Bernard's Bombay Deam (C4)

BERNARD Manning is a sad old man who thinks it is acceptable to make a living peddling racism and other offensive material. Knowing his views and his boast that, given a microphone and five minutes, he can make any audience laugh, the makers of this programme decided to put him to the test.

Very bravely, they decided to take him to India and get him to test his comedy guarantee.

Lying in bed in his huge white Y-fronts, he considered the challenge ahead and said it would be no problem to overcome the cultural barriers.

"I'm not racist," he protested. "I just tell jokes."

It didn't seem to bother him that most of his jokes are at best unfunny and at worst abhorrent.

Arriving in India he was taken to the horse races to see how the other half lives in this poor country.

He did eventually go and look round the traditional markets and we were told that he was shocked by the culture difference but as he stopped to buy cheap souvenirs for his family he didn't seem that concerned by what he saw.

Manning's health is so bad that he is accompanied by a nurse at all times to haul him to his feet and wipe his brow.

She admitted that her charge smoked and drank far too much and thought he knew best about his health - so she had to patch up the on-going damage he was doing with no chance he would ever help himself.

The funniest thing about his documentary didn't happen on stage but when Manning got into a traditional Indian taxi.

The drivers are known for going at break-neck speed but the one who had the honour of driving Manning around didn't stop there.

As his passenger did a truly appalling Indian accent, the driver put his foot down and drove into every pothole in the road.

You couldn't help but smile as Manning tried to keep his cool as he was thrown from side to side in the taxi.

He looked decidedly uncomfortable but not half as unhappy as when he finally faced his Indian audience.

A room of respectable-looking guests sat around waiting for the humour to start as Bernard began his out-dated act.

When the laughter failed to materialise, he blamed the language barrier and started to patronise his audience, explaining such bizarre concepts as a vicar being the British equivalent of a rabbi.

Then he decided his microphone was broken, despite being in a small, quiet room where you could have heard a pin drop. In next to no time he had given up and walked off stage for the first time in his sadly long career.

In his anger and embarrassment he demanded the cameras be turned off - unfortunately there was no guarantee he would be so stage shy in future.