Ten years ago, my flatmate and I were going out to meet folk.  It was a Friday night, 9.30pm.

Earlier that week, in Media Guardian, I'd seen a preview article for a new sitcom starting on Channel 4.  I'd not seen any trailers for it, or much else in the way of promotion.  But the write-up intrigued me, so I set the video.  And as I was waiting to go out, put on C4 and thought I'd watch the first few minutes.

Thirty minutes later, I figured I should probably go out now, having sat and watched the first episode, in full, of Spaced.  When my flatmate and I returned, we stuck the video on and watched it again.  

And so began a love affair with the first millennial century sitcom - albeit one that first aired three months too early to really qualify.

In many ways, I owe a lot to Spaced.  It helped land me a job, meet new friends - and, indeed,  my girlfriend. I got the chance to not only interview the stars, but to crash at their flat and watch zombie films.  Perhaps as much as Doctor Who, Spaced has been a vital part of my media life.

And in many ways it redefined Britcoms.  Airing almost simultaneously with The League of Gentlemen's run on BBC Two, both shows were informed by a cinematic sensibility and detailed, fanboyesque referencing of other media.  

With the League, it was Hammer and the horror films of the 60s and 70s.  But with Spaced, it was the television and films, the playground jokes and the toys of my childhood.  Simon Pegg and Jessica Hynes wrote a sitcom for a 20something audience, and as a 21-year-old at the time, it spoke to me and my contemporaries in a way few other shows did.  It was Star Wars and This Life and Hitchhikers and Roobarb and Custard Bruce Campbell and Akira.

But more than the referencing, more than the gorgeous direction by Edgar Wright and the great soundtrack and the uniformly great performances - it was funny.  Hysterical, tears lashing down your face, sides aching so much you need to visit casualty levels of funny.  Visual gags mixed with great one liners mixed with puns you wanted to strangle.

Whereas the League and its successors went down the rightly-derided 'dark' route, Spaced went the other direction.  It was daft, even silly at times.  It wasn't afraid to go slapstick.  It wasn't afraid of much, in fact.

When I went for my interview at SFX, Spaced was a show I referenced as the sort of thing the mag should be covering.  My VHS of the show ended up circulating the office for those who hadn't seen it, and became an instant hit - leading to a Couch Potato and eventually a Simon Pegg column.  And one of the proudest moments of my career came when I saw my quote on the back cover of the season 2 DVD.

Now how's that for a sliced of fried gold?

Not many Britcoms launch three Hollywood careers, redefine a channel's comedic output, have an entire generation wanting a third season a decade on - and still have time for jokes about Philippa Forrester handing a giant chopper.

Tim, Daisy, Mike, Marsha, Brian, Twist and Colin - we here at the Thumbcast remember you fondly.  And Simon, Jess, Nick, Edgar, Julia, Mark, Katy and Aida - thanks for the memories.  Happy anniversary, Spaced.

It's not finished.               It's finished.