If you can judge the success of a comedy show by the ubiquity of its catchphrases, The Fast Show was “Scorchio!”. That one was courtesy of Caroline Aherne’s weather girl on Chanel 9, the Euro telly spoof. And they kept on coming on TV’s greatest sketch show: “I freely admit I was very, very drunk” (sozzled QC Rowley Birkin, Paul Whitehouse); “Does my bum look big in this?” (Arabella Weir’s Insecure Woman); and “… which was nice” (Patrick Nice, Mark Williams).

Not forgetting John Thomson’s Jazz Club presenter Louis Balfour, with his drawn-out “Niiiiice” and “grrreat”, introducing the not-so-greats of the genre: “The most popular exponent of ‘Dinner Jazz’ working in America – Stepney Green with his band, the New Headhunters – grrreat.”

Occasionally, it was a little risqué: “Oh, suit you, sir! Were you out with a lady last night, sir? Did she want it, sir?” (the Suit You Tailors, Whitehouse and Williams). Or, in the case of Charlie Higson’s bequiffed car salesman and lady-killer Swiss Toni, downright rude: “Being in a car crash… is very much like making love to a beautiful woman. First of all, brace yourself, hold on tight – particularly if it’s a rear-ender.”

But mostly, The Fast Show was pleasingly stupid, particularly Simon Day’s characters: pub bore Billy Bleach, eco-warrior Dave Angel and Competitive Dad. Not forgetting Whitehouse’s football pundit, Ron Manager – “Those Brazilians, you know? Circa 1970? Broke the mould…. Far cry from small boys in the park, jumpers for goalposts. Rush goalie. Two at the back, three in the middle, four up front, one’s gone home for his tea. Beans on toast?” 

Each episode saw 20-odd sketches, none outstaying their welcome and many lasting seconds – a Williams speciality. His country bumpkin, Jesse, would emerge from his shed and pronounce: “This week, I have been mostly eating roasted chickens.” Or “bourbon biscuits”. Or “chipolatas”.

The Fast Show ran over three series on BBC Two from 1994 to 1997 (with a few later specials). It was the brainchild of Higson and Whitehouse, who had written for and performed in various Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer and Harry Enfield shows. “We didn’t want to do just a son of Harry Enfield,” recalled Higson, discussing the show at a British Film Institute (BFI) event a few years ago. “We wanted it to have a different feel and character… and make it a team show. We had friends we wanted to work with and people we were fans of.”

The idea, added Higson, was to “just do the funny bits and cut everything else out”. This meant no parodies of other TV shows or political satire, which could date the comedy.

As Weir told the BFI: “One of the reasons the show has endured and stuck in people’s minds is because it was never of its time… it was timeless.”

The Fast Show could also be poignant, above all in the Ted and Ralph sketches, written by Father Ted creators Arthur Mathews and Graham Linehan, in which country squire Lord Ralph Mayhew (Higson) tries to become more intimate with his Irish estate worker Ted (Whitehouse): “Are you interested in French cinema at all, Ted?” “I wouldn’t know about that, sir.”

The 1990s were a hugely creative time for British TV comedy, notably Chris Morris and Armando Iannucci’s The Day Today, Steve Coogan’s Alan Partridge iterations, the aforementioned Vic and Bob, and Aherne’s mock chat show, The Mrs Merton Show.

The Fast Show is their equal: laugh-out-loud funny, laden with memorable catchphrases and characters, and no little pathos. Thirty years on, it stands the test of time, unlike other sketch shows from its era, such as the frequently offensive Little Britain, which punched down, not up. This week, I will be mostly watching The Fast Show.

The Fast Show is on BBC iPlayer.