Greg Dixon: The secret's out!

Darlings, I have a confession. A very long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was a television newsreader. No, really!

It's not something I like to talk about these days - it put me in expensive therapy for years, you understand.

But occasionally I cast my mind back.

Oh, unhappy days!

Television newsreading is actually much, much more complicated than people imagine.

I'm sorry, I have to say this: all you couch-bound, no-life losers see is the autocue-reading, the empathetic face-pulling and the pretence of knowing what you're talking about when asking questions provided by reporters paid a quarter of your salary.

How dare you mutter among yourselves that a well-trained parrot might do as well!

You don't know the half of it.

Spending an hour on screen each day - minus the ads paying for your enormous pay packet, thank God - is terribly, terribly stressful.

There's always the chance those idiots in the control booth might switch the order of the stories, replace one with another or - and this was the worst - have you talk to some self-important little journo about some little story he or she had worked on all day.

Yes, informing the nation is terribly, terribly challenging.

But I can assure you the off-air grind is even more tiring and dreadfully emotionally draining.

God, the hours you spend in hair and makeup!

If I had 100 bucks for every free hairdo I had while newsreading I could buy Microsoft and still have change for Starbucks.

Then there's the tedious and soul-sapping chore of tramping about the shops of Auckland looking for "something to wear" on screen or to a gala - a role model has to be so careful.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to decide how to spend your inflated clothing allowance? Should it be the $3000 Karen Walker frock or the $2999 one from Trelise Cooper?

It's just as well we always got free front-row seats at Fashion Week or I might have gone mad.

But by far the worst part of the job were those low-lifes from the newspapers.

At least the slappers from the women's magazine actually paid for the privilege of talking to you.

But those mean little no-name hacks from the papers had absolutely no respect and - Can . . . can you believe it? - actually said so.

No, I wouldn't wish newsreading on anyone. Not even a mean, little no-name hack!

But after seeing an item on this week - Judy Bailey is such an inspiration - I think technology could provide an end to the suffering.

Apparently, some Discovery Channel documentary called Virtual History: The Secret Plot To Kill Hitler uses computer-generated imaging to superimpose lifelike, talking masks of Hitler, et al, on the faces of actors. Of course, historians - such bores - are warning it could lead to the end of the world.

But if you ask me, it's perfect for newsreading. Just imagine ... instead of someone suffering the slings and arrows of endless shopping, and sniping critics, they could put a mannequin on the newsreading desk and use CGI to superimpose Judy or Alison's face on it!

Its the only decent thing to do, darlings.

As my shrink will tell you, newsreading was the most stressful and tiring job I ever had.

I say, let's just leave it to the computers.