Editor-At-Large: I wouldn't want to go lap-dancing with him, but Chris Evans gets my vote

Imagine the scene. You've gone out after work for a quiet drink and the place has been taken over by a ranting ginger-haired man crawling around on all fours telling a story at the top of his voice. A group of baying blokes cheer him on. We may be relieved not to have been in that pub, but three cheers for Chris Evans for

providing first-class entertainment in the High Court last week. I'm not one of the sneerers when it comes to Mr Evans. I don't want to swill beer with the man, visit lap-dancing clubs on his arm or even drop in at his local when he's buying a round. But I would spend any amount of time listening to his thoughts about entertainment on radio and television – quite simply, he has more ideas in his bath than most television executives and radio producers will be able to cobble up in five years of consulting focus groups and drawing up flow charts.

And so what if he behaves badly – don't we all enjoy reading about it? If a multimillionaire wants to buy beer in bulk, marry a pop star or wear dodgy hats, I don't believe he's committing a crime. We're talking about television and radio entertainment programming, not repainting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. And if our ebullient host opens a can of lager in a radio studio at 6am, is this really a sackable offence?

Unlike that other flawed master of the small screen, Michael Barrymore, Evans doesn't seek our sympathy. He lives a private life most of us find boorish and boozy, surrounded by sycophants. But let us salute a creative genius who has brought fun and froth into millions of ordinary people's lives, and provided them with plenty to talk about in the process.

The case brought by Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas recently provided us with hilarious revelations involving the world of the mega-famous with their giant egos, vast wealth and fragile feelings. Now it's the turn of Chris Evans, and he's done us proud, sobbing real tears, combining astonishing arrogance and a painful honesty unheard of in the media business. Of course, I cynically assume this a bold bid to oust simpering Graham Norton from his late-night throne on Channel 4. Away from our screens for too long, Evans's behaviour in the witness box has guaranteed him the kind of publicity other presenters can only dream of.

Ostensibly, Evans is in court telling the story of how he, an aggrieved employee, behaved so badly he got the sack and forfeited a final payment of share options, worth millions, to which he says is still entitled. His former bosses at the Scottish Media Group which owns Virgin Radio are claiming he brought their company into disrepute. Nothing new there. But how many workers earn £1.7m a year and have around £36m in the bank as a result of selling their company? You might ask why Evans continued to present a demanding daily show at Virgin, getting up at dawn and frequently turning up with a hangover. By his own admission he often started work feeling dreadful, but he is a workaholic who loves what he does.

Matters came to a head in June 2001 when the new management wouldn't allow their star to stay on air all day when England were playing a qualifying match against Greece in the World Cup. And so one of the most talented broadcasters of a decade couldn't tolerate one iota of criticism and subsequently attacked his management on air and in the press. He went on a drinking binge, didn't turn up for work for days and then flew to America to marry his 18- year-old girlfriend in Las Vegas.

A year later Evans returned to Britain to set up a new media company and his first two series are currently on air, Boys and Girls, presented by Vernon Kay on Channel 4, and Live with Christian O'Donnell on Channel 5. In the fickle world of broadcasting, Evans is now seen as a problem. Stories have appeared claiming Boys and Girls, after only four episodes rating around 1.2million, may be moved, and Christian O'Donnell, who replaced the original choice of Chris Moyles, is struggling with a 2 per cent share and only 400,000 viewers. I beg to differ. It is far too soon to judge Boys and Girls in a competitive slot on a Saturday night. And, by the way, we are at war, and so all programming is being moved to satisfy the demand for news. My only regret is that British television is too cowardly to offer Mr Evans a series to present himself. The sacking of Angus Deayton demonstrates the double standards currently operating, and when you hear the name William Hague being touted as a host for Have I Got News For You you know these are dark days. The Likely Lad seems a liability next to South Yorkshire's Tory Boy.

Chris Evans has come a long way since The Big Breakfast and Don't Forget Your Toothbrush. He got tired of TFI Friday and it showed. But when I saw Graham Norton being pathetically grateful that George Michael had deigned to pitch up recently I began to long for a Chris Evans coup, complete with tasteless jokes, bare breasts and butch talk of football. His performance in the witness box shows our man may auto-destruct in the process, but he's been off the box for too long. Television has become feebler and more anodyne as a result.

Vanitas, vanitas

Worrying evidence that we are fighting a war with a country that does not speak our language is evidenced by the latest issue of Vanity Fair magazine. In February Dame Edna's advice column told a reader not to bother learning Spanish as there was nothing in the language worth reading except Don Quixote... and adding "there was a poet named Garcia Lorca, but I'd hang him on the intellectual back burner. As for everyone's speaking it... who speaks it that you are really desperate to talk to? The help?" In the politically correct irony-free zone that passes for glossy journalism in the States, Edna's musings have caused outrage. An apology has been printed in the latest issue along with letters from upset readers who found Edna disturbing and offensive. A tortured missive from the actress Salma Hayek manages to be unfunny and long-winded. Haven't these people heard of Lenny Bruce or Bill Hicks? In the homespun world of George Bush humour is an optional extra and satire represents a dangerous subversion.

Adam Faith was buried last week in what looked like a giant wicker laundry basket, a great deal more attractive than a coffin. Choosing a casket for my father's funeral was a depressing experience. Why would anyone want to make their last appearance in front of family and friends in something made of dark stained oak with gold handles? The burial business needs dragging into the 21st century. In some African countries coffins are shaped to look like dream cars such as Mercedes or Cadillacs – perhaps a more appealing option than something that reminds me of standing at an ironing board. Surely Helmut Lang or Philippe Starck can address this gap in the market.