Classic children’s TV. It is, thanks to a plethora of “I remember” TV nostalgia programmes, a conversation one now feels slightly self-conscious about having. It’s a bit like talking about Spangles, or Space Hoppers, or the Nolans. You feel a bit . . . Paul Ross. A bit Thornton.

And I’ve got to be honest – I don’t actually have any favourites from my childhood. All the “classic” shows I watched – Fingerbobs, Mr Benn, Ivor The Engine, Bagpuss – were shows from another generation, still being repeated at lunchtime ten years later. I was a child of the Eighties, when the real shows were Johnny Briggs, DangerMouse, Supergran, Bananaman, Dogtanian, Roobarb & Custard, Jossy’s Giants, Cities of Gold and Battle of the Planets – a group of programmes singularly marked by all having absolutely amazing/catchy theme tunes, but being very dull once the actual show started.

It was a televisual era split, largely, between cheeky, cheerful, accident-prone working-class kids narrowly avoiding being thumped by their dads (UK shows), and extremely poor-quality cartoons featuring things exploding in space (Japanese imports). As far as children’s TV went, I would catch the opening credits, sing along, then go off and watch my video of The Sound of Music for the hundredth time instead.

So perhaps it’s coming from a generation with a poor children’s TV heritage that makes me now, as a parent, marvel at my own children’s TV shows all the more. My God, but the early 21st century is a golden age for the little people. The TV out there is incredible. For starters, there’s none of that “Fingerbobs and King Rollo at lunchtime, and then that’s your lot until 3pm” malarkey that so blighted my own tender years. With Playhouse Disney, Nick Jnr, CBBC and CBeebies, a child could spend all day in a cathode wonderland, never once bumping against the cold, hard reality of The Young Doctorsor Pebble Mill at One.And the quality of the stuff is extraordinary. Witty, visually inventive, fast-paced and slyly educational, the very best children’s TV shows are so good that adults can actually gain pleasure from watching them – not something, I can assure you, that my parents could have said about Bananaman. With my husband, I once actually sat down after the children went to bed and watched Charlie and Lola.We were quite drunk, admittedly; but also keen to try and work out some kind of meta-text concerning Lola’s invisible friend, Soren Lorenson.

Of course in TV terms, Charlie and Lola – while still unquestionably classic fare – is rather old hat. For while ITV1 may be planning to entirely cease production of children’s shows, the advent of multichannel means that there are more programmes – for younger children, at least – than ever before.

The three new kids on the block are Little Einsteins, In the Night Garden and Bunnytown. In the Night Garden is the new preschool blockbuster from the creators of Teletubbies – the merchandise was the hard-to-get Christmas purchase of 2007.

On an initial viewing, a staring parent would, undoubtedly, register the luxuriant production values, superior characterisa-tion and restful air. This is, after all, a show set in a magic wood in the night sky, and populated by humming, rolling pillows.

However, read any interviews with the show’s creators and you find that there is a motive behind the show so benignly helpful that a more stressed parent might feel inclined to break down and cry with gratitude. What In the Night Garden is trying to do, apparently, is help to alleviate sleep anxiety in small children, and let them calm down before bedtime.

Those cots that turn into boats and float into a sea-sky; the humming pillows and tightly packed Pontipines in their truckle bed – it’s like some kind of occupational art therapy.

A world away from In the Night Garden’s balm-like, opium stupor is the rigorous cultural workout of Playhouse Disney’s Little Einsteins. One of the slightly smug truisms that pro-TV parents are wont to trot out in an argument is the educational values of many shows.

Dora the Explorer is always cited as a case in point. “ Dora the Explorer has taught my child to speak Spanish before the age of 3!” they will say. As someone who has regularly used this line, I feel I can now – some years later – admit that Dora The Explorer’s educational powers are fairly limited. Counting to ten and being able to say “Multi multi chocolata” is about the extent of it.

Little Einsteins, on the other hand, is the real deal. It’s a show that appears to have Lisa Simpson and Niles from Frasier as executive producers. In every show, the Little Einsteins gang have a featured composer and painter, which the plot revolves around. In practice, this means the often--startling occurrence of walking into a room where a bunch of six-year-olds are screaming “Diminuendo! Diminuendo!” over Ode to Joy, as pictures of German folk art animate on the screen.

Finally – as contrast to In the Night Garden’s dreamtime and Little Einstein’s flash-card academe, is Playhouse Disney’s Bunnytown. Bunnytown is just silly.

Really, superiorly, cheeringly silly.

Made by two Jim Henson alumni, Bunnytown is a joyous show – a brightly coloured, flower-power Bunnyland, where every show ends with an Elton John-type bunny hammering out The Bunnytown Hop. Bunnytown’score values are a freewheeling psychedelic whimsy – racing eggs, flying houses, magic elevators – and a panoply of extremely silly voices. There is a small, dim, blue bunny-child who can say only “ice-cream” in a growly voice, who reduces me to weepy laughter every time I watch. Although, bear in mind, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for nearly seven years now.

You see, when it comes to children’s television, one must be without ego or doubt. While I give my children love, attention and all that jazz, to be honest, the television trumps me time and time again in terms of entertainment. I can neither guide them through the works of Brueghel, animate the night sky nor sing a raucous rock’n’roll song about hipperty-hopping. But I know some guys who can. And, while they do, I can put the tea on and read OK!

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