A day in the life of a NL breakfast TV presenter
Hiiiii, my name is Miriam. I’m just a simple Dutch girl from humble beginnings and now I’m a Bekende Nederlander, which means famous Dutch person. I’m a presenter on a Dutch breakfast tv show call morgen van morgen, or MVM for short. The show is hugely popular with women over the age of fifty, the unemployed, people too overweight to change TV channels and the criminally insane.
As I said, I’m from a really humble background. I grew up in the region of Holland called Het Gooi. My parents only had two cars when I was growing up. It was so embarrassing, our Au Pair used to have to take the bus! I studied Philosophy at the University of Amsterdam, but it was hard work, so I quit and started working for a media group, which as luck would have it my daddy happens to be the Chairman of. He always taught me that I would have to work really hard to get on in life, and when his company started producing the Dutch breakfast show MVM, I had to apply like anyone else and was really shocked that I got the job as a roving reporter for the show. Even after a year, I’m still shocked that they offered me the job. I can’t believe it, but daddy was right, if you work hard you can be successful. Two thousand people applied for the job, but I guess they just weren’t good enough and I worked harder for it.
The show is produced in Amsterdam, so daddy bought me a little 130 square meter apartment overlooking the Sarphartipark that I can live in. I have to pay him a market price rent though. Four hundred Euros a month. Enough about me and my life. Today, for MVM, I’ve been sent on a critical assignment. The sun is shining and I have to go the Spuistraat and ask people what they think about the weather. “Het is Lekker warm, Mooi Weer, Gezellig” these are the kind of responses I get. I have to think on my feet and keep the conversation going, so I ask one person if they plan to let their Au Pair finish work early so she can sunbathe. The response was niet Leuk, (not nice), some people are so rude!
Our show goes out of it’s way to doe maar Normaal! We have to be just like normal Dutch girls, so we are forbidden to style our hair, and we only are allowed to wear jeans. Unfortunately, we’re not allowed to smoke on air, that would truly make us representative. We do shout a lot as well. I’m still so excited about getting the job that I do tend to squeak a lot, like a mouse that’s been cornered by a cat. My producer did ask me to stop squeaking, but one call to Daddy put a stop to that.
People often ask me how I cope with being famous. Well, in a way, I’ve always been a bit of a celebrity. In Laren, where I grew up, in Het Gooi, I was the only woman over the age of 18 that still had natural breasts. Friends, family, complete strangers, would all stop and say to me, “you can’t go through the world with those things, you must get them done,” I just decided to wait, as I liked being different.
My next crucial assignment is to have an in-depth interview on current affairs with the Chippendales who are touring in the Netherlands. What hunky men, woohoo. I ask them their thoughts on the macroeconomic development of public finance in Europe. Only kidding, we talk about how many hours a week they work out and if it’s true that big muscles hide small packages.
Recording of the interview over, another long working day has ended, five hours after I started. I then attend a lunch party for Bekende Nederlanders. (Micro celebrities.) Which reminds me, I just finished reading the book, the Amsterdam Confessions of a Shallow Man. He claims that there are only three famous people in the Netherlands. Well, he’s an idiot, at the party I see, Carice Van Houten, the guy from the Albert Heijn tv commercials, the Policeman from Stop Politie, and I’m there as well, so that’s four. So much for the shallow man’s knowledge of Dutch celebrities. Loser! I also see the chubby girl from the Plus supermarket commercials, so that’s five.
I’ve received an urgent call from my producer. A car is coming to collect me and take me to the scene of a gas explosion in Amsterdam West. I arrive and I see two houses are completely destroyed. A woman is sitting across the road from the scene of the explosion in shock. Her house has been destroyed. She just got home. I go over to her and ask “So, are you happy that the explosion took place on such a nice day? At least you can sit outside in the sun, right? It would have been worst in winter.” She moves forward to give me a hug, but one of our security guys grabs her. They are so overprotective. I love my job!
No talentless Dutch breakfast tv presenting airheads were hurt during the writing of this article.