There was a time when Mel and Kochie determined the trajectory of my day.
Along with hundreds of thousands of other Australians, I spent my noughties mornings slurping coffee and slapping on my Great Lash mascara in front of breakfast television. This was a pre-child existence, when my mornings were my own and Sunrise was my backdrop, cheering me along my weekday routine with a constant commentary of salacious news headlines, silly stunts and the occasional hapless producer in a cow suit.
There were other people who loved Karl and Lisa (and oh, how I do love Lisa), but for whatever complicated personal chemistry reasons, I settled on Seven and the connections I formed with my chosen mum-and-dad morning duo ran deep. If one of them was away as I dashed from kitchen to bedroom to couch, everything that day would be off.
The mum and dad TV duos were everywhere, then and now. Lisa and Karl. Larry and Kylie. David and Sonia. A formula as safe as houses – white Australians, big teeth, blue suits and shift dresses in an assortment of primary colours. He’s a bit naughty, she’s the smart one, they flirt and banter but they never close the deal. It's a formula tweaked and replicated for radio, too – Jonesy and Amanda, Hughesy and Kate, even Kyle and Jackie O.
What we want from our morning hosts is a sexless marriage we don’t have to worry about.
Until we do.
Over in the UK, mum and dad are breaking up.
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