I've often said that one's response to a performance depends on where one is sitting. You might have a woman with an Amy Winehouse beehive in front of you. You might be squashed between two men the width of Twickenham. Or you might simply be sitting a long way from the stage, as happened with me at Johnny Vegas's controversial surprise gig at the Bloomsbury Theatre last Friday.

During Vegas's performance, part of Stewart Lee's 10 Greatest Stand-Ups season, the charismatic star homed in on a young woman in the front row. He repeatedly came back to her and, in his own scattershot stream-of-consciousness style, attempted to charm her. Quite quickly he ran out of planned material and returning to her, he engineered a situation where she was carried onstage by six "pallbearers".

So far so par for the course for Vegas, but this is where it gets contentious. While the woman lay on the floor Vegas climbed on top of her, kissing and stroking her. According to different reports the extent of his actions varied. But from where I was sitting, my concern was more about his substantial bulk bearing down on her than where his wandering hands were.

Yet since the gig there have been mutterings that Vegas overstepped the mark. Was this borderline sexual harassment? The woman, once coaxed onstage by the performer, could hardly have refused to go along with the star's behaviour.

Our very own Richard Godwin was at the gig and he was closer to the action than me. He clearly felt Vegas went far too far. Others have also made similar allegations, that Vegas took advantage of an innocent woman. The line between audience participation and victim was allegedly crossed. Yet from the back of the theatre she was terrified simply because she had been dragged up onstage, not because of what was going on once she got there.

This story may well gather momentum over the next few days. It may even damage Vegas's reputation in the way that Billy Connolly's status was temporarily dented when he made his ill-timed remark about hostage Ken Bigley. On the other hand, Vegas's selling point as a live performer is his explosive edginess. He often takes things right to the very edge and that is what audiences enjoy about him. But there was clearly a mixed response last Friday. The trouble this time, however, is that according to people with a better view than me, he may have gone over that edge.

The sad news of the death of Humphrey Lyttelton on Friday evening was not a great start to the weekend. I was hardly a devoted fan of I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue but I always enjoyed it when I tuned in. I never grasped the rules of Mornington Crescent, but that was the point. Humph was, indeed, a hugely affable host, able to get a laugh with the minimum of effort and often the minimum of words. You'd never have thought he was 86 to hear him keeping his panel and audience in stitches.

One can hardly say that Lyttelton was taken away early, but the last couple of years seem to have been particularly hard on gentle wits. First there was Linda Smith, then Alan Coren, Ned Sherrin and Miles Kington. I can't quite put my finger on what links them, but they all felt like they cropped up on each other's Radio 4 programmes. And were all comedians who were not particularly part of the new wave of comedy yet hardly old-fashioned either. There was a timelessness to Kington's columns, a universality to Smith's whimsical asides. And if we were drawing up some kind of Deceased Comedy Family Tree we could add in George Melly on the jazz branch alongside Humph.

By contrast abrasive comedians seem to go on and on. Apart from Bernard Manning the roll-call of dead obnoxious comedians is a pretty short one.

This could all be a coincidence, but somehow I don't feel that it is. Are sensitive, creative souls more prone to serious disease than the hard-hearted? I remember thinking this when Dennis Potter died while his nemesis Rupert Murdoch continued to conquer the world. Purely anecdotal but curious. Your homework this week? Artists are a more thin-skinned bunch than businessmen. Discuss.

I'm not enough of a nerd to know if Ricky Gervais's forthcoming appearance in the next Grand Theft Auto video is a gaming first, but it is certainly an interesting development for comedy's all-conquering clown. A digitised version of Ricky will appear in the game, released on 29th April, doing his stand-up material while, presumably, animated gangsters waggle their Uzis around in the background. Or something. Let's just pray he doesn't do that dance.

Gervais really seems to be in a unique position at the moment. Everything he touches turns to gold, whether it's films, telly, kids' books or podcasts. Even though his Simpsons episode wasn't the best and his Night At The Museum cameo was on the functional side he seems to be armour-plated. He even seems to have shaken off that dodgy appearance at the Diana tribute last year.

Yet I still keep asking myself why is he doing this? Full marks for quitting The Office after two series and an Xmas special. Full marks for doing the same with Extras. But the last I heard was that after his Hollywood directorial debut he and Stephen Merchant had their eyes on writing something more serious for the telly, in the vein of The Sopranos.

So where does this Grand Theft Auto move come from? An insatiable desire to stick his flag in more uncharted territory as he did with his record-breaking podcasts? When most comedians in their forties start diversifying I assume its because of school fees or alimony, but Gervais - settled and childless – doesn't seem to have either of those matters to deal with.

Maybe he just likes the attention. Hearing about him through acquaintances who knew him before he was famous he always liked to be at the centre of the action. Nothing wrong with that, of course. I'm just a little worried that he might be in danger of diluting his highly entertaining brand. I'll graciously let him off this time, but the day I hear about the Ricky Gervais Cookbook or Ricky's Fat 'n' Fit Aerobics DVD I'll eat my Office boxed set.

Comedians are just frustrated pop stars. OK, not a profoundly original thought for the day but one that is more pertinent than ever given the news that Russell Brand is rumoured to be releasing a single to tie in with his appearance as an indie singer in his forthcoming film Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

It is not just Brand getting in on the act though. At the finale of Noel Fielding's Royal Albert Hall gig last night The Mighty Boosh star fronted a real band too. I wouldn't be surprised if a Boosh album hits Itunes before the year is out. Though they've already been beaten to it by groovy twosome Flight Of The Conchords, whose EP won a Grammy last year. Their first full-length album is out in the USA later this month.

The link between attention-seeking comedians and pop stars is inevitable. Yet if rock stars have huge egos they are probably miniscule compared to comedians' egos. Most don't even have the manners to wait to have a hit before going solo, they crave the attention so much they start off with the stage all to themselves. Men often get into music and comedy to attract women – the handsome ones form bands, the geeky, nerdy or plain ones go for comedy. Even the most pug-ugly gagsmith becomes a babe magnet if he can make a woman laugh while standing onstage.

Anyway, as for this comedians-as-pop-stars lark, Brand, Fielding and co must surely be aware that they have a great legacy to live up to. And I'm not talking Peter Sellers doing Shakespearean Beatles parodies or The Rutles. Or even Bernard Cribbins' Right Said Fred or Clive Dunn's Grandad. I'm talking about Benny Hill's Ernie (The Fastest Milkmen In The West). If Russell's debut single flops, maybe he should try a cover version of that. Let's face it. Chasing women? Being filthily funny? Russell Brand is already a Benny Hill for the noughties.

Entries for The Edinburgh Fringe Festival programme have to be submitted by 16th April and I would hazard a wild guess that there will be quite a few performers mentioning Heather Mills, either in their show titles or in their actual shows. I won't include any here, but just google the words "Heather Mills Joke". There's no shortage of painful puns and brutal barbs clogging up cyberspace.

Ever since she married Paul McCartney, Heather Mills has been the butt of umpteen gags and I suspect that given her "interesting" personality and her "interesting" past this would have been the case even if she still had her two original legs. But given her physical condition, everyone from professional comedians to pub wags have had a field day. It seems acceptable to pick on her in the same way you can say Americans are idiots but not the Irish. You can only make cruel, tasteless jokes about oppressors not the underdog and the uber-assertive Mills definitely felt like an oppressor.

So what will Heather Mills do now? Somehow I can't see her taking her £25 million and going off quietly into the night. I assume she'll be offered the usual I'm A Celebrity chances of celebrity redemption. The comedy world must certainly be hoping she won't be going all reclusive on us because she is such great value. In fact I've just thought of a great way in which Heather Mills could get her own back on the comedy community. Come on Heather, that deadline for Edinburgh shows is still three weeks away. Why not do your own show?

I saw a very funny clip the other day of Iggy Pop doing a version of Madonna's Ray of Light at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. All was going swimmingly until he jumped into the audience and started bellowing in the faces of the front row. Which would have been fine if this was your normal gig, but these people were mostly middle-aged (albeit younger than the Igster) and wearing tuxedos and dickie-bows. Their responses were a mix of boredom and sheer fear.

As a comedy fan I could relate to this. Some of my most excruciating experiences have been at comedy gigs where the performer has broken down the fourth wall and strolled into the crowd. As a notebook-brandishing critic I always dread that moment when one of them spies my pen and paper. So far I've been lucky, but there have been some close shaves. Madcap Irishman Jason Byrne once saw another critic in the crowd and said that he should make notes on his scrotum as it would be more discreet than using a notebook.

At Little Britain's Hammersmith Apollo show Matt Lucas paused right by me when he was dressed as Marjorie Dawes and looking for someone to weigh onstage as part of his Fat Fighters sketch. Fortunately I wasn't fat enough. In Croydon last autumn Russell Brand stood so close to me while eyeing up potential sexual conquests he almost garrotted me with his microphone lead. Luckily I'm not his type.

Stewart Lee took a more kind, considered approach, strolling up the aisle at the Soho Theatre without picking on anyone at all. Unlike spoof trolley dolly Pam Ann, who hurtled up and down the steps looking for someone to drag onstage. Pam, as always, managed to scare the beejesus out of me without actually coming within five feet.

Sometimes, of course, stepping into the audience can make a fan's day and maybe even make a show. In Phil Nichol's if.comedy-winning set Naked Racist he roamed through the audience completely nude to rapturous applase from everyone. I even clapped myself, but then I was safely on the far side of the room. I'm not saying that it helped him to win the award, but it certainly showed that he had something every successful comedian needs. Balls, in every sense of the word. Maybe I should have made my notes on them.

Are today's comedians sad, tragic figures? According to The Curse of Comedy, the forthcoming series of BBC4 dramas starting on 19 March, about Tony Hancock, Frankie Howerd – played by David Walliams – Harry H Corbett and Wilfrid Brambell (and, erm, Hughie Green...) certain old school entertainers were certainly pretty troubled – a laugh-a-second onstage but hell to be with off-duty.

So what about today's bunch? For the sake of legal bills I'd better not name any of the following people but my experience over the years is that the current wave of successful comedians might not be as miserable as the clowns portrayed in the BBC4 series, but they are certainly a dysfunctional bunch.

Some comedians might be the life and soul of the party and love being the centre of attention, but one friend told me about how she dated a high-profile funnyman for a while and rented a cottage with him and some of his stand-up chums. It was, she recalled, the most excruciatingly miserable experience of her life. No wisecracks around the fireplace at all, just silences and a lot of moaning.

When I've interviewed comedians they've put on their brightest, shiniest faces, but many have another side to them. A lot are charm themselves, but can still be incredibly demanding on set. Some call this being a perfectionist, others call it being a pain in the neck and there is probably a thin line between both judgments.

One famous comedian, who seems pretty normal whenever I interview him, has often been in the tabloids thanks to his alleged lurid sexual exploits. I'm sceptical about tabloid stories, but I was told that everything I'd read about this chap was true. Then again, if these stories are true he is hardly gloomy and depressive, he sounds like he is having a brilliant time.

Enough comedians have been in and out of the Priory over the years to suggest that they have their fair share of emotional issues. I guess part of the problem is the contrast between the acclaim onstage for about an hour a night and the loneliness of life on the road. Wasn't it that great stand-up comedian Janis Joplin who said something like "I've just made love to a thousand people but I'm going home alone."

There must be some truth to the myth of the miserable jester. We are fascinated by the whole idea of tears behind the laughter. Maybe there is a connection between wanting to make people laugh to fill a void in your soul. There's the famous story about a man going to see a psychiatrist because he was depressed. The psychiatrist advised him to go and see "the great clown Grock", who was currently performing in the city. Grock would cheer him up. The depressed man replied: "That's the trouble. I'm am Grock."

Then again, maybe it's just the nature of human beings to be dysfunctional. I've also met a few moody plumbers in my time and the man in the my local stationery shop is not a bundle of laughs. And I suppose if I moved in dentistry circles I'd have met a few unstable dentists. It's just you don't get the BBC making dramas out of depressed dentists.

Depending on what newspaper you read Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders' current tour is either their last ever live tour, the last time they will perform together or possibly even the last time Dawn French will get up onstage before she retires to a quiet life eating Chocolate Oranges in the West Country.

The Evening Standard will be reviewing the show when it reaches the south of England later this month, but early reports from the northern leg of their first outing in seven years suggests that it is pretty good. At their advanced age they may not be winning over any new fans but they are certainly satisfying the ones they have with a mix of Madonna spoofs, Catherine Zeta-Jones send-ups and Abba songs.

I'm not even going to enter into a debate about whether women can be funny at this juncture (answer: yes, even though at a recent talent competition I was judging, when the second woman came onstage halfway through the show a man behind me said "Oh no, not another bloody woman"). What I'm interested in is the nature of double acts.

I guess the obvious comparison is with marriages. Some last longer than others and there are inevitably arguments. Sometimes the spark just goes. One performer I interviewed described a double act as "like a marriage but with less sex."

French and Saunders seem like a couple who have never had a cross word, yet even they have decided to, as it were, "see other people", ie pursue other projects. Maybe it runs in the family. A couple of years ago Ade Edmondson, aka Mr Saunders, decided to knock his slapstick double act with Rik Mayall on the head. Which was apt, because they'd been knocking each other on the head for years. They are still mates and may well still work together again, but don't hold your breath waiting for another series of Bottom.

Another intriguing case study is Vic and Bob. While they haven't actually split and last year did an enjoyably daft Radio 2 series together, Vic Reeves has frequently been working solo in recent years. But even as his most ardent fan I'd be hard-pushed to say that anything he has done without Bob Mortimer has come close to the giddy heights of their toweringly silly Big Night Out.

Of course, double acts will invariably want to try different things and you only live once, so who can blame them for branching out? It has happened with Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, Baddiel and Newman and pretty much any double act you can think of. In fact Morecambe and Wise might be the only high profile duo whose career together ended due to death.

Sorry for being a bit slack on the blogging front this week, but on Wednesday my life changed dramatically. I had a free moment and sat down to see if this BBC thing called iPlayer*, which allows one to watch missed programmes online, was any good. Three hours later I emerged out of a square-eyed fug, having sat through two episodes of The Last Enemy, Bruce Forsyth on Jonathan Ross and the first episode of That Mitchell and Webb Look.

Of course, if you've got Sky+ etc you'll already know what I'm talking about, but in recent years I've gone from being an early adopter, grabbing a newfangled gizmo as soon as it hit the shops, to being a very late adopter, resisting the urge until the very last minute because of the rapid turnover of technology. Usually by the time you've unwrapped the latest battery-powered widget these days an ad will have appeared announcing the launch of the new, improved mark 2 model.

So, how does this impact on comedy? Well, for starters it means I can go out to gigs without worrying about missing out (my wheezy VHS gave up the ghost a couple of weeks ago, prompting this life-altering change) on a new show. After I've written this, for instance, I can catch up on last night's second edition of Mitchell & Webb (though word has it I didn't miss much and even if I'd been in I'd have watched Ashes To Ashes, which I'll also be catching up on today). It also means that I won't miss vital episodes in a series when the Beeb decides on some ridiculous scheduling, ie last week's Freezing, which went out on three consecutive nights. Some of us have a life you know.

I'll miss not watching programmes at the same time as everybody else, but as I work from home a lot of the time I haven't experienced a watercooler moment – gathering by the toilets or tea machine to gossip about last night's telly – for about seven years. But then does anyone else have them? While telly is still at the centre of our lives, and comedy often at the centre of telly, I'm not sure if watercooler moments still exist anyway. The last thing I can remember talking about in The Office was, erm, The Office.

Actually I thought that Wednesday night documentary about the oldest stuntman in the world was wonderfully bizarre, but I watched it on Thursday afternoon, so even if I had an office job I'd have missed out on any chat. Can anyone else help me. Have I missed any real watercooler moments recently?

*C4 has had its own version for a while, 4OD, which offers all sorts of comedy goodies, including an impressive archive including Father Ted. In fact Ted actor Dermot Morgan died ten years ago this week so maybe you could watch it as a tribute. Unfortunately I can't – I have an Apple Mac and 4OD only works on PCs. Pull your finger out C4 techies. Maybe get someone from The IT Crowd to sort it out.

Hold the front page, comedy is clearly no longer the new rock and roll. There were a lot of things wrong with Wednesday night's Brit Awards, but the thing that bothered me was the sheer absence of comedy. OK, camp comic du jour Alan Carr had his moments, but Vic Reeves – one of my all-time favourites – was definitely having an off-night. Personally I don't think he was drunk, whatever foulmouthed Asda shopper Sharon Osbourne screamed. That would be an easy explanation for his bad gig. It wasn't just the music that was lame on Wednesday, the comedy was pretty limp too.

Some people have suggested that Reeves' hesitant appearance was his Ricky-Gervais-At-The-Princess-Di-Concert moment and I can see their point. It has been suggested that Reeves took ages to deliver his lines because of a faulty autocue, but a match-fit comedian should always be able to fill in in the event of the unexpected glitch. Instead his distinctly unfunny northern club compere routine took me right back to seeing Reeves in the late eighties doing shambolic solo shows in South London before he hooked up with Bob Mortimer and went stellar.

Flying solo seems to be Vic's problem at the moment. When he works with Bob, as on their recent Radio 2 series, he is still as stupidly, daftly funny as ever, but as a solo act outside his own Reeves-created, Reeves-controlled mad universe he has difficulties. This is why appearing as a guest on panel shows is not the best showcase for his deranged talents. Vic has recently been taken on by a hotshot manager, so we can expect him to have a high profile again in the near future. But if he was a schoolboy his report card for Wednesday night would read "could - and must - do better".

The Brits was really lacking in laughs. Last year Russell Brand presented, in the past Frank Skinner and Ben Elton have had a bash. The Osbournes were truly car crash telly and not in a good way. Normally the hottest comedians would have chipped in at some point, but where were Gervais, Little Britain, The Mighty Boosh or even the ever-ready-to-plug-their-new show Mitchell and Webb?* The latter's absence was a particular mystery. But then again, this was one of those nights when the people that stayed away showed exquisite taste.

*Apologies if some of these acts did actually appear at some point. The show was so painful I frequently had to leave the room.