Indifference...........

Another two people lose their jobs today. Two more not to be replaced. Editor to maker announcement about overstaffed desk. No doubt more shit to come. But I am beyond caring. I care not about my job or of those around me. Why? Because this disgusting bullshit is now inevitable. It is not a question of if, but when. Clearly, I am glad it was not me. But do I care when it is?
Probably not. Due to journalism (or my fucked up sensibilities) I have fuck all. No house, no wife, no kids, I am ultimately recession proof. I'll get another job out of the game and move out of my bedsit to a cheaper shit hole to survive.
Am I happy about this situation? No. The disgust and anger burns through me like a hot poker. It takes so much not to walk into the MD's office, take a shit in his drawer and call him a cowardly cunt.
These maggots intentions are clear.
Community correspondents instead of journalists. Let's call it hyperlocal to dress it up.
Internet's the future - only because it costs less than papers.
Who needs subs - because we will never write anything remotely contentious to need a second glance.
How about investment in editorial producing papers - either free or paid for - that are worth reading. You know why. It costs cash.

Loyalty

Loyalty- It's a funny term when used with newspapers. This situation with newspaper companies treating their often exceptionally , hardworking staff with little more than disdain is not new. For years the journalists drive to bring out quality newspapers has been exploited by the management idiots who run the papers into the ground through cutting staff, removing perks and slashing budgets to save a few quid in the short term.
These mongs - and I use this word with great venom - have not the first clue how to run a newspaper. Indeed, I doubt one of them could actually tell you how important the role of a local newspaper is within a community.
So I have this attitude. Fuck them and their company cars. Fuck them and their efficiency drives. Fuck them and their bloated wage packets. Fuck them and their memos, edicts, orders and ideas. They are all shit-eating mother fuckers and don't deserve your respect let alone your loyalty.
I work for the newspaper I bring out. The masthead, not the management. My loyalty is to my team of reporters, the photographers and subs, my colleagues working on other titles alongside me. My loyalty extends to the door to the newsroom. Anybody outside of that space deserves nothing more than contempt.
If everyone in the other departments worked as hard or took as much pride in their own jobs, as I know our band of hacks do, newspapers would not be in the state they are in.
Give loyalty in those you know are looking out for you, have pride in what they do, and fuck the rest of 'em.

Positive shizzle

I consider myself a hard-nosed journalist, adept at shrugging off the nastiest shit life can throw at me (or at least I think I can). I laugh in the face of horror and cock-a-snook at death and its myriad of guises. But just recently I have become bored of the dead and want something a little more uplifting. Whether it's all the bullshit recession news or just too much grimness.
So today I am pleased to say we ran a very upbeat story on our front page.
A positive, nobody-died-everyone-lived sort of story. Not to say it was a load of shit either. It was genuinely a great scoop, a credit to my reporter for getting it. It doesn't mean to say I am turning into some kind of positive news bore, but after the year of hideous shit we have had to report on it's nice to have a front page you know people will get a lift from.

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.

Why journalism

Many of my gang come into work like someone's shit in their cereals.
So they earn bad money, they work long hours, they are the lowest profession on the food chain (debatably drawn between estate agents, politicians and now wonderfully bankers) but, shit, it's a fucking great job.

Why journalism. It's simple, it's the only honest, dishonest job in the world. It's the only job you can still make your own.

Wannabe a scumbag? Writing for the nationals is good. Fancy an ethical do-good life? Write for a local paper. Want to write sniping, nasty articles about people you are never likely to meet? Celebrity feature writing works for you. Parasitical tendencies? Death knocks are the drug of choice. Standing up for the little man? Get involved in community reporting. Like watching footy. Sport (not a real job tbh)

Journalism. It's a great life!
Cheer the fuck up!