After the almost centrifugal effusions of the past few weeks - at times, I was almost sure my face was warping, like Roger Moore in 'Moonraker' - I suppose I should be grateful I can eat breakfast at all. After this, the bloody flux would be a walk in the park.
Despite it having been around for nearly 30 years, British breakfast television is a phenomenon that's largely passed me by until now. At that time of day, I have always been too busy either eating, washing or writing to pay much attention to the television. However, as I am now in a position where I really don't have any choice but to watch it, if only because it's the route by which one must reach 'Baby Looney Tunes' and 'Fireman Sam', it's not a wholly satisfactory experience.
I'll be blunt. The BBC's Breakfast show is one of the most annoying TV shows I've ever seen. The affairs of the nation are presented in a manner so lightweight I'm afraid the whole thing's just going to take off and start floating away. Its style is overly jokey, sometimes to the point of what seems like bad taste, given the very grave matters under discussion. The males seem to be ciphers, it seems awkwardly scripted, and Susanna Reed, one of the female presenters, has a presenting style which appears to be overtly, indeed sometimes even aggressively, conversational and which would thus, to my eyes and ears, would be more appropriate for when she is lunching with her friends. This may be the effect the producers are hoping for. If so, it doesn't work.
There, I've said it. I pay for it, and I hate it.