Last night I had a dream about Mark Strickson, in which he co-presented a segment of 'This Morning' with Eamonn Holmes. About spacehoppers. And halfway through, shortly after Eamonn had commented that he hadn't changed a bit and had quite nice cheekbones, Stricko mutated into Harry Enfield's 'Kevin the Teenager', complete with dubious 1992-esque dayglo hoodie.

My subconscious is just rubbish. Finally a dream Stricko comes to visit, and is there exciting bondage and naughty ginger fun? No. There's daytime telly and some zits.

(Eamonn was right about the cheekbones, mind.)

In other thrilling news:

* BF audio Omega = work of genius. Consume at earliest opportunity. It will make your head go pop.

* Kinda = really much worse than I remember. The eerie Tegan mindmelt stuff is fantastic, and Hindle is brilliantly nuts (once one bypasses the 'but you are DCI Jack Meadows, wtf?' business), and I quite like the pith helmets. But Adrian Mills in a beach towel is too troubling, what with him being a crazy tribal bloke, and not a git in a suit reading out letters from Mrs Biddulph in Kettering who sent us this photograph of an amusingly shaped vegetable. (Warning: this reference is for Old People only. Youth Of Today, stand well back.)

* All Creatures Great and Small is more wonderful than anything else in the whole wide world. Not least the one where Tristan goes off to shag some nurses do his exams in Edinburgh and gets replaced by Richard Carmody, who turns out to be none other than spooky Marriner from Enlightenment. Michael Sheard's in it as well for full Who crossoverness. And James falls in poo. You can't ask for more than that.

* Peanut butter on crumpets is a meal, right?