In times of economic woe, certain facets of life prove difficult to swallow, as the necessities of budgeting throw light on areas not often questioned. We are required to cut back on our frivolous lifestyles now so commonplace in the West and, inevitably, charity also suffers. One area curiously exempt from this lately was the recent Comic Relief appeal (it raised yet another record amount, perhaps in fine testament to the nation's ability get a sense of perspective at least some of the time), despite the usual gaggle of unfunny turns from celebrities in full cross-dressing mode and the customary guilt inducing footage of African poverty. I suppose nothing quite renders a viewer so punch-drunk as the sight of someone like Andrew Marr in a corset immediately followed by the sight of emaciated children.

I, like many people, I suspect, avoided the whole thing as I normally do, but largely to side-step any feeling of nausea brought on by the multitude of that scourge of modern television: the presenter. Not exactly a threatened beast this one, to put it mildly. This is my main objection to the whole spectacle, and it is only exacerbated in the 'current financial climate', to put it in modern parlance. You could say I find it difficult to objectively watch Jonathan Ross, knowing full well that he is being paid something approximating £125,000 per week to upset old men in the name of comedy, and have him demand that I "do something funny for money". Unless this means getting paid to shoot Jonathan Ross, I'm afraid it's unlikely.

Once, not so long ago, it was almost a requirement of a television presenter that they actually had to possess a depth of knowledge on the subject of the programme they were presenting - David Attenborough, for instance, has a degree in Natural Sciences from Cambridge - but this seems to have long since flown out of the window. Now we are subjected to the likes of the blustering, witless Kate Humble at every turn, or the endless parade of lobotomised and supposedly hilarious mannequins on T4 on a Sunday afternoon. Try stomaching Alexa Chung at 1 o'clock in the afternoon when your Jaegarmeister induced hangover has just kicked in and you regret reheating that kebab. Personally, I blame the BBC - the necessity for continuity (oh for the heady days of Phillip Schofield in the broom cupboard) has spilled over to commercial television as it's cheaper to let Steve Jones witter on for 20 minutes than to actually do something terribly bothersome like, erm, I don't know, commission some new programming.

The truth is that genuinely good television presenting has an important role in providing the link between the viewer and the 'expert' in, say, a programme attempting to explain some difficult concept, but all too often today we have presenters for presenters' sake. As an example, take a popular reality show, such as the recent Dancing On Ice. Is it really necessary to have one person providing the links and another performing some completely superfluous task like prompting judges? I smell a gravy train.
The sad fact is that many children today actually aspire to be television presenters, knowing full well as we all do that all you need to make it is a lovely head of hair, shiny teeth and a sackful of youthful colloquialisms (Fearne Cotton, I'm looking in your direction). The prerequisite of possessing some kind of field of expertise has long vanished, and your slot 'broadcasting' to a demographic of youths with fresh air blowing between their ears and a copy of Glamour in their grasp awaits on E4. Just leave the real work to us, thank you very much, Vernon Kay.

In times of economic woe, certain facets of life prove difficult to swallow, as the necessities of budgeting throw light on areas not often questioned. We are required to cut back on our frivolous lifestyles now so commonplace in the West and, inevitably, charity also suffers. One area curiously exempt from this lately was the recent Comic Relief appeal (it raised yet another record amount, perhaps in fine testament to the nation's ability get a sense of perspective at least some of the time), despite the usual gaggle of unfunny turns from celebrities in full cross-dressing mode and the customary guilt inducing footage of African poverty. I suppose nothing quite renders a viewer so punch-drunk as the sight of someone like Andrew Marr in a corset immediately followed by the sight of emaciated children.

I, like many people, I suspect, avoided the whole thing as I normally do, but largely to side-step any feeling of nausea brought on by the multitude of that scourge of modern television: the presenter. Not exactly a threatened beast this one, to put it mildly. This is my main objection to the whole spectacle, and it is only exacerbated in the 'current financial climate', to put it in modern parlance. You could say I find it difficult to objectively watch Jonathan Ross, knowing full well that he is being paid something approximating £125,000 per week to upset old men in the name of comedy, and have him demand that I "do something funny for money". Unless this means getting paid to shoot Jonathan Ross, I'm afraid it's unlikely.

Once, not so long ago, it was almost a requirement of a television presenter that they actually had to possess a depth of knowledge on the subject of the programme they were presenting - David Attenborough, for instance, has a degree in Natural Sciences from Cambridge - but this seems to have long since flown out of the window. Now we are subjected to the likes of the blustering, witless Kate Humble at every turn, or the endless parade of lobotomised and supposedly hilarious mannequins on T4 on a Sunday afternoon. Try stomaching Alexa Chung at 1 o'clock in the afternoon when your Jaegarmeister induced hangover has just kicked in and you regret reheating that kebab. Personally, I blame the BBC - the necessity for continuity (oh for the heady days of Phillip Schofield in the broom cupboard) has spilled over to commercial television as it's cheaper to let Steve Jones witter on for 20 minutes than to actually do something terribly bothersome like, erm, I don't know, commission some new programming.

The truth is that genuinely good television presenting has an important role in providing the link between the viewer and the 'expert' in, say, a programme attempting to explain some difficult concept, but all too often today we have presenters for presenters' sake. As an example, take a popular reality show, such as the recent Dancing On Ice. Is it really necessary to have one person providing the links and another performing some completely superfluous task like prompting judges? I smell a gravy train.
The sad fact is that many children today actually aspire to be television presenters, knowing full well as we all do that all you need to make it is a lovely head of hair, shiny teeth and a sackful of youthful colloquialisms (Fearne Cotton, I'm looking in your direction). The prerequisite of possessing some kind of field of expertise has long vanished, and your slot 'broadcasting' to a demographic of youths with fresh air blowing between their ears and a copy of Glamour in their grasp awaits on E4. Just leave the real work to us, thank you very much, Vernon Kay.