Tuesday, 3 March 2009

Drink drunk

What is it about journalists and drink? What is it about journalists and being a fuck up?
We don't really see the grim reality of life. Not all of it. Cops do, firefighters do, ambulance men and doctors and nurses do. But we don't. No dead burned corpses, no murder victims, no drowned kids. So why does this thing inevitably fuck us up.
I think I know the reason. It's because we wallow in the clear up of the shit all the time. The chat with the grieving family, the tribute to the dead son, the front page about the murdered wife. We soak up all the bile and the hate and the suffering and filter it for the readers.
Many people outside of editorial think readers actually send in pictures of their dead loved ones. In the rare occasions it happens, I can count on one hand.
Instead it us up to us to go round often just a few hours after the death and not only get a full chat but a handful of collects as well.
Most journalists hate death knocks. I didn't care. They would always either say yes or no, on some occasions a mild threat. Maybe that is why I was never very successful. I could persuade and empathise but never sympathise. Just another story.
Maybe that is why I drink. To stop the stories becoming real.

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