Bopy of evidence

For the first few minutes of

The presenter, Peter Collett, a man who came across as a high-level poker-playing don, embarked on what sounded remarkably like a sales pitch. Apparently, all of us possess something called a sixth sense. Not all of us, however, are aware of it lurking in our cerebral cortices.

The sixth sense, in short, enables those who are the master of it to decode "tells", a word borrowed from the gaming tables, which might be shorthand for telltale signs, as, for example, when a chap who has just picked up four aces starts subconsciously scratching his wallet. If we mastered the art of deciphering tells, then we would be able to read the mind of our boss, or anyone else whose mental processes might be of interest.

I was just reaching for a pen to take down the PO box address to which the tenner should be sent in order to collect the lowdown, when Mr Collett surprised me by offering the lowdown for free.

A film clip of George Bush the younger filled the screen. He was walking in a manner which could only be described as exaggerated, arms swinging like a clockwork toy soldier. Tony Blair was introduced into this spliced narrative, stepping from an aeroplane and immediately driving his hands into his coat pockets when confronted with the posturing Bush.

Worse was to follow. Bush was next seen zipped up inside an incredibly aggressive bomber jacket, reminiscent of those worn by American bomber crews when they dropped big ones on Japan. Blair, not a wallflower but clearly taken aback by the level of testosterone on display, plunged his hands down the front pockets of the tight trousers which he clearly hoped would sway the macho vote his way, but were now just interrupting the flow of blood to his fingers.

There was, sadly, no footage of Bush bouncing up and down, scratching himself furiously, every now and then picking insects from Tony's hair, but the message was clear: Bush, by his body language, had declared himself to be the dominant male, the one with the power.

Bill Clinton, needless to say, was the master of the tell. He was, in addition, the master of seeming to give away his inner emotions, while actually retaining total control of the image rights to his finer feelings. He would narrow his eyes briefly to indicate that he was about to kill you with sincerity. For really strong emotions, those that rage beyond the ken of ordinary humans, he employed the lip-bite.

This ruse came in particularly useful when he was asked exactly what role cigars played in the social life of the White House when Monica Lewinsky was visiting. The lipbite kept the words in. He used the technique 15 times in a two-minute interview on the subject. Bill made Bush seem like a comparative chimp, sorry, chump.

While Tony Blair struggled in the body language heavyweight division - being ushered in through his own front door by Bush and Chirac in quick succession - we had a true champion waiting in the wings.

The Queen does not need "power tells", as these displays of superiority are evidently known. The glint from the spectacles she wears on official occasions is sufficient to warn pretenders of big trouble in store if they seek to gain some spatially induced psychological advantage over the monarch. Because there is no one else to hold it, she holds her own hand during occasions of pomp and circumstance.

THE clip of President Bush sitting next to her at a banquet was priceless. As the American national anthem, or theme tune as they call it over there, struck up, Bush was seen to be all at sea, picking up a wine glass in expectation of a toast, putting it down again, and finally and very tentatively seeking out a place on his chest where it was conceivable his heart might be.

In the end, and for all the innocent enjoyment it afforded, Body Talk was nothing more than an extended statement of the obvious. All that talk of a sixth sense was so much hokum, quickly discarded. We know already that people give themselves away by tics and involuntary gestures, just as we know that mild bullying is a feature of all social interaction.

I suspect the makers of the programme also realised this, such was the irritating and intrusive nature of the musical accompaniment and the needlessly flashy visual embellishments. But Body Talk was important in one respect: it confirmed a suspicion, long held, that the sound may safely be turned off whenever a politician fills the screen. If you want to know what fibs they are spinning, just watch their hands and lips.