Richard Wilson, actor, director and possibly the nation's favourite fictional grouse, got so fed up with being greeted with his One Foot in the Grave TV catchline "I don't believe it!" that he's now been persuaded to launch his "radiography". It's a heady mix of the actual with the fictional, written by Jon Canter, starring Wilson and a starry roster of support which includes John Sessions, David Tennant and Arabella Weir. Unpick the facts (Wilson is unmarried, private, passionate about theatre, politics and Manchester United) from the mischievous fantasies.

But does he mean it? He turns his Victor Meldrew catchphrase "I don't believe it!" on its head in his four-part "celebrity radiography" Believe It!, in which he laces alleged reminiscences with unlikely tales and a certain surreal logic.

Playing himself - with some assistance from his "ghost writer" Jon Canter and actors including David Tennant and John Sessions - Wilson claims that he never drank because a traumatic childhood experience suggested that alcohol was indelibly associated with truth and death. "What could be more scary?"

These picaresque memoirs also reveal how Wilson caused George Best to miss a penalty, and why a car journey with Sir Laurence Olivier ensured that his confirmed tipple would be elderflower cordial ... Or so he says.

For the first time in six years, The Comic Strip, the comedy which was broadcast on Channel 4's opening night, returns with a film noir spoof on former Prime Minister Tony Blair.

Stephen Mangan played the PM, who finds himself on the run from Inspector Hutton (Robbie Coltrane), who arrests him for a murder Blair claims he didn't commit. During his attempt to escape the law he pushes an Old Labour tramp off a train (Ross Noble), kills a spookily accurate predictor of the future (Rik Mayall) and ends up in bed with Baroness Thatcher (Jennifer Saunders).

This episode features some great performances, from Mangan as Blair, Saunders as Thatcher, Harry Enfield as an "f-word" fuelled Alistair Campbell (still think Malcolm Tucker is the better, ruder and funnier spin doctor), and Nigel Planer's spooky reincarnation of Peter Mandelson. There were plenty of laughs to be had, especially if you're a film noir fan; for example, Rik Mayall's Professor Predictor is a clear parody of Mr. Memory from Hitchcock's The 39 Steps.

There were also actual moments of tension. My favourite bit in the episode featured Blair in Thatcher's mansion, preparing to change for dinner and being told by the butler Tebbit (John Sessions) not to look in a cupboard. Blair obviously does and out of it pops the rotting skeleton body of Dennis Thatcher.

If I were to have any complaints about this programme, it would be that Tony Blair doesn't seem to be that much of a current satirical subject to mock. Not only is Blair no longer Prime Minister, he wasn't even our last Prime Minister. We've had two different people in the position since he's left. If this was made while Blair was still in power it would have had a much bigger impact.

Biting political satire has never really been The Comic Strip's main selling point.

But films such as a "A Fistful Of Travellers' Cheques" or "Five Go Mad In Dorset", which took the mickey out of spaghetti westerns and Enid Blyton novels, proved that you don't always need a big target to score a cracking comedy bullseye.

Their latest effort - the first for six years - is a peculiar, stylish mishmash that re-imagines the Iraq Inquiry as a black and white film noir. ­Unfortunately, not all of it works, perhaps because their confusing vision of the 1960s contains songs from both The Beatles and Duran Duran.

That said, Stephen Mangan - of Green Wing and Alan Partridge fame - makes a surprisingly plausible stand-in for the former, guitar-strumming Prime Minister who, very much like Corrie's John Stape, becomes an almost accidental serial killer.

As the bodies pile up, he's pursued by a pair of policemen played by Robbie Coltrane and The ­Inbetweeners' James Buckley, all the while ­maintaining an air of innocence.

There's no appearances from ­stalwarts such as Dawn French or Adrian Edmondson this time around, but Jennifer Saunders pops in with another take on Margaret Thatcher.

We also have Rik Mayall playing a music-hall psychic who makes uncanny predictions about weapons of mass destruction, Peter Richardson, who also directs, pops up as George Bush in gangster mode, and Nigel Planer simply IS Peter Mandelson.

The joke seems to be not how much the actors look like the people they're supposed to be playing, rather how much they don't.

You'd never guess in a million years that John Sessions is supposed to be Norman Tebbit, for instance.

So as The Comic Strip has been revived, it makes a certain sense that the result is a decade-mashing melange which tells a warped version of Tony Blair's PM years, taking place in an anachronistic Britain which looks like the 1950s, ripping off The 39 Steps, Sunset Boulevard, The Godfather and, understandably, The Comic Strip themselves. Or rather, Peter Richardson, for though never reaching the same heights as his former colleagues, the director pretty much was The Comic Strip. He's brought back some of the old crew, including Rik Mayall, Robbie Coltrane, Nigel Planer and John Sessions.

For some, the intentionally over the top nonsense of Blair going on the run from 'Inspector Hutton of Scotland Yard' after faking evidence for the Iraq War - complete with lines like "It felt like the whole world was against me, apart from Barbara Windsor of course" - will not be enough to excuse the spoof from its nastier accusations: Blair's shown murdering John Smith and Robin Cook, while Thatcher (played by Jennifer Saunders, naturally) is a monstrous Norma Desmond luring him to bed.

Yes, this isn't exactly sophisticated satire, but it is surprisingly funny in places, with Stephen Mangan capturing Blair's wide-eyed insouciance. While it references the 50s visually, it actually evokes nostalgia for the 80s, when having a childish pop at the people in power felt dangerous - like it could genuinely change things. And the darkest comic line is a real one: "Hey, in the end, only God and history can judge me," says Tony.

Weird, isn't it, that on the same night that My Family, BBC1's old-style sitcom about the comic domestic trials of the middle-class Harper family, quietly shuffles off TV's mortal coil the new series of Outnumbered, BBC1's semi-improvisational and much more realistic domestic comedy about the middle-class Brockman family, starts a new series.

Over the previous three series the show's young stars have honed their adult-baiting antics to perfection, while the weary, defeated or bemused expressions on the faces of Claire Skinner and Hugh Dennis ring ever more true. The family are attending Uncle Bob's funeral in this episode. "The important thing to remember is that it's not a sad day," Sue tries to tell Karen, who very reasonably retorts, "Well, it is for Uncle Bob." Ben, meanwhile, insists he's been to a cremation before - except Pete points out that it was actually a hog roast. Not surprisingly, the vicar (John Sessions) wishes they'd never come.

Just in time to replace My Family, the popular sitcom about the chaotic Brockman family returns for its fourth series. This opening episode sees a family funeral, so parents Pete and Sue (the suitably beleaguered Hugh Dennis and Claire Skinner) must decide which of their unruly brood to take along. John Sessions pops up in an amusing cameo as the vicar. It might be lighter on laughs than a truly top-drawer sitcom, but it's charming stuff and you can see why it wins awards, mainly thanks to the children's semi-improvised performances.

John Sessions guest stars as a vain Shakespearean scholar in this fourth and final episode of the BBC's latest adaptation of Richmal Crompton's Just William stories. He arrives at William's school armed with a copy of Hamlet and a plan for an annual Shakespeare competition which, needless to say, goes awry thanks to the intervention of a certain young boy. There are a few amusing set-pieces (such as when William, played by Outnumbered's Daniel Roche, takes to the stage with a patchily memorised but nevertheless rousing version of the "To be or not to be" speech) but alas the episode lacks the effortless charm of Crompton's original story.

Return of Alistair Beaton and Tom Mitchelson's satire on the modern-day world of newspapers. It's not "hold the front page" any more, but rather "how many hits did that make on the website?" Yet everyone needs news and the electronic media still need print to feed from. So here's Oliver (Alex Jennings) sitting in the editor's chair, old school ace reporter Maddox (John Sessions) still turning up the splash stories but needing support from web whizz Freddy (Stephen Wight) who's really a posh lad (and rich with it) but talks street lingo for extra cred.

This is the Drop the Dead Donkey de nos jours: the divide in the paper's newsroom between the been-there-done-that- wrote-the-original-headline old hack and the ice-cool-stab-you-in-the-back-as- soon-as-look-at-you thrusting young turk is as vast as the print-run for the Radio Times Christmas double issue. You don't have to have worked as a journalist to find this funny. The writing is tight, the characters astutely observed and the situation comedy inclusive. John Sessions is particularly good as the disgruntled hack in a plot that sees him gain revenge on all via a whelk stand in Essex.