Bidisha's thought for the day: High definition

Are you ready for your close-up? Given the BBC's switch to high definition, the prep might take a little more time. The audit for the corporation's presenter services contract was recently made public, revealing a phalanx – great word – of makeup artists needing more than 20 tubes of foundation per week to keep presenters looking good on screen. Female presenters receive additional lashings of paint: lip gloss, blusher, eyeliner and the like. For smaller wrinkles, makeup artists have to visualise grouting their bathrooms. For larger creases, I'm imagining them pouring a sand-and-cement mixture into the base of a new garden extension. As for foundation, imagine taking a palette knife and smoothing icing over a cake. HD has at least enabled society to see its hypocrisy up close. We can see, pore by pore, that the old saying – that men age better than women – is patently untrue. We can see, lash by lash, how much extra nonsense women must endure as they are punished by the sexist-ageist beauty law. What will happen to the career of my all-time favourite broadcaster, Sister Wendy Beckett? She breaks every media rule for women: she's old. She's plain. She's wearing a habit. But she is the most charismatic, clever, concise, enthralling person I have ever seen on the screen. I'm willing to roll with HD, as long as I get the full value. I want every news programme to look like The Tudors meets Dangerous Liaisons. I want the men powdered, bewigged, in sumptuously embroidered frock coats, knickerbockers and white silk stockings. I want the women to declaim in elaborate wooden masks and tribal-print robes. And at the end I want the presenters to douse each other in water, in HD slow motion, shaking their heads ecstatically. Otherwise, it's just not worth it.