There's a virus spreading across this land. It's been there festering in dingy backwater pubs for decades, but slowly it's eating its way further into the general public. And it goes by the name of darts.
These days I've become increasingly bored of television formats and much prefer the company of my laptop, the neighbours cat (who wanders through my conservatory in a daily escape bid from captivity) and a mug of beef tea.
He also told us that he and Paul McCartney used to go around London by bus sometimes, and people would look at Paul in a wondering sort of way and then think "no, can't be" and leave them alone. Not something that would happen today with all the camera phones and selfies.
Nearly all of us grow up being told that our school days are the best, most important days of our lives. So what happens to the four and a half thousand kids who seemingly muck that up every year? Do they feel, like I would have, that they've ruined their lives?
I recently delivered a talk on the rise of female entrepreneurship. How women were supporting women to achieve, even though it may difficult to gain funding and they may be juggling caring responsibilities alongside their work.
Back for another series, this peculiarly British gardening show wouldn't really work anywhere else in the world. Truth be told, it scarcely works here. Which makes it all the odder why it has returned to our screens.
The Green Party have a duty to continue to provide for the nation a fresh, fair and radical alternative to the 'business as usual' establishment, just as media chiefs from the BBC, ITV, SKY et al have a duty to promote and encourage a wide, engaging and relevant debate involving those extended the right to vote and elect.
Eastenders promised an action packed festive offering and they didn't disappoint and as Mick Carter found out that his sister is actually his mother, he reels from the news that his prospective wife-to-be had been raped by the person that turns out is his brother.
The good news is that the dark tyranny of North Korea under Kim Jong Un, according to Izidor Urian, who knew Kim's grandfather Kim Il Sung, is doomed to end. The bad news? That happy ending could take "thirty, forty, fifty years."
In their 10 o'clock bulletin, the BBC spent their time asking shoppers how busy it was (very, obviously) and following a family down a packed Oxford Street. If that is what's newsworthy, rather than Britain's social divide and economic progress, we should despair for sections of modern journalism.
As her fellow celebrities mobbed her as the credits on this year's Strictly credits began to roll, it wasn't Caroline Flack that actually made me want to get up off my sofa and dance. This has to be Blue singer Simon Webbe, who's journey from two left feet to tens from every judge should not be underestimated.
Whenever there's a poll of the most popular and memorable movie lines ever spoken, it frequently comes out on top. And on Wednesday (December 17, BBC1 at 11.20pm) guess who'll be back to give the nation the benefit of her insight, expertise and encyclopaedic grasp of the silver screen?
Some multi-millionaire shins a ball into the back of the net and it triggers the commentator to release his pent-up load of superlatives. In sport, tags such as legend are applied with all the exclusivity of pigeon poop in Trafalgar Square.
As the world becomes an increasingly dangerous place for foreign correspondents, the MoD is rebooting its relationship with the media, drawing upon the skills of the servicemen and women already out on the ground. Who needs reporters, when you can do it all by yourself?
With 'Posh People' - based on the readership of Tatler magazine - on one channel and 'Skint' on another, it's probably time to address the growing inequality and the huge class divide...
Dapper Laughs shoud have never been filmed, never made the funding table, never been seen by the commissioning editor and yet the incidious 'humour' was allowed to be broadcast buffeted by men and women in the industry.