Matt Berry is one of the most effortlessly amusing humans alive. And his latest vehicle, which introduced us to the pompous, rude, hilariously humourless luvvie Steven Toast, might be his most potently absurd creation yet. 'FIRE the nuke-u-lar weapons!!'

Steven Toast as James Bond? Why not? He's only got Michael Fassbender and Nigel Havers for competition, after all. This audition, like so many others, sees Matt Berry's titular luvvie misjudging the mood somewhat. But there are even greater problems in store when a poker game with Andrew Lloyd Webber turns nasty. With Webber's universally feared enforcer Michael Ball (played here by Michael Ball) on his tail and a gay porn voiceover to complete, Toast's on his uppers.

Still, there's always some way that things can get worse... This first series comes to an end with lots of blood and finally, a glimpse of Toast's terrible play. By and large, it's been a delight: a tour de force of virtuosic vocal and physical comedy and the kind of relentless, off-the-cuff daftness that can only be the result of meticulous planning and dedication. Encore!

Toast of London is a crazy new comedy about a booming-voiced thespian about town. Matt Berry (the booming-voiced boss in The IT Crowd) is as compelling as you might expect as the crazy Steven Toast and Doon Mackichan is crazy enough as his crazy agent - seen in her office last week being pleasured by a muscular unclothed masseur with his genitals pixelated. Toast's flatmate is a bit crazy and Toast has a roster of crazy girlfriends. Last week's crazy plot in which Toast (surrounded by crazy military types) foiled a plan to blow up a nuclear submarine was... well, let's say I wasn't crazy about it.

Toast Of London is the theatrical comedy starring Matt Berry that has been crisping up my Sunday nights. Berry's character, Steven Toast, takes a bit of warming to but his mix of outlandish ego and frustrated ambition means you can both laugh with and at him.

That, coupled with a delight at taking a pop at a range of random targets - Prince Philip, Michael Portillo and Minnie Driver all got the Toast treatment - make it stand out from the comedy crowd.

Last night, Toast endured a row about crazy golf and mini-golf ('what's the f***ing difference?'), pondered the possibly career-ending prospect of accepting a laxative ad and sold his soul to a crazed billionaire by acting in the worst film ever made.

It all climaxed with a musical finale entitled This Whole Life Is Beneath Me. I might get a T-shirt with that on it.

Conventional TV wisdom dictates that sitcoms about actors don't work, which just goes to show how little conventional TV wisdom knows. Toast of London may infuriate with its wildly inconsistent jokes and underwritten storylines, but it is great fun, frequently hilarious and oddly charming.

Last week saw Toast working with a director who crushes insubordination among the cast by squeezing wayward actors' testicles until they are compliant. "Benedict Cumberbatch lasted less than half an hour," Toast is warned.

Time for another testy exchange between over-the-hill actor Steven Toast and his agent: "There's no way I'm doing a laxative ad," he splutters. "You remember what happened to Derek Sibling!" (We find out.) But Toast is strapped for cash and his wife (Amanda Donohoe) wants a divorce - when she's finished beating him with a crazy-golf club.

The way Toast pinballs from one humiliation to the next is wonderful, and this week there's another of those strange, dreamlike song sequences showcasing Matt Berry's musical skills. Look out too for the always scary Alan Ford as an irate cabby.

There's Matt Berry the comedy actor and Matt Berry the singer of progressive folk - mossy, mulchy stuff that sounds like it was recorded in a forest den, in pointy green felt boots, in 1968. The curtains of hair and Department S moustache we know and love from the comedy give the impression of a younger man but not much of one. At large in 1971, perhaps. But Berry's time is right now and Toast Of London is his first lead role.

I didn't love The IT Crowd as completely as you lot but I did love Berry's Douglas Reynholm, the part-bionic, Scientology-parodying sex-pest boss. In Toast Of London he's Steven Toast, deluded actor. Deluded actors make terrific subjects - Hancock's Half Hour, obviously, but also Chewin' The Fat's Ronald Villiers. So far, we haven't seen Toast tread the boards and maybe that's how this will go, with all the drama happening off-stage.

The opener mainly concerned romantic entanglements, beginning with his attempts to disentangle himself from a posh psycho and ending in a failed bid to seduce an alcoholic journalist. There were two fantastic gags that owed a lot to the props department. To the posho: "Oh, I thought you said you were a bee-keeper." Her: "No, a beak-keeper - I collect beaks." The journo, on the other hand, collected everything. Toast couldn't get into her pants because he couldn't get into her flat, junk filling the doorways apart from tiny spaces at the top which he was too portly to squeeze through - even when down to his black singlet. Promising.

The memorable climax to the pilot episode involved booming actor Steven Toast (Matt Berry) trying to record the word 'Yes' again and again for a voiceover. Tonight's episode returns him to the recording booth, where he has to sing "I've Got Rhythm" for an advert, but repeatedly proves he hasn't. ("We'll go again," sighs the director.)

It's the prelude for a ludicrous plot that milks the most from Berry's ability to turn a tone of voice or a disconcerted look into comedy gold. Toast is a wonderful creation even when the script wanders a little, in this case from the trials of booking an escort to the perils of rehearsing with a director who once killed an actor on a production of Pinter.

Some people are just funny. And it's long been clear that Matt Berry is one of them. It's all in the voice modulation and expressive bafflement - witness Steven Toast's voiceover humiliation at the start of this second episode for a perfect illustration. As usual, the plotting is gloriously daft - tonight, Toast finds himself working with luvvie nemesis Ray Purchase and homicidal director Acker Heron.

But as usual, much of the fun is to be found in the the incidentals. Toast books a prostitute ('I saw your number on the computer') and invents a new name for himself on the spur of the moment. Toast attempts to play frisbee with some muscular Australians. And Toast sings a bizarre duet with a mini-me to conclude affairs. Toast of London remains a light, even slight concoction. But that doesn't make its occasionally inspired silliness any less enjoyable.