London Irish

How the Irish sitcom took over telly

The Emerald Isle has been making the world laugh for forever, but a recent wave of comedies have found a new level of success. Ellie Harrison meets the stars behind them, including Sharon Horgan and Domhnall Gleeson, to find out why Ireland does dark humour best.

C4 drops sitcom London Irish

The channel told Broadcast that it has no plans to move forward with the series, which ran for six episodes in autumn 2013.

DVD review: London Irish

A crude, witless sitcom that swaps lovably daft characters for crass stereotypes and creative silliness for tedious blarney.

This portrayal of hard-living Irish friends in London has done nothing to dispel stereotypes about the drinking habits of Emerald Isle expats, and this penultimate episode offers more of the same. Post-St Patrick's Day, the friends find themselves hungover with no idea where they are. Packy (Peter Campion) is in pain; the menacing Aoife keeps calling him and there's an old woman lying unconscious nearby. Niamh finds a clue in the form of a photo of the gang along with Aoife ... and Riverdance legend Michael Flatley. Racy, insalubrious fun.

After disappearing for a week, Conor turns up at the flat having married a Mexican called Maria. He's punching very much above his weight. Niamh, on the other hand, is having less luck in affairs of the heart, trying as she (aggressively) might to deflower her devout, virginal boyfriend using as many filthy phrases to describe the physical act of love as she can summon along the way. Meanwhile, Bronagh gets a blast from the past in the form of Caoimhe, a girl from school she once knitted a single leg warmer for. Long story.

London Irish (Channel 4), a comedy about a bunch of young people from Northern Ireland living in the capital, kinda This Life for the 21st century (less posh, more rude, more regional) - probably cost about a 10th of what The Wrong Mans cost. It's set in a few rooms - the bedroom, the bar, that kind of thing - and you might not recognise anyone in it. But it's about eight times better. Because it's bold, and filthy, and a little bit anarchic, written with balls (by Lisa McGee). And it has some brilliant lines, like: "It looks like you were sexually assaulting my boyfriend's corpse" (she was). The Daily Mail hates it: that's good enough for me.

After some considerable drinking at a wedding, Bronagh awakes having stolen the bride's dress and, seemingly, a toddler. Fortunately, it's not a predicament that a few more drinks won't sort out. Meanwhile, Packy finds himself shackled to his bed at the hands of his terrifying ex-girlfriend, Steph, who believes they're an item again. To make matters worse, he now has his eye on Ciara, whose boyfriend Dermot has recently died. It's complicated, and during one scene in particular, deeply wrong. Funny, though.

This episode was originally scheduled to go out as part of an opening double bill last week, which would have made more sense. Not much could better give you a taste for this rollickingly daft sitcom (or put you off for good) than the bizarre plot involving a beer-drinking toddler, a twit who keeps saying 'literally' and someone kissing a corpse. If it doesn't revolt you, it will make you laugh a lot.

Tonight's second episode of London Irish begins in the hazy aftermath of a wedding party. Sinead Keenan's Bronagh has woken up to find a small boy in her bed. 'We didn't?' she gasps. 'Did we?' Try cracking that gag with the gender roles reversed.

As you might have gathered, London Irish makes a virtue of pushing its luck. Whether it's more than just Two Pints of Lager... with a Parental Advisory sticker worn as a badge of honour remains to be seen. But is it worth sticking around to find out? Actually, you could do worse. What saves London Irish is the chemistry of the cast: twentysomething London caners have been done to death, but there's a charm to the lead quartet that makes this slip down pretty easily.

Review: London Irish - so boring it's offensive

Not once did I laugh. Not once did I dare even raise a chuckle in sympathy. What's worse, I didn't care at all for any of the characters, neither the mean one, the stupid one, the well-meaning one, or the other stupid one.