Simon McCoy is a serious f**king journalist. Simon McCoy covered the invasion of Iraq from Basra. He did five hours of live broadcasting a day as bombs fell over his head. Simon McCoy has met Royal family: the Queen probably knows Simon McCoy's name.
But Simon McCoy is a journalist in 2017. For all Simon McCoy's wealth of experience, for all his standing in the game, Simon McCoy is in a profession going down the f***king pan – and he knows it.
So when Simon McCoy is presenting the BBC News and his producer whispers in his earpiece it's time cut to the World Dog Surfing Championships, Simon McCoy has no choice but to do it, to narrate those silly Americans with their dogs who surf even though - and we all knows this, this is the point - dogs are not meant to surf. Surfing is for humans.
But is Simon McCoy going to do it happily? Is he f**k. Simon McCoy is going to do it like a man with the cold, hard steel of a gun presented into the base of his skull. He's going to do it with the enthusiasm of a man opening the door of a portable loo on the fourth day of Glastonbury. Simon McCoy is going to get through the segment, wait for the red light to turn off on the camera then throw his bits of paper in the air and shout "I don't need this shit!" at the nearest intern.
But the problem is that Simon McCoy does need those surfing dogs.
It's 2017, and the internet has f***ed everything.
The dogs are our masters now, and Simon McCoy knows it.