Of late I've found myself...

watching morning tv in people's houses, snatching ten minutes viewing here, five minutes viewing there. On the tv most mornings as I understand it are programmes of such blanditude (a magnitude of bland) that the will to live or any sense of purpose simply drains away. Two presenters, a woman and a man generally recline on a sofa and speak to guests on another sofa, or a chef/cook who stands in an adjoining kitchen section. It is tv without edge, smooth, warm, uncritical and presented by two human beings whom you forget the moment your gaze wanders from the screen. It set me wondering if utter forgetability is a known human condition and maybe criterion for the job, I then wondered how such a condition might influence the lives of those affected, in restaurants for instance after a waiter has taken their order and turned from the table does that same waiter then forget the order, forget the table or even forget themselves? I presume that it's only through the most intensive personal training, probably done in Nepal, do these presenters manage to retain any shape to their sense of self. If this is true an explanation might exist for the phenomenon of people being found who've lost their identity. Might they be the ones who failed the course? Or more worryingly for the rest of us might these hollow people have in some unguarded way been exposed to a day time tv presenter outside a studio. Clearly they are safe within a studio because guests seem unaffected as do the camera people and other staff.

Currently there's a chap is some hospital in Kent whom doctors and police are trying to identify, he was found wandering and even the labels from his clothes were gone. Imagine wielding such power that even the labels in a person's clothing are no longer safe. Two applications immediately become possible, a military application and a blackmailing application. The battlefield application would be against marching troops, as chaos mounts artillery is laid down, explosions and shrapnel make the air sing with death and as a last resort, just as positions are about to be overrun word comes down 'Deploy the Presenter.' There's a hush, some worry, maybe a question of war crimes, is this really necessary? Suddenly someone in a casual jacket and fake tan is glimpsed through the smoke, wandering in a forward manner. Trained for the whites of the eyes the oncoming soldiers are defenceless before the white of the teeth. Many flee in panic but many more declare a sudden interest in troublesome stains. The military battle is over, the battle for the perfect sheen is about to begin.

Warfare is a messy business but with so many now geared to tidying up a new programme called Battlefield Makeover is only a power breakfast away.

The blackmail application could only apply if the criminal fraternity gained possession of a daytime tv presenter. All the fashion houses would be at risk through the simple but effective threat to unveil a presenter at the next big show unless huge amounts of dosh were forthcoming. A year's work, colours, textures, textiles, design, new cuts, make-up, coiffure, shoes, everything gone in the flash of a mauve blazer. Thy name is Bland, the diffuser of things.

I caught a glimpse of some daytime tv this morning and have been tired ever since, there must be a connection. I'm warning the world now, rather like that guy at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Many won't believe me but they're the fools. Ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...