Last week, the presenter of the gameshow Total Wipeout lamented that one of the contestants was to go away ‘"literally empty-handed". Now, I’m aware that Total Wipeout is not exactly rivalling Brian Sewell in the sophistication stakes. However, the inability to communicate the basic reality of a situation without employing the word "literally" reflects a worrying trend in the arts in general, from Hilary Mantel to Katie Price.

Why was it not sufficient to tell us that the man in question would leave "empty-handed"? What possible purpose did the preface "literally" have? In an atmosphere of exaggeration and overstatement, words and symbols are losing their meaning, with artists forfeiting the quality of their work in a desperate attempt to be noticed or even understood.

It’s not only in casual remarks by excitable television hosts that this trend is displayed, but also in the most respected literature. Recently, Philip Pullman wrote critically of the current fashion for fiction written entirely in the present tense - a device which was traditionally used only sparingly for moments of extreme drama. "If every sound you emit is a scream, a scream has no expressive value. What I dislike about the present-tense narrative is its limited range of expressiveness."

As someone who turns every discussion of literature into an unabashed rant on my loathing for novels written in the present tense, this article warmed my heart in an Obama-like ‘Yes-we-can’ feeling of comradeship. Someone understands! Pullman’s argument highlighted a disturbing tendency for art of all kinds to be pitched at the highest possible level, so that the subtle peaks and troughs become lost in a flood of intense emotion which renders its audience desensitised to nuance and intolerant of the ordinary.

Comedy is another example: tune into any show dedicated to the humorous exchanges between David Mitchell and Paul Merton, or the stand-up of Jimmy Carr. Humorous and entertaining they undoubtedly are, yet they are also littered with expletives and explicit sexual references. Take QI, the wittiest and smartest show on TV. In a single broadcast, the comedians discussed male and female genitalia, porn, masturbation and swore several times in the first ten minutes.

Swearing can have a comic impact. So can the discussion of sex. But both of these are fast losing their comic value through overuse. In a recent QI episode, the sexual and lavatorial quips provided only shallow, cheap laughs which did throw the genuinely funny material into sharper relief. Yet why is it that these elements now seem almost obligatory?

Discerning audiences often bemoan the poor state of television and the extreme sensationalism of reality TV. When it was announced that a new programme airing in the US would see brides-to-be compete with one another for a plastic surgery makeover to be revealed at the altar, those with ‘taste’ were predictably - and rightly - horrified. This was just a step too far. But the perceived need to exaggerate reality and to overstate every feeling or situation runs far deeper than most would care to admit, and into the most refined of cultural corners. This, then, seems to be the only phenomenon that no one is overstating. Or even stating at all.