God bless the Guardian. In today's online media column by so-called 'Professor' Roy Greenslade, a headline talked about a campaign against the 'blight of literacy.' It took them a full hour to spot that it should have been a blight of illiteracy. They couldn't have picked a better word to get wrong.
--------------------------------------------------------
So after a hard-nosed career doorstepping the families of murder victims and covering the planning sub-committee of her local council before sitting her NCTJ law exam and learning to do 120 wpm shorthand so she could cover court cases, socialite Jemima Khan has finally made it to associate editor of The Independent.
It's always nice to see hard work pay off. I think I may have a vague recollection of meeting the heiress and socialite when she was working for the Yellow Advertiser and covered the mayor planting a tree in the gardens of an old people's home in Seven Kings. Or maybe it was another socialite. Yes, of course, it was Lady Helen Windsor who, I am assuming, will soon be named as the sports editor of the Sunday Telegraph.
By the way, socialite Jemima Khan simply hates being called a socialite. So perhaps we should call her a star-fucking spoilt brat daughter of a bug-eyed billionaire looney.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sports journalists are a strange breed. By and large they get exclusives given to them by agents, they often know all the dirt but sycophantically refuse to reveal it in case it harms their relationship with the player in question, and they love a good meal on expenses.
They can be quite hard hitting in print but tend to be brown noses when in face to face contact with managers and footballers in particular.
Cricket writers are even worse. I heard a tale once about all the port-sodden cricket hacks on a plane back from a Test series down under, alongside the England team.
A certain very, very famous England cricketer got so drunk he burst into the cockpit, wrestled the controls away from the captain and only after the plane had dipped dramatically by a few thousand feet was he restrained - by around ten men at least (he was a big fella).
All the cricket writers were there, they all knew what happened but none wrote about it.
That's the story I've heard anyway.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I saw a little egret flying over London E11 at the weekend. First time I've seen one in these parts. It was quite exciting for me.
Must fly...Solly
No comments:
Post a Comment