Presenters are just half-baked

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Crumbs.

How dramatic is the Great British Bake-off?

While a dozen amateur bakers beat and batter themselves into a frangipanni-ed frenzy of eggs, butter and flour, the commentary, given in hushed tones, is akin to that of David Attenborough’s when he’s six feet away from a gorilla.

You could cut the atmosphere with a palette knife. And all it’s about is a bit of cake.

Sue Perkins (can TV find no-one else?) runs through a gamut of culinary disasters that could potentially come to pass as the contestants slave away. Things that have never happened to my baking – or the baking of anyone I’ve ever known. Ever.

In a way, it’s informative. The BBC like being educational, don’t they. Though it’s akin to telling you that, while changing a wheel, the jack could break and the car could crash down on you. Rather over-egging it, I feel.

Perkins, by the way, is a woman I would like to like, but cannot get past finding deeply annoying, partly because of her scruffy-boy attire, that in-the way fringe and the glasses that you want to firmly push back up her nose with your index finger, But mainly because she is so Perkins-ly over-perky.

I can’t work up an appetite for her side-kick Mel Giedroyc, either. She’s too nice. She’s like a gingerbread effigy of your best friend.