Mr. W's had me watching the oh-so-disturbingly funny ' Inside No. 9 ', a series of disconnected black comedy shorts made by the men what done ' The League of Gentlemen '. It's all mindgames and murders, domestic intruders and sinister secrets and aargh. Tends to be that I enjoy it in the moment and regret it in the middle of the nightmare-riddled night... So the other evening, I opted for the tried-and-tested ' Cabin Pressure ' remedy, and drifted off to the dulcet, charmingly hi-lariously crafted tones of Douglas, Martin, Carolyn and Arthur. Indeed, my sleep was much the sweeter for this I'm-too-old-for-a-bedtime-story-but-radio-4-does-pretty-much-the-same-job stratagem. Except, part way through I was distracted by an onset of thoughtfulness, prompted by the following interlocution between the sharp-tongued Carolyn and her cheerfully be-leagured new-found love interest, Herc: Carolyn: Oh, don't tell me you're a vegetarian. Herc: ...