David Stubbs

There's been room for a while in the schedules for a show that reflects the relentless mickey-taking that bonds groups of young males, and this is it. Set in Stockport, amid the world of pub outings, iffy jobs and the faintest hint of recession, it's cheery, cosy stuff, driven by a frantic banjo soundtrack and the assurance of Ricky Tomlinson as the pub landlord. Tonight, our four lads plan a night out, but it's Hodge who literally draws the short straw after a drink-spiking caper goes wrong, forcing him to stand in as chauffeur to a local hardman's drunken girlfriend.

John Bishop's new vehicle is a resolutely family-friendly throwback to the days of The Comedians, when TV standup was a relentless stream of "fella-walked-into-a-bar" jokes that steadfastly avoided any reference to life as actually lived. A cast of thousands are involved, including celebrities from Ricky Hatton and Robbie Williams to ordinary folk, telling creaky jokes that at least crease them up. All this is peppered with occasional pellets of non-abrasive observational humour from smirk-merchants such as Jason Manford.

It's Christmas Eve, the biggest shopping day of the year at Valco supermarket, and it falls to manager Gavin to rouse his staff to the task of keeping up with demand for sprouts, port and Stilton. However, there's a grinch in the works: rival store manager Warren Clarke, determined to secure the most takings on the big day by foul means. Clarke, like Jane Horrocks as the lovelorn assistant manager, delivers a better performance than the tepid script and characterisation merit.

As ever in these media-saturated times, there is plenty for Charlie Brooker to sink his satirical teeth into over the last 12 months, though for once, not all of it has been bad. He'll be reflecting on the Olympics, the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, the jailing of members of Pussy Riot and, of course, the US presidential election in which the Republicans both scared us and added to the gaiety of nations. Limmy, Sharon Horgan and Peter Serafinowicz also contribute.

This comedy drama has delivered record-breaking ratings for Sky Arts, hopefully as a result of its excellence as an adaptation of Mikhail Bulgakov's short stories as well as the celebrity of Daniel Radcliffe and Jon Hamm, both also superb. In tonight's final episode, the Doctor's morphine addiction, an inevitable response to a snowbound life in which every knock at the door brings a fresh hell, becomes overwhelming. The series' triumphant tragi-hilarious balance is particularly well struck in the incident of the husband with the dazzling trousers.

Set in Russia in 1917 and based on the short stories of Mikhail Bulgakov, this might seem like a bleak prospect but far from it; starring Daniel Radcliffe as a doctor working in a small village at the start of the revolution and Jon Hamm as his older self in the Stalin era, this is very funny indeed in its bleakly provincial way, with echoes of The Irish RM and Blackadder. "We have a lot of fun round here," one of Radcliffe's new colleagues promises him on arrival. "Only last month I heard a very amusing anecdote." Take his word for it.

Glory of glories, we finally get to hear Kingsley's music tonight, as his girlfriend pressures him into trying out an open-mic night. Unfortunately, his sub-Radiohead stylings are undermined by a strange thing he insists on doing with his neck. Meanwhile, Oregon reveals a surprisingly tuneful aptitude and Kingsley invites her to join forces with him, despite her singer-songwritery warblings being at odds with his own morose style. Elsewhere, Josie keeps up the pretence of going to her seminars each day, though on-street sightings of her lead the house to the wrong conclusion.

Following a malfunction with an Ikea-style flatpack ("I knew those white plastic bits were important!"), the crew find themselves catapulted back to the year AD23 on Earth, where they must make a 4,000-mile trek to India to find the lemons they'll need to make a battery, and in so doing run into a bearded figure who may or may not be Christ on his travels. There remains a hapless amiability about these comedic timeservers, even if it does feel as if, laugh-wise, we are stranded in 1988.

The second series of this sitcom has intimations of a soap; despite being set in the world of espionage, this takes a back seat to day-to-day romantic and family intrigues. A strong cast is headed by Darren Boyd as Tim, whose precocious son Marcus tonight makes his aggressive bid to become school president. Mark Heap is the hapless headmaster, Miles Jupp plays the appalling Owen and Robert Lindsay also features, looking like Jon Culshaw impersonating Alan Sugar. A running joke involving a hooded interrogee is the highlight of this week's silliness.

Starring Sarah Alexander as Gemma, a divorced mum, and Neil Morrissey as her ex-husband, now shacked up with a stern eastern European woman, it may be too early to judge this new sitcom made by an all-female team of writers and producers. Yet the lack of a laugh track is ominously matched by a lack of laughs in this opener, with script and set pieces feeling contrived, as Gemma is caught between dating a leery dad from the school run and experiencing a frisson of desire for her son's best friend.