I don’t like BBC Breakfast. I don’t like the gimpish outside broadcasts and the general air of twee superiority. I particularly don’t like Bill Turnbull and his patronising chuckles whenever something related to pop culture comes up. Mind you, that’s also sort of why I watch it: half an hour of trying to engage with a serious view of the world before I head to work and — beneath a convincing veneer of super-organised, cheery professionalism — necessarily retreat into an addled dreamworld the likes of which you see spilling out onto the pages here.
I feel I might like Sian Williams, under different circumstances, but I hate the way she spends the weekday mornings deferring to Uncle Bill and humourlessly smirking at his asides. She’s taken to wearing tiny dresses with a cardigan over them, the better to show off her starved figure to the nation, and tends to wriggle and fidget her way around the couch while looking haunted and concerned. Mind you, what do I know? Just searching for a suitable picture of her I found that she has a LOT of fans who enjoy the Milf Upskirt Reveal! aspects of her appearances.
But the main reason I’m writing this post is to apologise to Vanessa Feltz (FACT: Google’s fifth most popular Vanessa tonight, just behind Hudgens, Williams, Paradis and Redgrave!), someone who seems to get a lot of bad press but who I’ve always rather liked.
You see, Vanessa has a brief, regular spot in which she reveals what the hot topic of discussion’s going to be on her talk radio show that morning. YES WHY NOT, GO ON VANESSA WHY NOT. But her appearances coincide exactly with the time at which I realise: if I don’t leave for work RIGHT NOW I’m going to be late.
So through no fault of her own, I’m learning to associate the sight of Vanessa’s eyes, staring at me (or, to be honest, slightly above my head) while she describes Middle England’s topical concerns, with a mad dash for the door. I see Vanessa, and I run.
“Hands off cocks, feet in socks!” was how an elderly colleague once described the challenge of getting sons of all ages out the door in time each morning, and through conditioning I’m learning to associate Vanessa’s face with the same sense of shame. So I’m sorry, Vanessa Feltz.