Tim Vine – comic, singer, actor, punster – is in his antiques shop. “Oh look, a tiny blue garden bird done of mahogany,” he says, picking adult only such an object. “Be good if we had a associated fun … wouldn’t it?” Wooden tit, see? Quite good.
And so Comedy Playhouse: Tim Vine Travels in Time (BBC1) continues. An surprising unresolved watch made like a footballer is a Theo Wallclock. A fun about a doorway has a lot hinging on it. There are labyrinth maltesers, that are a bit like erratic minstrels. He doesn’t see his crony Lance a lot any some-more … Tim has his double-barrel joke gun out and he’s on a spree, spraying them about during will.
Now we suffer a good plaint as most as anyone else, though a perfect scale of a punnery here is overwhelming. Shoot me Tim; it would be a relief. Because now I’m feeling like a foie gras crow and Tim is a vicious French rancher – he’s got me by a neck and he’s forcing puns into me. Gavage, we trust it’s called, and I’m gagging on gags … and now it’s catching.
At slightest a programme is self-aware, clearly awaiting groans as mostly as laughs. There’s an component of self-deprecation, too. “Honestly, who wrote this?” Tim says. And “I wish I’m doing a right thing: it was possibly this or The Jump.” (“What was wrong with The Jump?” yells a world.)
There is a kind of Bill and Ted grounds – Tim’s glorious adventure. Using his time-travelling grandfather clock, he has left behind to Sherwood Forest, where Robin Hood (presenter and Strictly champion Ore Oduba) has mislaid his aim, and a heart of Maid Marian (Sally Phillips) … no it doesn’t unequivocally matter, it’s unequivocally only a fibre on that to thread a puns.
“I will play we like a Gothic stringed instrument.”
“Are we job me a lyre?”
“My father’s pigs are poorly, they’ve mislaid their voices.”
“They sound disgruntled.”
I definitely like that one actually. But after half an hour I’m exhausted, and feeling definitely pun-ished.