Well, are you watching Primeval, or not, then? If not, you'll never find out whether the mild-mannered Arthropleurid had a poisonous flesh-gobbling relative, and why Aldwych Tube Station was really closed (so the army could exterminate the proto-scorpionids, duh). Next week we go underwater to play with Mosasaurs! It's flesh-gobbling fun! ... oh, and there's a plot arc, character development featuring believable interactions, a doomed goverment cover-up, and hints of something darker. If you like that sort of thing. Also (and even better) the characters all have different hair and clothes.*

I'm not going to recommend that you watch Top Gear. But I am going to point out that last night's edition featured:

• Jeremy Clarkson removing all SUVs from the Cool Wall.
• Simon Pegg sharing stories about firearms as this week's star in a reasonably priced car.
• Rocket car death-dodger Richard Hammond and the vague hairy one turning a Reliant Robin into a Space Shuttle, then launching it several thousand feet into the air on an ENORMOUS rocket. Explosive bolts, remote piloting system, the works.
• Top Gear Dog in a wind tunnel.

Should you decide, entirely independently, that this sounds worth throwing a contemptuous glance at, as you leaf through your Jane Austen or Hunter S., it's repeated. Wednesday, BBC 2, 7pm.

Yesterday was a domestic day. I got the woodpecker door-knocker (a gift from mum) onto the wall, backed up load of music files, polyfillaed about half of the terrifying spider holes in the electrics cupboard and converted an old Le Creuset kettle into a hanging basket. Perhaps next time I should *start* with cleaning the bathroom?

The title is something someone said to me in a dream last night. I had to pick a duck, but the choice was really limited; a bespoke duck.

*If there was one thing about Torchwood that was a constant jab in the eye, it was how everyone dressed the same, even down to using the same shade of brown hair-dye. It was like looking at a Vertigo comic before Grant Morrison.