Intriguing musical choices and controversial chat from Ricky Gervais yesterday on Desert Island Discs. The star of Extras and The Office was in relatively serious mood for a change, talking about everything from his family to his (short-lived) guilt about his success. For Gervais, however, any subject is game for a laugh. He and his brother Bob apparently even joked during preparations for his mother's funeral, teasing with the vicar by pretending that she was a "keen racist". Gervais also said that he doesn't want kids because "It's just those first 16 years. And they don't give you anything back. Babies are scroungers."
As for the music, he was predictably surprising. There was inevitably something from his bezza mate David Bowie and something wimpy from Cat Stevens – who provided the theme tune to Extras. But not Handbags and Gladrags, the theme from The Office, which kick-started Gervais' career. I thought he might go for something by Rod Stewart or Suede, the band Gervais briefly managed. But both were absent too. And, given Gervais' fondness for ironically plugging his own product, it was a shock that Seona Dancing, Gervais' own eighties new romantic duo, failed to feature. But then again, when Kirsty Young mentioned his old combo Gervais squirmed so much he has probably bought up every existing copy of Seona Dancing's singles himself. He can certainly afford to*

The Full Desert Island Discs listing:

If You See Her Say Hello by Bob Dylan
Lilywhite by Cat Stevens
Anarchy in the UK by The Sex Pistols
After The Gold Rush by Neil Young
Bones by Radiohead
Letter to Hermione by David Bowie 
Galveston by Jimmy Webb
Always on My Mind by Willie Nelson

Book:    A coffee table book of art
Luxury:  Vat of Novocaine - a non-addictive pain-killer

Incidentally, a word of warning. If you want to hear the programme again you'll have to tune in on Friday morning at 9pm. I got caught out a while ago thinking I could use R4's listen again facility to catch DID at my leisure - I couldn't because of copyright issues over putting the music online.

*Actually I know he hasn't. I've got one sitting on my shelf. I just look at the picture of Gervais on the cover in his jaunty sailor's cap whenever I need a laugh. If you are reading this though Ricky, I'm open to offers.

The death of Bernard Manning will no doubt raise those old debates once again of whether he was a) a racist b) any good as a comedian. I've been a comedy critic for a long time and a comedy fan even longer and while the answers are pretty simple there is more to it.
On the racism question the answer is clearly yes. Manning even said he was a racist himself and some of the jokes he told were offensive and unforgivable. Even worse, he was constantly tackled about his un-PC material and was unrepentent, possibly even playing up to his non-PC image in later years. His only defence might have been that he spoke that way because of the era he grew up in, but I don't notice contemporaries David Attenborough or Tony Benn talking about "Pakis". Yet Manning's mind became so fixed on the past he droned on about WW2 and being one of the few Brits to play Las Vegas as if it was yesterday, only pausing to tell another gag about a "black fella".
On the question of whether he was any good as a comedian, however, things become much stickier. This is what is known as Jim Davidson Syndrome. Terrible material was delivered seamlessly. Like Davidson, Manning had a natural way with a yarn and a one-liner. He had the rhythms and cadences of a seasoned Jewish Catskills comedian who had been brought up playing the Borscht Belt, not the working men's clubs around Manchester. Manning always reminded me of rabbi's son Jackie Mason, another comedian who divides critics. Maybe it was not such a surprise when it was claimed that Manning had Jewish ancestry. It didn't stop him telling gags about tightfisted Jewish fellas of course.
When a comedian tells jokes as well as a master of comic timing like Manning, the words come out like music and draw you in. It's just a shame that when you paid attention his lyrics were so awful. If only he had been born forty years later and learnt his craft in more enlightened times we might be sitting around today buying Manning DVDs by the bucketload and comparing him favourably to another natural born northern storyteller, Peter Kay.

Forget those fancy character comics and those crazy musical wags with their funny parodies. Sometimes what you really need is a good, traditional stand-up doing a full one hour set to cheer you up. In which case Dave Fulton, currently at the Soho Theatre until Saturday, is just your man. The UK-based American stand-up has just returned from the Kilkenny Comedy Festival where "everybody had a story". He must have felt at home then, because this fortysomething with the Tarzan mullet is bursting with anecdotes and it is good to see him stretching himself beyond his bill-paying comfort zone of 20-minute Jongleurs-type club sets.

Like his compatriot Rich Hall, Fulton casts a rueful eye over both the personal and the political. Call centres, conspiracy theories, binge-drinking hen nights, gun crime, motorbikes and Canada ("there to protect America from ice") all come under his cynical gaze. He is also perfectly tuned in to what obsesses us Brits: "I live in Kingston. Or Kingston-on-Thames if you are trying to sell your house."

At his best he manages to appear both laid back and furious at the world. His genuine anger over Iraq comes from the fact that his mother's medical insurance was diverted into the conflict and his dad now owes $316,000. If there is any truth in this story perhaps Fulton should be back home protesting, not gigging. but he gets a brilliant riff out of it and it certainly fires him up.

This is no-frills stand up at its best, given room to breath and Fulton clearly enjoys the fact that he does not have to get off the stage just as he is warming up. There is a little too much outrage at us crazy Brits and our binge-drinking culture, particularly as he is the one swigging from a bottle of beer while at work every night, but then earning your weekly crust playing to rowdy stag parties is enough to make anyone obsessed.

It is a terrible thing to admit, but even bloggers need holidays. I've not been neglecting my loyal readership though – both of you. I've been at the Hay-on-Wye Literary Festival this week and I'll be filing a full report when the dust has settled. In the meantime I'll update you on some of my highlights. Britt Ekland's bum, Columbo's overcoat and Ricky Gervais's Catchphrase. All cultural life is here.

Being a shallow type, I've steered clear of the bookish heavyweights such as God-doubting Richard Dawkins and IVF-guru Robert Winston in favour of laughs and lightness. Peter 'Columbo' Falk plugged his autobiography with a masterclass in shambolic brilliance, delivering the same anecdotes a number of times and having to look himself up in his own book to see what he'd been up to in the fifties. Was it jetlag? Something in his fizzy drink? Just age? Who knows, but it was great fun to watch.

Also on the film front, Robin Hardy, the director of cult movie The Wicker Man, delivered a lecture on his notorious film and revealed that Britt Ekland had to have a botty double for her nude dancing scene. She didn't seem to mind having her top half on display, but was ashamed of a bottom she described as being like a ski slope. Which was confusing to me, because I had a friend at school nicknamed Ski Slope because of the shape of his nose, and, as far as I can tell, Britt's bottom is nothing like a nose. Wicker Man fans may or may not be delighted to hear that Hardy is about to start shooting a sequel, Cowboys For Christ, set in Scotland again and starring Christopher Lee and Faye Dunaway. There will also be a third film, making it a trilogy, which Hardy says will be a comedy. But can it be as funny as Hot Fuzz, which contains numerous Wicker Man references?

Top moment of the week though, was a sneak preview of Neil Gaiman's noisy adult fairy tale Stardust. Disappointingly the film turned out not to be finished, so we just got a few scenes with Gaiman gamely filling in the gaps. One certainly can't fault the star-studded casting – Robert De Niro, Michelle Pfeiffer (hardly looking in need of the elixir of youth her witchy character is hunting), Claire Danes and Ricky Gervais sporting chunky sideburns, long hair and a cowboy hat, but still sounding as if he is from a Slough industrial estate. The Extras star plays dodgy trader Ferdinand and barely breaks sweat in a comic haggling scene with pirate De Niro. Look out for the in-jokes, such as the David Brent-ish sign that says "Ferdy's Office" and the fact that in the process of cutting his deal with De Niro, Ferdy says "Are you 'aving a laugh?". Well, who needs a new script when you've got an old catchphrase?