After one last stupe­fyingly unfunny episode, The Royal Bodyguard was consigned to the scrapheap of television history. "I'm afraid I've squashed your sausage sir," spluttered ancient Guy Hubble as the handful of remaining viewers reached for the off switch. Out of respect for Sir David Jason, let us never mention this ­debacle again.

Nice to see Adrian Chiles back making programmes for grown-ups who aren't making breakfast. But what a pity he allowed the first of a new series of That ­Sunday Night Show to be dominated by the preposterous The Only Way Is Essex star Gemma Collins. I'm so sick of being asked to laugh at allegedly lovable dimwits.

The Royal Bodyguard... oh dear. No laughs. With all due respect, national treasure Sir David Jason is simply too old to play ­Buckingham Palace's answer to Inspector Clouseau.

A bumper Boxing Day for BBC1 as eight ­million loyal fans tuned into the great man's first comedy role since Del Boy. But to call this ­swirling mass of ­outdated clichés ­"comedy" was a bit of a stretch. Expect reduced ­ratings for tomorrow's feeble instalment.

Sir David was never famous for physical slapstick. Why try ­playing the clown at the age of 71? He looked like a pensioner in pain.

The alleged humour revolved around ­accidental hero Guy Hubble's undeserved elevation to protecting the Queen. To the ­exasperation of ­everyone except Her Majesty. Hee hee... he's ­hanging from the ­balcony in his ­underpants. Ho ho... he's ­karate chopping an empty suit of armour. Ha ha... he's making a mess of eating a ­lobster. Oh God.

A younger more ­athletic actor might have made it ­slightly funnier. But with such dire material, what would be the point?

British Comedy Awards... definitely no laughing matter

The British Comedy Awards... no laughing ­matter. The most dangerous live TV event of the year? ­Definitely. I came dangerously close to smiling at least once.

I'm trying very hard to admire Charlie Brooker's Channel 4 series Black Mirror. Because I ­gather it's against the luvvie law not to. But, Christ, if last week's snail-paced instalment was any slower it would have been a photograph. Schoolboy satire. With a sledgehammer. ­Sophisticated it ain't.

The end of an error as BBC1's cutting-edge sitcom My Family closed its net curtains for the last time after a ­turbulent decade.

Farewell then the cosy world of loveable eccentric Ben, his long-suffering wife Susan... and their charmingly cheeky children.

Frantic neighbours bursting through the door to howls of canned laughter, ­wisecracking cute kids, crying ­women, bozo blokes...and constant crises about everything apart from money.

No one's life was ever like this. But ­millions of fans tuned in year after year. And - presumably - found it funny. So this much-maligned telly success story doesn't deserve to be mocked.

Friday's final episode fizzled out with the sad saga of cousin Kirsty being dumped by text on her hen night. And Ben's lovelorn chum Roger trying to find his blind date in a crowded ­restaurant by shouting: "Is anyone looking for a Roger?" No ­laughing matter.

But throughout 11 highly professional series Robert Lindsay and Zoe Wanamaker delivered immaculate performances in one of TV's most enduring com­edies.

RIP My Family. Gone but already forgotten.

E4's abysmal ­Beaver Falls was compared to The ­Inbetweeners... presum­ably by someone who has never seen The Inbetweeners.

Leaving no cliché unturned, sex-mad UK students frolic with fat kids at a US summer camp. Pathetic.

Here's a tricky question: Was it humanly possible to make shambolic Show Me The Funny any worse? Answer: Yes... by adding bagpipes.

For some inexplic­able reason the useless wannabe comedians joined the Scots Guards to see if they were any good at military circuit training. They weren't. Who cares?

With hapless host Jason Manford looking more forlorn by the second, venerable veteran Jo Brand suddenly cropped up from nowhere to inform us: "Either you make people laugh or you don't." Memo to the crap contestants... You don't.

Saturday night... The Marriage Ref. Last of the sizzling series. A landmark in television history. Will it come back? No.

But another rare chance to catch ubiquitous guest Sarah Millican and her dreaded Geordie wit. Which used to be quite funny... until she started appearing on every show in town.

"I can't believe you got divorced," gasped witless host Dermot O'Leary. I can. And I'm guessing Sarah's husband saw far too much of her. Like the rest of us.

Similarly over-exposed panel game favourite Micky Flanagan sighed: "I don't know why I'm here." Because Jimmy Carr and Jack Dee weren't around... and it was your turn on the rota. Same old faces... same old jokes.

As always, the ­contestants all loved each other deeply. But had some meaningless minor moan.

A dead show walking right from the start, this pointless pap was so ­stunningly dull it was shunted to a late night timeslot. Due to total lack of interest.

Show Me The Funny was a shambles that looked like it was being hastily cobbled ­together as they went along. Anyone work out what the hell was going on? Damned if I could.

Twitter fan and former One Show sensation Jason Manford was the host. I think.

Dying a death in Liver­pool, 10 criminally hopeless ­alleged stand-up ­comedians seemed determined to establish they couldn't make us laugh if their lives ­depended on it. Mission accomplished.

Meanwhile, Jimmy ­Tarbuck and Alan Davies spouted seasoned-pro claptrap with some old girl doing an impression of Cruella De Vil on a bad-hair day. They were the ­judges. I think.

But back to the action... and contestant Cole Parker's first "joke" of the empty night: "The amount of oestrogen in this room is as palpable as it is ­intimidating." Boom-boom!

After that it was downhill all the way. Hard to crack a smile.

There are supposed to be six more episodes of this ocean-going turkey. But is it really worth ­carrying on? I think not.