Ten memorable Room 101 moments

As host Frank Skinner announces that 'Room 101 is dead', we look back at some memorable moments from the show

Sarah Millican's whole deal is being quite a bit ruder than she looks like she's going to be. This works well for a stand-up, but it's a modus operandi that makes her harder to place in a TV setting. This show has the visual trappings of an early evening, shiny-floor affair, but with a mild smut factor more characteristic of the end of the pier.

Perhaps Millican should just go for broke and unleash the full gobshite - she might have to shuffle back to a later spot in the schedules but she'd surely be more comfortable with the situation.

Tonight's third series opener includes some low-level Top Gear baiting, a slightly awkward interview with Bradley Walsh and an encounter with Richard Osman from Pointless ('You filled Anne Robinson's old slot'). Not dislikeable, but still a bit of a muddle.

"No smiling. Not even a wee Anne Robinson. The look we're going for should be solemn respect. Like blokes modelling underpants," scolds Malcom Tucker (Peter Capaldi) to his team in this fifth episode of Armando Iannucci's political comedy series, back after a one-week hiatus. Tonight, Nicola Murray (Rebecca Front) and Peter Mannion (Roger Allam) are both on the back foot after the unravelling of the key-worker housing sell-off policy.

After 11 series between 1994 and 2007, Room 101, the torture chamber containing the most horrendous things in the universe, must already be pretty full.

I imagine it looking a bit like my loft - filled with all that random clutter you don't want but that the binmen won't collect either: BBC2 logos, jellyfish, Anne Robinson, people who look like cats and the year 1975, just for starters.

The revamped Room 101 sees Frank Skinner as the host presiding over three guests, each competing to have their pet hates consigned to pretend oblivion.

It's a good move, ensuring no more of those awkward pauses as guests rack their brains for more hilarious reasons why they can't stand the skin on rice puddings or novelty underpants.

Tonight Robert Webb, Fern Britton and Danny Baker battle it out before Skinner makes his final decree.

Jon Culshaw (Dead Ringers) and Debra Stephenson (Frankie Baldwin in Coronation Street) join forces in this new sketch show featuring their range of almost flawless impersonations. With his brilliant George W Bush on Dead Ringers, Culshaw has already established himself as a John Sessions for the Noughties. It's remarkable, though, that Stephenson hasn't unveiled her impersonating skill until now. She does a mean (in both senses) Anne Robinson, and performs some impressive facial gymnastics as a hyperventilating Davina McCall getting so excited over a bedtime story she ends up upside down. As is eternally the way with these shows, the quality of the jokes lags behind the success of the impressions themselves. The sight of Culshaw and Stephenson as Adrian Chiles and Christine Bleakley on the sofa of The One Show is as banal as the original - though it's made up for by Culshaw's superbly dead-eyed Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall barbecuing a polecat on Autumnwatch in front of Stephenson's Kate Humble. Most impressively of all, Stephenson nails the voices of not just one but both Minogues - Kylie as an irrepressibly sunny little pixie, and Dannii a steely, glacial automaton.

One of the many great things about this venerable Radio 4 panel game is the chance to hear Barry Cryer's fruity chortle. If it were possible for a sound to qualify for 'national treasure' status, his contagious, wheezy wonder of the comedy world definitely would. It makes frequent outings in this marvellously nutty half-hour of fun. Part of BBC4's tribute to Humphrey Lyttelton, it gives us highlights from the ISIHAC stage show, filmed just a few weeks before his death in April. Tim Brooke-Taylor sings Girlfriend in a Coma to the tune of Tiptoe through the Tulips; a totally crackers 'Quiz among Quizzes' puts Anne Robinson firmly in her place; and the late, great Lyttelton dispenses a barrage of beautifully weighted put-downs. It's a fitting send-off for the affable gent who's left a Humph-shaped hole in comedy.