The Biology of Dads, Mongrels and Special 1 TV

It seems that if evolution carries on as it is, it won't be long before chaps are breastfeeding, says Sam Wollaston

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Laverne Antrobus presents The Biology of Dads, BBC4. Photograph: Pioneer Productions

I'm not a father, but I did used to have one, so I'm not completely unaware of what's involved. My own dad wasn't what you'd call a modern one. I saw him once a day, in his study, where he'd cane me. "Thank you sir, good night," I'd say afterwards, holding back the tears until I was out of there. I don't think it did me any harm.

It seems, from The Biology of Dads (BBC4), that the role has changed a little. Look at this guy, Richard, chatting away to his son. "Hello Sunshine, are you awake?" he says. Awake? He hasn't even been born yet. Richard's talking to his wife's bump. But get this: little Sunshine, the foetus, responds more – in terms of increased heartbeat – to Richard's voice than he does to mum Alice's. Dad is already bonding, even before he's technically a dad. To be honest, I reckon the result may have something to do with the fact he's bellowing at his wife's belly from about an inch away (poor Sunshine is probably terrified), whereas Alice is further away, for anatomical reasons.

Maybe that's when my father did his chit-chat with me, pre-natally. Except I think he was away, exploring Africa or something. And I'm pretty sure he didn't do what some modern dads-to-be do: develop a kind of man morning sickness. After the birth, testosterone leaks out of them like oil from a BP well. Their maleness vanishes and they become gentle and nuturing – women basically, or well on the way. If evolution carries on as it is, then it won't be long before chaps are breastfeeding. Fascinating, and a little bit worrying perhaps.

The testosterone does come back, thankfully, when dads need to be dads again - teach their sons to push themselves and take risks. And to be competitive on the football field. Or the north face of the Eiger in my case, because my father considered football a game for sissies. Not that his testosterone ever really went away.

It's different for girls. Dads need to show them that the best boys to go out with are ones who are just like them. It's perhaps not surprising, but again worrying, that fathers are so instrumental in who their daughters end up with. Research shows that women pair off with men who don't just behave like their dads, they look like them too. Hmmm. Well, my sister's husband is certainly very Victorian in his values and he has a big nose. But now I'm thinking about my girlfriend's father and I just can't see it. This theory, this documentary, is clearly a sham.

I'm wondering how much of my amusement at Mongrels (BBC3), of which there is a considerable amount, has to do with the fact that cuddly children's toys are saying things you wouldn't normally expect cuddly children's toys to say. Like "You are such a cock-end". And doing things you might not expect them to do. Like the three starving cats, who tuck into Margaret, their pensioner owner, who's been lying dead at the bottom of the stairs for a few months.

Quite a lot, probably. And though it is funny, it won't remain unexpected for long, the novelty will wear off at some point not too far away. It's not just Muppets with Tourette Syndrome, though. Mongrels is a thing of great imagination in its own right, a surreal world where pigeons are jewel thieves, minor celebrities makes surprise appearances, and chickens date foxes (the attempt at a snog is lovely: beak on muzzle, it just doesn't work). The fox ends up inside a microwave, spinning on the spinny dish, while his brain melts from the inside. And Marion the main cat is castrated. But, as Destiny the Afghan (hound) says, you can achieve a hell of a lot without any testicles.

I still don't know how long the joke will last, whether it's got the legs to run and run, but like Margaret's moggies, I'll go back for seconds.

There's more puppetry in Special 1 TV (BBC3). Punditry puppetry, with a plastic José Mourinho hosting an interactive phone-in chat show from the World Cup in South Africa. Some of the impressions (Mick McCarthy) are spot-on; other's (Arsène Wenger) fail like an Emile Heskey attempt on goal. Hit and miss then, as you'd expect from a show like this. But still a lot less annoying than James Corden's World Cup shambles on ITV.

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