The Crazy World of Television Centre (an occasional series)
It's a gloriously sunny spring afternoon, and some of London's millions have taken advantage of the weather to hang out and soak up the rays with us in White City.

Eclectic bunch they are too. Across the road are thirty people, give or take, yelling allegations of pro-US biased reporting and lie-telling by the Corporation's news team. Or at least that's what it sounded like, despite the lousy loudhailer technique employed by various shouty individuals. The three police officers overseeing the demo didn't seem too concerned.

Far more vocal were the alarming scenes on our side of the road - a throng of teenage girls reaching through the bars for autographs from Busted or some similarly talentless target market fodder, trying to catch a glimpse or snatch of fumble of these all-too-common creatures. Not unlike a zoo, considering. Except I'm not too sure who was exploting whose imprisonment.

We thought about dispersing the crowds by calling on our favourite new weapon - one that caused much amusement in the newsroom - but hell, it's sweet when people take such an interest in your work.