry Scott and June Whitfield in a shop called Grace Brothers.

It's also terribly blighted by awful canned laughter and comedy signposts probably visible from Mars. Yet, despite all this, Miranda is occasionally very funny indeed. This is mostly down to Miranda Hart's bravery. How many 6ft 1in women would write a scene in which they're running down the road in ill-fitting underwear and flesh-cloured tights?

It's Hart's heart that makes Miranda so endearing. And because she falls over a lot and is oddly reminiscent of Frankie Howerd.

The first in this second series sees her trying to get over the departure of her improbably handsome boyfriend by becoming the type of woman 'who just grabs a wheatgerm smoothie in between work and going out because that's enough to keep her going even though she went for a jog at lunchtime - and enjoyed it.' At this point mum (Patricia Hodge) pipes up: 'Darling, I'm putting on a whites wash - if your pants are dirty, pop them off and I'll pop them in.' Miranda shouldn't work but somehow it does.

Latterly remembered for looking vaguely appalled as Terry Scott's deckchair collapsed, or for some deliciously acid exchanges in Ab Fab ("In this body there is a thin person dying to get out." "Just the one, dear?"), there's more to June Whitfield than just a succession of second fiddles. Covering her West End debut during the Blitz, to her postwar heyday (Tony Hancock, Frankie Howerd) and beyond, this is a charming celebration of her career.