Tonight the Oxford Union debates whether British comedy is superior to American. George Frew (UK) and amanda Castleman (USA) slug it out first. We gave them Charlie Chaplin, Bob Hope, Cary Grant, writes George Frew. They gave us... Friends.

Great Britain and the USA - two nations divided by a sense of humour. Saddam Hussein likes to think of the US as the Great Satan. Instead, it's the Great Dichotomy, the Big Paradox, in terms of comedy. For every Jerry Seinfeld there's a Jerry Springer, for every Homer Simpson a John-Boy Walton. Strictly speaking, The Waltons was supposed to be serious drama, but as Oscar Wilde said, you'd have needed a heart of stone not to laugh.

Let it be said that no-one does contemporary TV drama better than the Cousins. But when it comes to comedy, I've had more laughs filling in a tax form. Lest we become smug, let us recall some British clunkers: Terry and June, Are You Being Served?, Anything By Carla Lane and Benny Hill. Strangely, Are You Being Served? and its mincing star John Inman, who looked doomed to spend the rest of his career wearing dresses and playing pantomime dames, became huge hits in the States - as did Benny Hill.

Yet when one American TV executive was introduced to the sublime Fawlty Towers, he suggested the show had possibilities "if we can get rid of that Basil guy".

Americans revere success, which is why they can't laugh at failure. Which is also why The Simpsons are cartoons. Britcoms thrive on failure. Basil Fawlty, the world's worst hotelier, ensnared in a marriage of mutual hatred; Edmund Blackadder, historical clown; Gary and Tony from Men Behaving Badly - a pair of disgusting losers; Del Boy and Rodney Trotter, Peckham plonkers. At its best, the Britcom is a thing of magic. Consider the very last scene of Blackadder in the hellish trenches of the Great War. Poignant, moving, witty and funny. Could an American show have done this scene? Not until Uncle Sam becomes Auntie Samantha, played by John Inman in a frock.

In other words, not on your telly. The United States, I am told, lacks irony, writes Amanda Castleman. American culture is an oxymoron.

Well Brits, it seems the joke is on you. Far from lagging in the comedic arts, we excel in satire, exuberant buffooneries and, most importantly, in media exportation.

Don't forget: you pay good pounds sterling to watch Hollywood parodies of Englishness - Austin Powers in Edwardian ruffles, Spinal Tap sawing heavy metal guitars.

Don't get me wrong. In the ceaseless mania for American humour - The Simpsons, South Park and Frasier, to name just a few - you have imported some real dogs, Friends being the most obvious. Import is the key word here. We can't help the occasional frivolous sitcom among the quality programmes like Roseanne. In such a fertile, creative atmosphere, mistakes are bound to happen. Yet you choose to watch Jennifer Aniston's bouffant.

Why I'll never know, when such gems as Saturday Night Live remain isolated across the Pond. All the giants of comedy started there: Dan Aykroyd, Steve Martin, Richard Pryor, Bill Murphy, John Belushi, Eddie Murphy...

There's no reason to be petty about US comedy simply because you don't get the jokes. Accept that our way is different. No better, no worse, just not British.

After all, we openly adore Red Dwarf, Fawlty Towers, Absolutely Fabulous and Blackadder. Video tapes are eagerly hoarded and swapped, precious like gold. Your efforts are happily added to the melting pot. And here lies the real strength of Yankee humour - and the nation as well. The variety, the diversity, the richness and energy will never be matched. Our comedy crucible is 3,000 miles wide, 2,000 deep - an ethnic mlange. This gives us a scope never found in claustrophobic Britcoms.

Sneer all you want, but we're watching, assimilating and eventually will sell Britishness back to you.

So who's laughing now?

Story date: Thursday 10 February

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.