To be a good daytime TV presenter, one must genetically possess that heady, provocative cocktail of ‘come, I would never hurt you’ smiliness, deep, deep cold-hearted ruthlessness and high-risk, pre-luncheon drinking fiendage. Not all, but some. *smells the lawsuits*
DTTVPs are dangerous. Unfettered, they roam the TV networks before 15.00 like demonic overlords dressed in smart, rumpled casual (him) and anything by Coast (her). They have nothing to fear. Everyone watching is in a conscious guilt coma of work avoidance, reefer-fug or are laundrydrunk. Their blindingly-lit studio kingdoms of inoffensive cookery slots and interviews with multiple-birth mothers are safe from interference. They can say what they like. Well, they can’t say ‘fuckflaps’ but they are somewhat free to flirt in the borderlands of passive-aggressive rudeness and unbridled patronising behaviours.
One such flirt is DTTV Sofa Czar Richard Madeley. Watching him interview anyone was like watching a scene from Cracker, the hapless suspect (AKA: interviewee harrowed by some life misfortune that was promptly usurped in it’s ‘worst thing ever’ status by Madeley’s relentless bullying) being asked a question. And then Madeley firing another at them from his cocksure, I’m-a-dad-who-wears-a-hoody-and-once-saw-Snow Patrol-live slouch. And then another and another whilst promptly answering for them before the synapses in their brain have even begun to fire the requisite neuron. Richard, this is not Probing Interview Technique. It is being a douche.
Judy sits on smiling. Because she knows she has replaced his hairspray with vaginal deodorant.
But everybody seemingly in their right mind adores them. Mums particularly. But this maybe because they’ve been so bored they started licking the Persil washtablets.
‘Ooh, but that Lorraine Kelly’s lovely,’ says your dad who you daren’t argue with because you owe him 2 month’s rent. So you nod non-commitally, whilst cringing as she soaks her guests from a well of condescention deeper than Jabba the Hutt’s Sarlacc pit.
Another offensive presence is that Kyle person, who thinks that because he spends his life paddling in the footbath of society’s genepool he’s somehow allowed to wield a Paxman/Ceasar complex, dispensing rudeness from atop his moral high-ground to the scum and their 36 children, but suceeding only in demonstrating the huge absence of self-awareness of a man who is scraping the bottom of a barrel he actually constructed himself.
But he’s at least better than Kilroy.
‘Daybreak’ presents another interesting (read:enraging) facet of DTTV– why do ALL DTTV sofa’spouses’ consist of some well-dressed, slim, highly attractive woman and a man that looks like the offspring of a coach driver and a roadie? Would the opposite EVER be sanctioned? Wouldn’t it be ace to see some telly presented by Eric out of True Blood plus a fifty something from the Liberal Democrat backbench?
Doubtless, Overlord Madeley would insist this had already been done in the case of him and Judy. Harhar. Whilst Judy just smiles and knows that it wasn’t fake tan in that bottle he was slathering all over his stupid face earlier this morning.
‘Loose women’ is ok – but too much viewing could bring about early menopause. And at least they look like what real women look like (before going out on a hen night admittedly) as opposed to the majority of female presenters who are only marginally older than a foetus and posses similarly undeveloped interview skills. Phillip Schofield gets a pass however because he has aged gracefully and always managed to talk to a puppet whilst maintaining his dignity. Fern Britton gets one as well – despite the tattoos and GastricBandgate – because she looks like my mum.