The fascinating obsession with Phillip Schofield’s downfall

The rift between Holly Willoughby and Phillip Schofield, long-standing sobbing/giggling presenters of This Morning, has been one of the big talking points of recent weeks. A torrent of Holly ‘n’ Phil headlines has covered every twist and turn: Holly’s shock This Morning departure! (She clocked off ten minutes early to attend a function.) Shock This Morning farewell from Holly and Phil! (They’re taking a summer holiday like they do every year.) These headlines were all false tempters, but I’m only slightly ashamed to say I found myself clicking on every single one.

Now, though Schofield really has gone for good: I was so used to these all-mouth-and-no-trousers false dawns that my first reaction to seeing the headline that Schofield was to leave This Morning with immediate effect was to think it would be qualified with something like ‘until Monday’s show’. But no: in a statement this weekend, Schofield confirmed the news. ‘I understand ITV has decided the current situation can’t go on,’ he wrote.

It’s still unclear exactly what has caused the dispute between the pair, as everything is implied, or put up from ‘TV insiders’ and nameless sources. But, whatever the truth, one thing is beyond doubt: our particular and prolonged obsession with Schofield. What might explain it? I think it’s because people resent saints. Nice people who turn out not to be all that nice, from Sister George to Mother Teresa, are a beguiling prospect. They get us salivating. We pretend we like nice people, but in reality they embarrass and unsettle us because we aren’t perfect and we see no reason why anybody else should be. There’s probably an evolutionary reason for this: a chance to test our social reflexes, to catch at a wonky halo. We love to catch a glimpse of clay around the foot.

In the case of Schofield, in particular, there have been micro-flashes of tetchiness on air, which don’t match the cuddly public image. In the arena of daytime TV and This Morning specifically, it’s hard to imagine there are any hidden facets to Richard Madeley, a huge part of whose appeal comes from vocalising whatever thought, however bizarre, is flashing across his synapses at any given moment. Eamonn Holmes, likewise, cannot conceal the slightest flicker of emotion from registering on his face.

But the amiable Schofe was revealed to be holding something back – and it was a biggie. In 2020, he came out as gay. The problem, of course, wasn’t his sexual orientation – it was that he’d had an oblivious wife, whom he had been married to for 30 years. There was something unsettling about Schofield’s televised coming out ceremony. There were questions about why it was suddenly necessary. The way in which it was covered in the newspapers was also curious. Schofield was rewarded for his honesty with Mandela-level tears and tributes. But these stuck in the craw; after all, what about his poor partner? What happened to Schofield’s family just didn’t fit with the TV presenter’s ‘mother’s pet’ image: plain shirts, big friendly smiles, and no ‘side’.

The press picked up a sceptical scent, like blood in the water, from the public. This perhaps explains the fallout from the Queen’s coffin ‘queue jumping’ scandal. If this had happened a few years before, this story wouldn’t have had legs. But people were now more sceptical about Schofield. As a result, the attempts to contain the story carried less weight.

All this created a rebound effect on Willoughby, whose own image – the perfect big sister – was now threatened. There are rumours that she was not informed until very late in the day about the trial of Schofield’s brother on child sex abuse charges, and that she was rapidly tiring of her co presenter. A strange public statement from Schofield last week, where he talked about her as his ‘rock’ – always a bad sign, this naff and slimy phrase – looked like the last straw.

The prospective replacements for Schofield on the This Morning sofa, Alison Hammond and Dermot O’Leary, both feel more like fully rounded human beings. They are agreeable and fallible, imperfect people who could be your mates, not twee, shining angels. We can live with people like that on TV, as we do in life. Saint Philip and the blessed Holly are like all sweet things: too much, and they make you feel a bit sick.