Done with presiding over TV output, Michael Grade is free to make the kind of programmes he likes, and pretty good they are too.

They're mostly about showbiz, but his love of its traditions shines through. This film is about "the most gregarious, garrulous, glorious creature in all theatre" - the dame.

Grade remembers his very first panto - "sat on a bucket in the wings of the Finsbury Empire watching my Auntie Cathy play the principal boy". He tells us about 18th century impresario John Rich who discovered that harlequin shows were ten times more lucrative than Shakespeare. And he travels to York to meet Berwick Kaler, the "first lady of modern panto", who himself started out in thrall to the Bard but has now been dressing up in women's clothes for 30 years. Oh no he hasn't. Oh yes he has.

The first of the three programmes is The Story of Music Hall, which explores the history of music hall, presented by Michael Grade - something he has an interest in as his Uncle Lou had a music hall act, which consisted of dancing the Charleston on a table.

This documentary was a mixed bag. There were several nuggets about how the music hall led to the creation of modern comedy. The early comedians were comic songsters. Strange to think that the most traditional comedians in this sense today come in the form of performers like Bill Bailey and The Mighty Boosh.

Also it's interesting to know that music hall acts still had the same concerns about class as later generations had, and some might say still have. The acts were also sometimes political, although they had very little impact as not many people who attended music hall could vote. My particular favourite piece of information was that the vast majority of music hall entertainers and audiences were conservative. Considering that now just about every comedian tries to be left-wing and avoids anything that is remotely Tory, it's a big change to the way things were.

However, much of this programme was also quite dull. Rather than concentrating on the performers the programme was often looking at agents or the businessmen running things. Grade doesn't come across as a great TV presenter, either. Not that he was the worst person on it. That dishonourable title goes to Dr. Oliver Double, who is a professor of stand-up comedy. How much money would you pay to avoid someone with a title like that?

Michael Grade, an engaging guide to the world of variety six months ago, now delves further back to unearth its rougher, cruder parent in the halls. Grade has no illusions about showbusiness and tells us how his uncle Lew danced the Charleston on a table top. Now he explains how music hall grew out of the back rooms of pubs and comic songs were fleshed out with patter.

The story is interspersed with enjoyably vulgar songs and chats with Jo Brand and Alexei Sayle, plus a fine turn from Peter Sellers in 1970. There's some fun stuff, but the story of how music hall was tamed sags a little at 90 minutes.

First shown on BBC Four, the second half of Michael Grade's history of the variety era examines what happened to the entertainers once the theatres closed and TV cameras beckoned. He talks to stars who managed to make the transition from stage to screen, among them Bruce Forsyth, Des O'Connor and Ken Dodd. Grade also looks at Sunday Night at the London Palladium, plus the impact of Tommy Cooper and Morecambe & Wise.

Enter a lost world of entertainment with this celebration of the post-war heyday of variety, in a BBC4 programme shown last month. Michael Grade is our qualified guide - he joined the family theatrical agency in 1966 - and delivers a warm and funny show, full of good anecdotes. That's because he lets veteran entertainers and agents do much of the talking - Val Doonican, Bruce Forsyth, Ken Dodd, Roy Hudd, Barry Cryer and Janet Brown among them. Although largely filmed at the London Palladium, many of their recollections concern the third rate halls, the "number threes" - Bilston Theatre Royal and Attercliffe Palace keep cropping up. They are unforgettable, but for all the wrong reasons, as are tales of theatrical digs. A parade of clips features comics, ventriloquists, dancers, jugglers and animal acts - from Max Miller to Memory Man, and Kardoma the flag act to Koringa the lady snake charmer. Nostalgia, social history, however you label it, there's nothing po-faced about this supremely entertaining show.

In part two of the terrifically enjoyable The Story of Variety, presenter Michael Grade investigated television's culpability in killing off variety, and highlighted the attempts of various performers to make the tricky transition from stage to screen.

Tommy Cooper adapted instinctively, Morecambe And Wise succeeded on their second attempt, while Ken Dodd never quite succeeded in shrinking his genius to television's proportions. Ventriloquist Peter Brough and his doll Archie enjoyed tremendous, if inexplicable, popularity on the radio, but a clip from the archive showed why they never enjoyed small-screen success - Brough had failed to grasp a fundamental element of ventriloquism and made little or no effort to disguise his moving lips.

Much as I love the story about a young Des O'Connor pretending to faint on stage at the Glasgow Empire in 1969 rather than risk further exposure to the toweringly unsentimental crowd, there's a cynical part of me which wonders if the yarn hasn't been a wee bit embroidered.

I didn't expect Michael Grade's The Story Of Variety to rubbish it, and sure enough we got the director's cut (special edition).

Des continued with the ruse backstage, said Grade, so the stage manager carted him off to Glasgow Royal Infirmary where the nurses where persuaded to wield extra-sharp scalpels. That quickly brought him round and he was back on stage for the second house.

But this was a smashing show. Hoofers and troupers and agents with great names like Dabber Davis shuffled into the warmth to reminisce about a showbiz tradition born after WW2 as a more respectable version of music hall - then killed off by TV and a desperate lurch into nudity.

Liverpool alone boasted 25 variety theatres, according to Ken Dodd, who evoked the roar of the greasepaint like this: "Lovely darkened rooms, lovely smell of oranges and cigars - then that lovely rumpty-tumpty sound." But just as many anecdotes related to life away from the proscenium arch: on the road, Aberdeen one night and Plymouth the next, never seeing home for 18 months, not actually having a fixed address, the big meet-up on the railway platforms of Crewe - the digs!

Some landladies were "Artists only - no straight people". Some put out tablecloths for actors but not for "twice-nightlies", as variety acts were known. Roy Hudd recalled the Christmas Eve he hoped for respite from what had been a tyranny of baked beans: "Beans again, but with one chipolata buried in them."

Another variety veteran, Scott Saunders, remembered a landlady who was more obliging: "I got back to the digs late and the pianist Semprini was shagging her on the kitchen table. 'Oh Mr Saunders, what must you think of me?' she said, and just carried on."

Last Night's TV - The Story of Variety, BBC4

Nostalgia is for losers, but it often makes great telly." So began my last contribution to this page, reviewing the Imagine take on Ray Davies. Forgive me for returning to it. I know it's not the done thing to copy and paste from one's own work, but we're so much in the same territory with The Story of Variety that not doing so would be dim. And for the avoidance of doubt, here was Michael Grade, three minutes in, describing his project as a survey of a "lost world... [that is] gone but isn't quite forgotten".

Enter a lost world of entertainment with this celebration of the postwar heyday of variety. Michael Grade is our qualified guide - he joined the family theatrical agency in 1966 - and delivers a warm and funny show, full of good anecdotes. That's because he lets veteran entertainers and agents do much of the talking - Val Doonican, Doreen Wise (widow of Ernie), Bruce Forsyth, Ken Dodd, Roy Hudd, Barry Cryer and Janet Brown among them. Although largely filmed at the London Palladium, many of their recollections concern the third-rate halls or "number threes" - Attercliffe Palace in Sheffield and Bilston Theatre Royal keep cropping up. Unforgettable, but for all the wrong reasons, as are tales of theatrical digs. In contrast, a parade of clips features comics, ventriloquists, dancers, jugglers and animal acts - from Max Miller to Memory Man, and Kardoma the flag act to Koringa the lady snake charmer. Nostalgia, social history... however you label it, there's nothing po-faced about this supremely entertaining show.

Didn't he dress up as a gay man, a woman in a fur coat? That's what people say at the start of David Walliams's tribute to "a light entertainment icon". Then, intercut with soundtrack, it sounds as if he's interviewing the man himself. Emery died in 1983, having been a fixture in broadcast comedy for decades. "He was a good old-fashioned pro," says Michael Grade. "He loved going to work." So why did he fall out of fashion? Walliams explores that and why today's comedians, himself and Harry Enfield among them, still admire him.