IS there anyone left in Australia who does not know who Martin Bryant is? Probably not.
Saturation coverage of last month's Port Arthur massacre has put the callow face of the accused man on coffee tables and television screens across the continent - in urban penthouses and in the loneliest corrugated-iron shacks of the Outback.
And that is precisely the problem facing Tasmania's legal system - the fact that it will be almost impossible to put together a panel of impartial jurors to hear Bryant's testimony.
Bryant's alleged idiosyncracies - his bestiality, his snuff movie collection, his studied avoidance of housekeeping - have been the stuff of shock-horror features, cantankerous columns and sober think-pieces ever since he ran out of the burning ruins of the Seascape guesthouse.
Australia has already found him guilty, with even the normally staid broadsheet, The Australian, dropping sub-judice formalities and publishing a photograph of him under the tabloid-like headline 'Face Of A Killer'.
It has now become contradictory to every neural impulse to say 'Martin Bryant' without adding or thinking 'the Port Arthur murderer'.