Funny faces of yesterday are now just funny looking

No, scrub that, thanks to their involvement in cult comedy shows like Men Behaving Badly and Blackadder, they were elevated in many people's eyes to the status of fully-fledged cultural icons.

What a difference a decade makes, eh. Or at least, the onset of middle age.

There's little to raise a smile in Quentin's TV offerings these days. Since turning 50, she seems to have morphed seamlessly into either a glorified Cornish tour guide who spends her time extolling the virtues of England's south coast in a worthy, but rather dull fashion, or the presenter of yet another series about house restorations.

What's it called? Something like Restoration, Renovation, and Grandly Designed Changing Rooms. Whatever. Hasn't anyone heard of the phrase 'too much of a good thing...'? It's enough to make you want to bang your head against as hastily assembled piece of MDF.

Caroline's big pal Clunes, meanwhile, a brilliant exponent of dead-pan humour in his younger years, seems to get cast these days in either grumpy best mate-style roles, or as the front-man for cutesy, rather earnest animal-themed documentaries. It feels like such a waste.

And then there's Tony Robinson – or rather Sir Tony to us, since the awarding of his knighthood last month. Anyone under the age of 20 probably has no idea that he's ever done anything on television other than rummage around in rubble as part of the archaeological fact-finding crew on Time Team.

Yet this is the man who, to us older generation, will only ever be remembered as the scene-stealing, dim but delightful Baldrick, a hapless foil to Rowan Atkinson's pompous Blackadder.

Now, he talks about using his new title to highlight causes like the importance of culture, the arts and heritage in our society, and the plight of the infirm, elderly and their carers.

Worthy, worthwhile and wonderful, but there's not much to smile about in that, is there Tony?

We mustn't knock this trio too much, though. They have crafted their careers, and evolved with the times, to ensure they are still among Blighty's most in-demand stars. It does feel like a shame, but clearly it's no laughing matter.

Talking of people who used to be funny, but aren't any more, is it just me who's totally turned off by the new series of Top Gear?

I'm no nerdy petrolhead yearning for a return of stuffy, high-brow critique on the latest piece of va-va-vroom, but the antics of Messrs Clarkson, Hammond and May are becoming increasingly tired and tedious.

You're never actually sure these days whether you have tuned into a brand new episode, or are watching a repeat of something originally screened three or four years ago.

Yes, I know it's coining it in from all corners of the world as one of our top small-screen exports and has a ferociously loyal fanbase, but it just seems to recycle the same gimmicks, same school playground tricks, same juvenile sniping, and the same cheesy jokes.

It's a damning indictment on a show where everything now feels distinctly stale and second hand, and hasn't really evolved for the past decade.

Which reminds me, not long now til the return of Match Of The Day on the BBC . . .

Read Carl Jones every week in your Weekend Shropshire Star, every Saturday.