WE have a robot assistant at home. It’s one of those Alexa things, and she can supposedly make our lives easier by switching on the lights when it’s dark, selecting some relaxing piano music when I’m stressed, and even telling a joke.

But of course it’s not as easy at that; if I want the lights on, I ask her to “switch the lights on!”. and she refuses. She only relents if I say “OK, I’m sorry. Please turn the lights on.” She’s very particular.

This programme is all about cute little robots and how they’re going to be our personal assistants and make life smoother for us. I have to say I’m pessimistic.

We meet “Jess”, who doesn’t restrict herself to putting lights on and off. You can throw all sorts of personal issues at her, such as relationship problems and health worries, and she’ll crank out some answers. She’s a little robot therapist. Fine, but can one of them just turn my lights on?


WHILE Julia struggles with the children, clutching her head with the stress and starting to scream, her husband is sipping Pimm’s and cruising the canals on an utterly middle-class stag do. I know I’m being simplistic, but why not divorce him and have the kids adopted? Seems simple to me.

The feckless husband’s only suggestion of a way to ease her stress is the most foolish one of all: he’ll send his parents round. Julia’s reaction implies they’re nippy, nasty creatures. They’re actually pleasant, bumbling old folk, but the utter torment Julia suffers during their visit proves nice people can be every bit as infuriating as nasty ones.

They provoke so much stress by trying to be her babysitters that she has to rope Kevin in to babysit them, just to save her sanity.

The comedy actually strayed close to maddening stress tonight. I was gritting my teeth in discomfort as I watched it.