There is yet another satellite channel available now, called UK TV Bright Ideas and as Husband was first up this morning we have as background noise an all day marathon of backdated episodes of the Antiques Roadshow, courtesy of said channel.
Occasionally in lieu of an advert they will slip in a 'bright idea' - a two minute mini programme on what you might like to do with a handful of fruit and a loaf tin.
Daughter, now ten, is on the sofa in a slumped state; a pre-breakfast morning fog. We have her disapproval. Its not our fault.
Its just that we both heard the lady on TV with the soft, Middle England voice, announce that we should "Beat the cream thoroughly until its stiff."
Well, what can I say? It must have been a very very bad bowl of cream. It should bend over. And say please.
So we both said so all at once and burst into fits of silly laughter like the seven year olds at the back of class.
Mercifully daughter didn't get it.
The TV moved swiftly on and just before the antiques programme came back on, the commentator suggested the viewers might take a feather duster to their trinkets.
I wasn't quick enough; I was too busy trying to hold in an explosion of new giggles. Husband, on the other hand, made a great deal about how good I was with a feather duster and could he get his trinkets out.
He has this way of making me double up - I think its the intelligence and wonderful intent that sparkles in his eyes while the rest of him does an impression of Les Dawson (for American friends thats the unintelligible one on the left).
He was heading towards me.
I was trapped.
I was flustered.
I had to beg him, between giggles and gulps of air, to stop it, or, or, or (think of a good 'or') or I'd wet myself.
It worked too well. He took that as a challenge and got worse, whereas Daughter, from her perch at the other end of the room, looked up, sighed, and announced in no uncertain terms that we are both disgusting and must pack it up at once.
Thank you daughter, I haven't cried laughing in a long time.