Lucky 13...

Hi there.

Sometimes, TV gets into a rut. It becomes lazy shorthand to get flavour-of-the-month X to host mediocre programme Y, deluding themselves into thinking that it's by public demand. It's a self-perpetuating circle of despair, as the same bland starlets crop up ad nauseum on absolutely fucking everything.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the cavernous nostrils of...

... Fearne Cotton.

The BBC have often done this. Get one young-ish presenter cropping up on children's TV, stick them on Top of the Pops or whatever yoof show happens to not be dead yet, then shoehorn them onto Radio One, whilst simultaneously letting them whore themselves around any old lowest common denominator shit that happens their way (this is known as the Edith Bowman Scenario).

BBC controller: "I've just commissioned a generic, brain-dead programme for generic, brain-dead young people. I just need someone generic and brain-dead to present it."

BBC producer: "I know just the person."

And that's the way it goes. Fearne Cotton's a complete mystery to me; she's not the one that used to host This Morning with Pip Schofield, by the way. Instead, she's the dim-looking one with the nostrils that Osama bin Laden wouldn't mind hiding in, the gravelly voice of a 40-a-day long distance trucker, and more unattractive tattoos than Popeye. How this simpleton that crawled from the reject bin of Jim Henson's Creature Shop is allowed anywhere near a broadcaster just escapes me.

Not even hosting the Xtra Factor was beneath her. Now, she's apparently trying to break America. I can only hope it breaks her first.

Be back tomorrow morning for window 14...