Those papers who initially blamed the Norway attacks on Muslim terrorists should hang their heads in shame. Yes, that means you The Financial Times who continued to claim it was Al Qaeda (or however it's currently spelt) even after the arrest of a single, blonde haired, blue eyed, nutter.
The man himself claimed to be a conservative, a Christian and a Mason. Naturally I'm shocked that this combination could possibly be associated with someone who holds such extreme right wing views.
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But, and it's both a fault and a quality, journalists are simply over-informed at times. As a rule I read - for the purposes of work - around ten newspapers a day, albeit fleetingly, plus 100 press releases, several long winded stories from medical journals, around 20 magazines a week from Morning Advertiser to New Scientist, news websites, blogs, work related Twitter posts and emails. Then I occasionally read something for pleasure - a favourite columnist or blog, people's Facebook postings and the odd book.
And I don't think I'm an exception. It's been one of the first rules pounded into me over the years and the most important three word instruction I use in media training sessions. Read the papers.
All this means we think we know a lot about what's going on in the world while, in reality, we have a little knowledge of a lot of things rather than the other way round.
It's not a defence. Far from it. But when a bomb goes off near government offices, in a Westernised country who supports the UN's involvement in Afghanistan, then you jump to conclusions. The wrong conclusions as it happens.
However, it does perhaps suggest that the best editors - and that includes website and TV as well as in the press - are the ones who wait.
And that includes certain bloggers who don't deserve the publicity, who claimed the bomb was the work of Mossad trying to get Arabs into trouble. Apparently this is called a false flag attack and popular with conspiracy theorists.
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The death of Amy Winehouse is shocking and the natural reaction is on the lines of what a waste of talent. She's a cousin of my mate Stuart, on his dad's side. Strangely and coincidentally Marc Bolan was a cousin on his mum's side. Jewish families, eh? We're all related somewhere down the line.
Back to Amy.
I thing it's a tragic waste of a young life far more than the waste of a talent.
She wasted that talent a long time ago. Don't forget she hasn't released an album for five years.
The talent may or may not have ever resurfaced. Her last album was five years ago and it's quite possible that she may simply have faded into obscurity if it wasn't for the fact she could constantly grab a headline with a drug or drink bender, another scrawled tattoo or a bizarre boob job.
But if she had just stopped recording and stopped drinking and taking drugs at the same time then surely that would have been better all round.
I can remember other jazz-style female singers from Carmel to Marie Wilson who came and went in record-selling terms. We've hardly ever read about them since but that means we haven't read about them being found dead either.
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The other day I met a very good child psychologist (for work rather than personal reasons!) How do I know he was good? Because having spent a few hours with him, I was impressed by a lack of psychobabble.
Yet more than that, without ever talking to him in detail about my kids but from listening to him speaking in general about children, I came away thinking that I was the best dad in the world.
Now THAT is what a good psychologist does. No soundbites and no jargon, yet managing to show you what you're doing right, not what you're doing wrong.
Sadly, as I was meeting him in order to get loads of quotes for a story, he was no good whatsoever!
It reminded me of something my parents told me that I have no recollection about, which is they were on the verge of taking me to a child psychologist when I was a toddler because of Smarties. Yes, that's right, the confectionary.
Apparently (and I only ever had their word for this) I use to arrange a tube of Smarties into lines of colours - a row of brown ones, a row of yellow ones and so on. But, I would ever so slightly change it to put one yellow in the row of red ones or an orange one in a row of brown and so on.
My parents were convinced I was colour blind so took me to a succession of doctors and optical experts but apparently no one could find anything wrong.
Until one doctor told them it was obvious that I was doing it deliberately. And he suggested a child psychologist. It may also have had something to do with another habit I had of standing up in my cot and banging my head against the wall. Then later I used to pretend to sleepwalk, apparently.
And the only time I would stop crying is when My Boy Lollipop came on the radio.
Of course my parents decided they didn't have the money to embark on any kind of psychological treatment for me so they left it. And of course I turned out ok. Though as a remnant of my colour-uncoordinated Smarties obsession I still have a slightly bizarre aversion to symmetry.
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Last blog I mentioned that 'starring Jennifer Aniston' were the three words most likely to strike dread into an intelligent person's heart. However, someone made the point to me that 'next. Chris Moyles' may be worse. Any other suggestions for the three words that you most dread hearing will be welcomed.
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There's a lot around at the moment about Terence Rattigan. Something to do with the 100 anniversary of his birth I believe. Now I'm no expert on his works but I will say this. The film The Browning Version, made in 1951 and based on his play, is perhaps the most poignant, moving film I've ever seen.
If you get a chance to see it, do so. Still makes me cry. But then I cry every time a record by Terry Jacks.
Have joy, have fun, have seasons in the sun....Solly
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