On TV last night

WHEN he reached the word "soul", the lights went out. Dan Cruickshank was left in the dark in the king's burial chamber in Egypt's Great Pyramid. Spooky or what? He could've been excused for losing his head and starting to scream. As anyone who's been inside will know, this is not recommended for anyone with claustrophobia.

Cruickshank had an advantage over the ordinary tourist - he was alone (apart from the cameraman, of course). My trip inside the sole survivor of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World was made in the company of a party of large Americans. This made the climb, bent almost double due to the low ceiling of the staircase, uncomfortable to say the least. I hate to think what would have happened if the lights had gone out on us in this construction of two-and-a-half million blocks of stone, rising to 481ft.

There isn't much to see in the king's chamber, just an empty sarcophagus. Cruickshank was pointing out the two air shafts to the outside to allow the Pharaoh's soul to pass out when it went dark.

This leg of his journey, from Mali to Egypt, continued his fascinating journey. The joy isn't the guide himself, because he can be a bit irritating, but the stunning photography, combined with the mix of the familiar and the unfamiliar treasures he's unearthed. You get to see things you wouldn't see otherwise. In the Valley of the Queens, he went inside Queen Nefitari's tomb, which is closed to the public but not the BBC, to view "the most beautiful and best preserved wall paintings ever discovered in Egypt".

The fourth month of his treasure quest also found him in Mali in a city made of mud. Like the pyramids, under threat from Cairo's expanding suburbs and air pollution, this building tradition which is passed from father to son is in danger of disappearing.

The Djenne mosque is the largest mud building in the world. The Dogon rock paintings provide the backdrop for circumcision ceremonies. While the Government now discourages female circumcision, it's still performed on boys. Dogon masks, used in dances to communicate with their ancestors, were another treasure.

Also off the tourist track was Leptis Magna, one of the greatest Roman cities which "has haunted my imagination for decades". As it's in Libya, it's been impossible to see until recently. He visited the Berber village of Gasr Al-Hajj, where desert temperatures can reach 136 degrees Fahrenheit, before facing something much more fearsome - riding a camel. "They're brutish beasts in my experience," said Cruickshank, boarding one of these ships of the desert. Fortunately, the already-grumpy beast didn't hear him or it might have put his lights out by throwing him to the ground.

Jack Dee, York Grand Opera House

JACK Dee secured his place in the nation's hearts by being something of a misery-guts. He was a seething ball of resentment for whom no target was beyond reach, the anti-hero whose appeal was broad enough to win Celebrity Big Brother, and all coated with a deadpan stare. He was the diner who complains about the service, but only when the waiter is out of earshot. It's made him one of our most popular stand-ups - witness the ecstatic reception when he walked on stage at York's Grand Opera House - but, although there are still flashes of it at times, the fire seems not to be raging quite so fiercely now.

Maybe it's because he's mellowed, but the first half of his act takes aim at some very familiar victims: B&Q, hotel soap, and those culled from a primer on local knowledge which must be handed out to every touring comedian. It's only towards the end of the half that the miserabilism starts to shine through and the material comes alive. Punters were invited to text Jack in the interval, providing an opportunity to come out with an encore of one-liners, which proved the best part of the show, although anyone familiar with his act will recognise many of these 'texts'.

Dee's dry wit is more effective in the second half, and even though he's always more likely to raise a chuckle than a giggle, there's no doubt that his many fans go home happy. It's not that he's not funny - he's still one of the best around - it's just that he seems somehow tamer than before, and his act loses out as a result. But then it would be harsh to wish for more misery in his life.

Nick Morrison

Apassionata, Metro Radio Arena, Newcastle

THE last person I remember discussing his 'orses with such enthusiasm was Hi-De-Hi's Fred Quilley, and the fictional jockey would have been in his element with this magnificent display of horseflesh.

A packed, enthusiastic arena cheered every flourish from five royal horse breeds either mounted or led by some of Europe's most skilled riders and trainers. Spanish Andalusians, Belgian Arabians and lipizzaners, Dutch-bred Friesians and Portuguese lusitanos produced dressage to die for plus the many balletic and human-inspired tricks taught to man's four-legged friend. There are times when you catch yourself wondering why people are applauding a horse and rider jogging around a sand-covered rink, but the presentation of lights, music and groomed glory is hard to resist. Despite the beauty of four jet-black Fresians among 33 stallions on display, it's the tiny Shetland pony Lady which earns the oohs and aahs as she's led through her paces by Hermann Werehof.

And for those who hark back to the days when high-speed horsemanship and stunts meant all, Chkimbo Reda, Khalil Rheda and Alex Willms tumbled in and out of the saddles of the fiery Arabians. Times have changed to such an extent that when a ring-side spotlight is sent flying, your hopes are that it is man rather than beast who is limping afterwards. One thing that Europeans can agree on is that we love our 'orses to the point of apassionata.

Viv Hardwic