Telly Talk: If you’ve ever found yourself channel surfing stupidly late on a Friday night/ridiculously early on a Saturday morning and watching a repeated Heroes of Comedy programme about Max Miller, two thoughts will no doubt cross your mind: 1) I had absolutely no idea how big a star the Cheeky Chappie was in his heyday, and 2) what on earth am I doing up at this hour? (Insomnia. Thanks for asking.)

Heroes of Comedy was made in the mid-nineties, and it shows. The colourful CGI backdrops made old Max’s garish suits look tame by comparison, but where it really showed its age was in the talking head interviews – half of them haven’t been in a position to talk for many years.

It was particulary sobering to see Bob Monkhouse once more. Bob was a staple feature of TV when I grew up, to the extent that I thought he would always be there. And there he was again, alive and well and telling anecdotes of working with Max Miller. What a fascinating man Monkhouse was: writer, cartoonist, actor. He studied comedy, knew how it worked in the same way a mechanic knows an engine and, in much the same way, could strip a joke down to explain how it worked. It’s a shame we didn’t appreciate him more when he was with us.

As for Miller, his material’s aged, and what was shocking and cheeky in the 1930s/40s wouldn’t surprise a schooboy these days, but his influence remains strong.

This was a man who fell into performing during the First World War, but according to Heroes of Comedy, his style, his manner, his ability to communicate with an audience, can be seen in every stand-up working today.

Well, in every stand-up working in the mid-nineties, at any rate.