On Saturday we decided to go tour the BBC studios with Melissa and Jeff, as they had flown into town for the weekend.

It was one of the only events that we had planned as it wasn't too long a visit, and anyway Angus and I became the least interesting part of a visit to England-Melissa had found our Desperate Housewives DVDs and Jeff had come a long way in his Sims2 practice (including some kind of code in which he could cheat like a maniac, thus proving in the Sims game that money really can buy happiness. I knew it was true, I knew money could buy happiness, I've just never had the bank account to practice that one.) The kids spent most of the time incommunicado as they explored the brand new worlds that are Strangetown and Wisteria Lane, and we've put in rules for future visits about the amount of time they can spend on these things (plus we decided his daughter couldn't take the DVDs with her to Sweden. Even though she's nearly 14 and has seen much worse on Swedish or English television, when we saw the scene of Bree removing the handcuffs from the dishwasher we thought-Yeah. There is a hint of sexual conduct on this show. Melissa can totally handle this. Angus' ex, however, might just wig out, so these DVDs will stay here.)

The BBC visit was quite interesting actually-we toured around with a large Russian group (Uter, anyone?) and sat in a large glass conference room in which BBC News is run. It's an amazing room-it makes you feel a bit like you're in the movie Wall Street, with desks in some kind of random pattern, crumpled bags of takeout Chinese food on nearly every work surface, and the occasional doll or plastic action figure man there as a distraction. Cables as thick as pythons snaked around desks and everywhere you looked there were plasma TVs beaming BBC news from some part of the globe. It was a fabulous room, and the guide explained that we were in a glassed-in conference room as these are dangerous times now, and once a man rushed the doormen, ran up the stairs and tried to throw a sofa through the glass.

The guide asked if we had any questions. I decided I had one, but a New Zealander across the room asked his first, something about the broadcasting on BBC International. Angus asked about BBC interests in commercialization and user penetration in the UK. I decided to bottle my question as it didn't really fit in the same vein as the serious previous questions-I was going to ask if that guy who tried to throw a sofa into the control room had picked up the sofa somewhere along the BBC hallways or if he had brought his own.

Different strokes and all that.

We went into the BBC main reception, which is a Heritage listed site and now cannot be changed as it's part of the "fabric of the country". As we walked in, craning our heads around, the cute Irish tour guide waved her arm. "As you can see, this reception has an extremely unique style."

Yes. That style would be called "Early Fuck". The place was absolutely hideous-a complete homage to the 1960's, complete with floor to two-story ceiling wood panelling and a mosaic that just screamed of a Janis Joplin influence. The Brady family would have been so happy to be there they would have had a fake camp-out on the "groovy" tiles on the floor, unfolding their pup tents and talking about their feelings.

We moved on and got to watch a TV show called "Dick and Dom" being recorded-it's a kids' show with a simple premise-kids like stupid jokes, outrageous costumes, and the occasional bucket of goo thrown on people. I thought back and remembered how much I loved You Can't Say That on Television and figured they were right. We saw the set of Top of the Pops and watched a new Angus Deayton pilot called Pants on Fire being filmed. They showed us how some of the magic parts in the Harry Potter movies were filmed (and all this time I thought it was just magic. I'm such a simpleton.) When we were done we had a mock game of The Weakest Link, only it was based purely on an English show called One Foot in the Grave. Angus soundly throunced my and New Zealand Boys' asses as we got lost in translation. Karma. It was karma for attempting to get in a little Weakest Link practice.

When we got home Angus' family came to dinner. They brought the Screaming Children with them, and the Screaming commenced pretty much as soon as the door was opened. The kids homed in on Maggie and Mumin who can pretty much take care of themselves, so I wasn't too worried. They high-tailed it upstairs and I figured they were safe. What I hadn't figured on was the determination of one of the Screamers, a four year-old. She went after Maggie like a model after a billionaire, and when she came downstairs crying it was revealed that she had tried to pull Maggie out from under the bed by her paw and was rewarded with a warning bite that did not break the skin.

I soothed the boo-boo with a Care Bears Band-Aid (I KNEW they would come in handy I just knew it-good karma at work there) and a gentle request to leave the cats alone for the rest of the night.

When they left Jeff returned to the land of Sims and Melissa, facing a Desperate Housewives ban, begged me to watch a show with her that I had never watched. Faced with being the cool stepmother or being the uncool stepmother, I knew I had only once choice. I had to break down the superiority complex I had about shows like this and sit my butt down, keeping Melissa company. I finally caved and broke my resolve to not watch reality shows.

I watched my first (and second and, as far as I'm concerned, LAST) ever episode of American Idol.

I had to briefly debate my "no suicide" stance. The show was torture. I couldn't believe it. People with voices like those actually go on TV? Actually sing in front of people? I don't have a great voice, but you'd never see me in front of a camera giving it a go.

Angus giddily escaped the tortue of American Idol, but I got one back on him-his kids had learnt the first few verses of a song from Shrek 2, and I taught them the rest of the song-that evening I had them rocking and rolling with the lyrics to I Like Big Butts, we three extremely white people dancing around the study singing it.

I had my revenge.

Or so I thought, until I realized that they were wound up and couldn't sleep, singing Happy Happy Turkey Day from the Adams' Family for about half an hour after going to bed. Now that was definitely karma.

-H

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