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And my licence fee goes on this...?

I used to run a computer with the operating system Windows Millenium Edition. Don't worry about what that means if you're not sure (although for those of you are thinking "so do I!", you have my condolences). Windows ME had one major distinguishing feature. No, not System Restore. And not the slightly modified icons from Windows '98. Not at all.

In fact, the major thing that distinguished Windows ME from all previous versions of Windows (and most of the subsequent ones) was its ability to struggle like anything if asked to perform any simple task. No, seriously, it could, and usually did, crash when you turned the computer on. Or off. Or, if you by chance managed to get the machine up and running, when you tried to open a programme - even one that came with it, like Internet Explorer. Like all sulky teenagers, ME had an attitude problem. It simply didn't do what you wanted it to. Pleading, threats and even physical violence had no effect. It was, pure and simple, awful.

The main thing that used to haunt my waking thoughts was why? I mean, how did the conversation go?

"Have you tested the new operating system, Bob?"

"Yes, sir, Mr Gates, sir."

"And...?"

"Um... well, sir, I say tested, but in the end I had to be restrained by my colleagues to stop me throwing my machine out of the window. And you know we're on the 8th floor up here..."

"Excellent. Release it next week."

Actually, that may be dangerously close to the truth. But you get my point.

It's the same with so many things. Just becuase you can doesn't mean you should. And nothing exemplifies my point quite so well as BBC1's primetime offering from 7 'till 8 pm. Robin Hood. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...

To say the script was bad would be to slight Australian soap operas of all time.

"What do you mean, Darleen - Jason didn't get killed by Darren, and he's now with Melissa? And Jody's going to have his child, except he thinks that she's with Micky?"

Genius, pure genius. Compared, that is, with the utter drivel spouted by M. Hood, Little John et al. And for sublety, it makes Ali G look like Jane Austen. Did you know that there were parallels to be drawn between an 12th century bloke in a forest and a 21st century war against suicide bombers? I didn't.

Oh, and before I forget, clocks which go "tick tock tick tock" didn't exist in the 12th century. They really didn't. It's like watching the Sheriff arrive in a Ford Mustang.

Please, please, BBC, stop wasting our licence fees on men in tights. Speed on the return of Top Gear, and let's all sit down and watch some caravans getting trashed. What could be better family entertainment than that?