Last week however, things were a little different. After having duped the Duchess into an Eastern escapade and bade a tearful “missing you already” to The Wire Series 1, I tossed the TV Guide and packed my bags as TV Casualty finally went Continental.

As any good guide book will tell you, the first thing you should do when you arriving in an unfamiliar country is channel surf your hotel box. Television can expose the best and worst aspects of a country, broadcasting everything from Olympic triumph to Regime change Through TV one can instantly access a rolling archive of the obsessions and intrigues that grip a nation’s collective consciousness at any given moment, and tap into the cultural life of a large swathe of its populous through the protective anonymity of a glass screen.

That said, you’re probably going to want to find an English speaking channel first to ease yourself into the culture shock. In this situation, BBC World is usually your best bet, merging as it does that familiar British presenting style with just enough extra international news to make you remember you’re on holiday. In its absence however Euronews should be more than enough to fill the gaping void. This isn’t because of the quality of journalism on show (Euronews somehow manages to cover Europe wide events with a level of scrutiny just below Newsround) rather it’s for the filler items in between news headlines.

One such filler is “No Comment,” where news footage is shown without narration, and little indication as to what is actually going on. While some of the footage is reasonably self-explanatory, some requires an altogether more creative approach from the viewer. Thus you can find yourself inventing all sorts of reasons why four men in grey suits should be walking into a building, and lets face it, whatever you make up is likely to be about 100 times less depressing than the truth.

Another filler item (and my personal favourite) is “Flashback,” in which a news story from exactly one year before is shown in surprising detail for Euronews, in doing so turning the whole concept of “news” on its head. Tuning into one of these bad boys can initially be incredibly exciting in a “Shit I knew this was going to happen!” way, but as the realisation dawns on you that you are neither psychic nor have you travelled back in time somehow, its actually quite interesting. Of course sometimes major events are reported that you have absolutely no recollection of, but I suppose its better late than never.

Having suitably reassured yourself that the English speaking world still exists, you may want to venture outside into new territories. On this occasion, I managed to stumble across Polska Nostrovia, a highly entertaining show in which Ladas and other Soviet era rust buckets are navigated around a variety of obstacles. This can range from contestants double parking on a yellow square to going hell for leather off road, mowing down cardboard cut outs of animals trying to cross the road, kind of like Top Gear meets The Animals of Farthing Wood. The fact that there is a language barrier doesn’t matter either, as the hilarity of bad driving is, of course, universal.

Other highlights include watching your favourite movies dubbed in German, which can range from being expertly done to absolutely ridiculous, as well as the ever popular music text in channels such as Viva.tv. Channels such as Viva serve not only to show that morons exist all over the world (witness XXX GUNTER IST SEXI XXX a few times and you’ll know what I mean) but also show that for all their enviable multi-lingual skills, lyrics written in English by Continental Europeans are all uniformly lame, alleviating somewhat that feeling of awkward ignorance implicit in travelling anywhere outside the English speaking world except possibly France.

With TV like this at your fingertips, it’s easy to see why people say travel broadens the mind.

As promised, Eastenders cranked up the misery expertly as the Brannan dirty laundry tumbled out of the wash basket (and in the case of Tanya, straight down the stairs) in an explosive Christmas Day double header. Despite the fact that Good King Wenceles wasn’t played, it didn’t snow, and the pub was only half full, (proving I’m only right 99.9% of the time) it proved to be a tumultuous week in the square indeed. This was especially so as much of the action was played out in front of a huge photograph of Bradders and Stacey smiling with Max on their wedding day, and as if that wasn’t tragic enough, super straight “shop-your-own-son” shooter Kevin Wicks kicked it while driving a dodgy motor! If you ask me the Set and Irony departments of Eastenders deserve a raise (if they aren’t among the 6000 BBC employees getting fired this year that is.)

Also on the BBC Ricky Gervais broke his fall from glory slightly with the last ever episode of Extras offering a poignant end to this original if somewhat patchy series. A litany of cameos was laid on for the occasion, with only George Michael really getting into the self effacing spirit of the show as he cruised Hempstead Heath for chance encounters. Throughout both series Extras has shined when it has demanded self-parodying performances from its cameos, Daniel Radcliffe’s spoilt child and Orlando Bloom’s narcissist provided some truly hilarious viewing and gave me a new respect for both stars. However, when it demands little from its guests other that the same clipped and massaged media image we’re used to, such as the beatification of David Bowie in series two and Gordon Ramsay’s “tough guy” in the most recent episode, the show suffers, and Gervais appears like little more than the grubby little name droppers he plays so well. Despite this disappointment however, Extras ability to get under the skin of celebrity and fame while knocking out the jokes will make it a memorable feather in Gervaises bow.

As previously indicated much of my Christmas period was spent in the company of Arrested Development, a sort of serialised Royal Tenebaums with a lighter comedic touch and minus the sap. I only managed to blast my way through about two thirds of the 22 episode behemoth first series so I can’t say definitively, but this US effort was compulsive enough viewing to have me returning time and again. Following Michael Bluth as he tries to steer his wayward and numerous extended family through a tough patch after the incarceration of its criminal patriarch, Arrested Development is definitely character driven television. While the storylines can often be wafer thin and the voiceover grating, the well developed and original characterisation more than compensates. There is another two series of this, and while I’m not going to rush out and buy the box sets I’ll be on the look out for this one lurking around digital in the coming months and I recommend you do the same.

Finally, Shameless made it to the fourth series with a double helping via the old C4/E4 first look chestnut. I’ll reserve judgement for now, but the date for it’s return was certainly well placed, as watching Frank stumble around like a hobo made me feel (slightly) better about the previous night’s reverie.

Not since the Krays Chinese Smiled their way round the ol’ East End in the 50’s and 60’s has London seen the likes of what is about to kick off in the otherwise quiet leafy suburb of Watford. Mark my words, it’s going to be a red Christmas in the square as the cobbles get an overdue taste of Mitchell blood.

All the evidence points to a full scale war; Jim has gone into hiding, most likely to direct operations from a heavily fortified compound safe from Mitchell bullets. Bradders, masking an icy intellect behind his ruddy faced hang-dog optimism has taken control of the Market, weeks after suspiciously quitting a high powered city job to “assist” the Market Inspector (whereabouts currently unknown.) Jack, the Brannans’ “man on the inside” has duped his way into a controlling share in a Mitchell enterprise, while the loose coalition between the Brannans and the Beales looks set to become official as Lauren and Peter prepare to enjoin the families in blood.

In contrast the Mitchell Family has never looked weaker. Having failed to produce an heir of any substance in Ben, Phil has taken it upon himself to provide the sole muscle of the operation. Attempts to recruit a Soldier in Jason have so far failed, and while Peggy, Ronnie and Roxy managed to face down the bailiffs as an impressive trio of no-nonsense broads, recent in-fighting is causing divisions that will take more than a few vodka shots to heal.

The gloves are off, and despite loose cannon Steven Beale threatening the entire plan with a premature blazing of Mitchell’s Motors (note Stacey earning her stripes,) things are falling into place that could see the historic seat of the Mitchells change hands before the New Year rings in…

While one world disintegrated, another was saved as Heroes reached its foregone, if no less dramatic finale last Thursday, opting to end things in the time honoured tradition of a double-bill.

Although we never really expected the creators to inflict September the 11^th times a thousand on New York, the finale to this highly watchable if a little trashy American export lived up to the hype, and avoided the misty eyed American patriotism that I always suspected lurked at its core.

I wont give too much away, as I know for many this show is a hang-over box set waiting to happen, but its suffice to say its worth sticking around, if only for the Evil Dead –like leader into season two which is no doubt mere months away.

What had been a curious but not unwelcome opportunity to catch up on your reading starts to take on more sinister and worrying dimensions. Your brain automatically googles “food poisoning” and that last sausage flashes up instantly. This is a bad time for you boy, and its not about to get any better.

Unfortunately, the same can often be said for the world of film and television. Take the Godfather trilogy. After two masterpieces of epic importance and pop cultural gravitas, part three bombed like New Coke and to this day casts an icy shadow over its predecessors. Likewise, Peep Show began to loose a little of its edge on its third run and I won’t even get started on the third Sting album.

Others however, rightly recognise the simple beauty of the couplet. Spaced did, prudently calling it quits before money or ego stretched the formula. Similarly, Fawlty Towers earned its place in Sitcom royalty on the back of a mere 12 episodes. These shows recognised the old showbiz adage that you should always leave the crowd wanting more, instead of subjecting us to a dragged out and undignified death the wrong side of primetime. It would seem therefore, that as with many other things in life, when it comes to TV (especially good TV) three is often a crowd, and gooseberries can be real shits.

These were the fears with which I nervously awaited the third series of The Mighty Boosh. Having found little to fault and much to love in the first and second series, the cautious and essentially pessimistic side of my hexago-nature warned me not to hold my breath for more of the same. However, as Machiavelli so consistently points out, you don’t get anywhere in life without taking a few risks, and Victory was definitely on the side of Barrett and Fielding last week as The Mighty Boosh stormed back for another crack of the funny bones.

Set in a shop in Shoreditch, the first episode finds Vince and Howard home alone as Naboo and Bollo go on a stag weekend. As the episode progresses we soon find we are on familiar ground as the trademark creepy characters, inventive sets and kitsch elements combine with an increased budget to conjure a kaleidoscope of offbeat and irregular comedy. The songs are still in there, as are the moon cut-aways, while the chemistry of the two main characters maintains the balance and equality that marks and elevates all good double acts.

Although this isn’t simply a rehashing of the earlier efforts; In this series, for the first time as far as I can tell, TMB is starting to turn its considerable strength outward against elements outside its world. “Eels” veers into Nathan Barley territory as the show takes a few pops at the Shoreditch elite and Nu-Rave in equal measure, suggesting perhaps a reflex to the increasing popularity of the programme as it drifts to the mainstream. However, with appearances by Razorlight and The Horrors scheduled for later in the series, the satire is unlikely to hack all the way to the bone. No bad thing in my opinion, as going too far down this path would risk sacrificing some of the fun of the show.

As such, those suspicious belly rumblings must have just been nerves, as TMB looks set to score a hat trick with the third series. For now at least, I can take solace in the fact that greater men than I have dared and won once more.

Also, dont worry if you miss it on thursdays, as its repeated eight times during the week