It's 11.40pm and I'm currently sat in an apartment in Warrington, on my own. I've just spent the last few minutes flicking through TV channels, giving up hope of finding anything decent and settling on some awful looking Anthony Hopkins film that I've never heard of. (The fact that Nicole Kidman, Ed Harris and Gary Sinise co-star and I've STILL not heard of it must mean it's truly, truly terrible!)
I'm just thinking how weird it is that TV is the reason why I'm here. It's also the reason why I've had a steak sandwich made with ciabatta bread and drunk a glass of raspberry and orange juice (god love per diems) and why it is I've been bored out of my brain for the last quarter of an hour as there's nothing to watch.
But it also plays a massive part of who I am, what beliefs I hold and what I know. Rather scary how such an increasingly larger, flatter box in the corner of the room can influence your life so much. Of course, newspapers, novels, the internet and conversations play their parts but how much easier is it to flick to 601 on the Virgin box and have George Alagiah tell me all I need to know about bombers, shooters and natural disasters? At least I can cook at the same time and he does know how to sport a nifty tie...
I love my job, it definitely has its negative points but I believe the good far outweigh the bad. However, I do wish there better programmes out there for broadcasters to choose from. Not just because I want to work on them but in situations like tonight, I can practically feel my brain dribbling out of my ear.
Oh god, Anthony Hopkins is dancing with Gary Sinise. Cue wide shot, backlighting and the pronounciation of viagra as FY-HARG-RAHR.
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