I'm not a big fan of celebrity knockout competitions even when they are for charity. I still have bad memories of Ade Edmondson bellowing in Fame Academy and wake up in a hot sweat thinking about Ruby Wax and Jo Brand giving a posse of strangled pussies a run for their money. But I watched Let's Dance for Comic Relief on Saturday night because Robert Webb from my favourite sitcom Peep Show was in it. 

I assumed I wouldn't have to watch for long and he'd soon be eliminated. After all, he was up against kiddie heroes Dick and Dom, an EastEnders duo, Christopher Biggins (who attempted a shameless John Sargeant-type non-dance) and various other high profile celebs. Let's be honest, Webb isn't even the most famous cast member of Peep Show. His ubiquitous panel game-playing partner David Mitchell has that honour.

And let's face it, I always thought voters simply voted for their favourite personalities regardless of their dancing ability. So my gob was positively smacked to see Robert Webb romp home as the winner of the first heat pulling out all the stops with his strangely sexy high-flying, spanner-waving, torso-twirling tribute to Flashdance's What A Feeling.

Many people probably didn't know who Webb was, so I can only put his victory down to his legs. And his Brian May wig. And his very figure-hugging leotard. But Webb also turned out to be an impressive mover with the fluidity of the young Nureyev and the poise of a prima ballerina. This actually wasn't a huge surprise to me. There was a party scene in Peep Show when he did a pretty languid dance too. But it must have come as a shock to the Saturday night family audience. 

Suddenly I'm hooked on a show I thought I could live without. But the pressure is on for another Webbed feat in the final on 14th March. Whether he can top Flashdance remains to be seen, however. Surely only Swan Lake in a tutu joined by David Mitchell in tights can match the sheer eye-popping perfection of Saturday's exploits.

Coronation Street has done it more than once. ER has done it. And last year BBC3's Two Pints Of Lager And A Packet Of Crisps did it. All of the aforementioned shows have had a bash at live outings. For those interested in the live TV comedy/drama phenomenon, the Two Pints episode goes out at the NFT next Wednesday, followed by a discussion featuring cast member Will Mellor, writer/producer Graham Duff and executive producer Stephen McCrum.

The big question is whether comedy thrives of the sheer thrill of live performance. The simple answer, of course, is yes. And no. Some shows such as The Office are plotted with military precision, with umpteen retakes until things are exactly right. I can't imagine David Brent going live. Curb Your Enthusiasm is improvised around a loose script, but that doesn't mean it could be filmed live either. In fact it would really be taking a risk.

Where something is broader and not so dependent on the finer nuances of language, maybe live is the answer. That is where Two Pints came into its own. Its testosterone-fuelled ladcom themes and innuendo certainly thrived in the adrenaline-rush of the format, but whether it made up for a top-notch script I'm not so sure. Of course, in the old days in the fifties before low-cost videotape, programmes often went out live, with the cast running breathlessly across the studio from set to set, so what they did was hardly new, just not done out of necessity.

These day live formats are probably little more than a bit of a gimmick to boost ratings. Two Pints had been going for so long maybe this was the way of attracting fans who had never bothered to watch it before. It is certainly a considerable acheivement, whatever you think of the show. Apart from all the other logistical and technical reasons, it meant that the cast had to make sure they learnt their lines.There was no chance of a retake here. Crikey, it was almost like being a proper actor in the theatre.

Over to Soho on Sunday afternoon to see Peter Cook's new green plaque high up on the wall at 18 Greek Street, where his Establishment Club reigned supreme from 1961 to 1964. Probably not the first comedy club in London, but certainly the most famous until The Comedy Store opened in 1979. Satire wasn't born there, but it certainly went through its terrible twos there, with Cook and co holding court and foulmouthed prophet Lenny Bruce visiting to cement the club's reputation.

The unveiling was a typically chaotic English affair, which did not quite go to plan. Bee Gee Robin Gibb was supposed to be doing the honours but instead sent his apologies. DJ Mike Read stood in, but the microphone threw a little bit of a wobbly. Meanwhile the green curtain fell off too early because the velcro didn't hold. Peter Cook would have been laughing.

Best of all though, the plaque is so high up on the wall you'll have to stand in the middle of Greek Street to read it properly. At best you'll get a stiff neck, at worst you risk being squashed by a cabbie and joining Peter Cook (and Dudley Moore) in the great cabaret club in the sky.