You might suppose that the greatest challenge for a telly journalist is writing clear, succinct copy to a tight deadline. Or perhaps you'd think the hardest part of the job is to somehow look half-decent before doing a piece to camera after a day spent scouring dirty, drizzly Ipswich for interviews and voxpops.
Or how about when Paxman strays from the script during a live two-way with the crime correspondent? You could be forgiven for assuming this would put the greatest demands on the reporter - requiring the rapid recall of some arcane fact about this unprecedented case. Well you'd be wrong.
The toughest thing the journos have to do, whilst reporting on this unprecedented string of killings, is to contain their glee. They love it - it's written all over their faces as they furrow their brows in ways which say, "I'm at once concerned, saddened and yet completely in possession of all the known facts about this unprecedented story."
If you want to know how much an individual reporter is enjoying telling us about these unprecedented murders - a rough guide is how often they use the word "unprecedented"