There's no such thing as a neutral observer...

A piece of history was making its way down Harris Street. It threaded through the urban obstacle course, weaving around bins and dodging lunchtime joggers. The joggers made no attempt to make way for it, somehow believing that their Macquarie Bank emblazoned, company supported, tax-deductible exercise somehow made them more important than anything else in the CBD that Tuesday. Some joggers raised their eyebrows briefly as they noticed who was handling the piece of history.
"Wasn't that Matt Sanders?"
"Matt Sanders? Really? I thought he'd gone crazy. I didn't think he was still around after So you think you can dance better than a fifth grader's Big Brother was cancelled."
"It's funny to see him here on the street, instead of on telly. I don't reckon there's been a day he wasn't on telly or in the paper for the last five years before SYTYCDBTAFGBB went bad."
"Huh. Oh well. Race you back to our desks!"
Matt Sanders knew the joggers recognised him. He had a keen eye for people recognising him. Right now, for example, the girl in the cafe across the street was trying her hardest not to look at him, while at the bus stop a group of Chinese international students threw their heads back and laughed, undoubtedly at something one of them had said about Matt Sanders in Mandarin.
"Probably laughing about the time I hit Kevin Rudd with that zinger when I moderated the debate between him and the opposition leader," Matt Sanders thought to himself. The exact wording didn't come back to him, but he knew it had something to do with interest rates being "as high as the body corporate fees on my new penthouse." Classic.
Matt Sanders turned in to the Channel Ten studios, and smirked at the tangible shift in atmosphere that took place when he entered the foyer. The receptionist beamed at him, and the people waiting on the long leather divans seemed to sit up straighter, even though they never looked directly at him. He strolled casually to the lift, nodding in a satisfied way at a monstrous headshot of himself that hung on the wall. "MATT SANDERS AND CHANNEL TEN: ALWAYS NUMBER ONE" it said. There was a junior production assistant in the lift with him as he travelled up to the executive offices on the sixth floor. "Hey. Have a great day." he said when the young girl got off at the fifth. Matt Sanders loved how easy it was to make someone's day special. She probably couldn't wait to tell her colleagues what had happened.
On entering the board room, Matt Sanders took the piece of history out of his pocket, and inserted in the disc drive of a laptop that sat on top of the brutally modern boardroom table. The laptop whirred into life and the piece of history was projected against a large screen. Matt Sanders could feel the excitement of the six channel bigwigs growing as the screen flickered and the piece of history began.
"Africa, a place desolate, dry, and cut off from the West, electricity, and even humanity. A place where even I, Matt Sanders, am just another foreign traveller to her wild, untamed plains, and rugged, rocky mountains..."
Matt Sanders didn't realise that the documentary was a piece of history, but he suspected it would be the best thing Channel Ten would have aired, and was absolutely certain it would further guarantee his place in the best stall in Ten's stable of stars. He could see each executive squirm slightly as he turned his gaze towards them. "They know," he thought to himself.
"The Masai are a happy people, and could barely contain their excitement as I told them strange tales of my time on what I described to them as "The Picture Box". Here, their chief hands me a token of his esteem- a chicken- and I can tell that this proud warrior tribe has accepted me, and I am now one of..."
"Can we stop it there, Matt? We're a little confused. You go on a working holiday to Africa, with $50,000 of the channel's money, and come back with a documentary that is essentially about yourself?"
Matt Sanders was confused. "It's not about me. It's about Africa. There's all that lion footage, for example."
"Yes, but you talked about a pride of lions as if they were schoolkids doing a tour of the studio. I think at one point you said something about your stage presence reassuring the dominant male that you were no threat to him? Something like that. I'm pretty sure you were not even there when the footage was shot."
"So... you don't like it."
"Matt, it's not a case of liking it, it's more a case of whether or not we can air it. Even if we called it Matt Sanders' Africa (Matt Sanders liked the way that sounded, he'd been thinking of Matt Sanders in the Wild) I don't think that would disguise the fact that you've come back from Africa with the Worst Documentary Ever Made. Spell that with capital letters," the station executive said to the young girl taking the minutes. Six heads nodded around the boardroom table in agreement. Matt Sanders didn't notice.
"Has it occurred to you that other people's lives are less Matt Sanders-centric than yours? For example, I don't think that rhino turned its charge because you made eye contact with it."

The conversation continued for some time, with Matt Sanders eventually taking the piece of history with him to shop around the other networks. As he sat in a cafe that fronted Harris St, he thought he noticed a girl staring at him through the glass, but maybe she was just checking her make up.