Enfield Dreams

I woke up with a jolt and realised I had been dreaming of people I’ve written stories about for the paper. This struck odd and hasn’t happened all year since my newsy life began.

While here though, it’s worth mentioning that during my current term in training, Friday’s are my favourite day because I’m at workon the paper. It's a reminder of what the rest of the course is for.

I did a week’s placement at the same paper back in May and came away with a pile of bylines.
This time around, going in just the one day a week over a longer period of time gives you a real sense of the paper and the most important people that make it what it is – the people written about of course – but perhaps more importantly the readers.

Like all reporters I like going out on jobs best. If I'm with a photographer then even better. I don’t mind what for but meeting people and finding out what they’re up to is what inspires me most.

Back in September on my first day I wrote a story about a mother of a THREE-YEAR-OLD who has set up a charity after her son has been living with a pace-maker since he was born. Other favourites include: A volunteer who has raised over £800,000 for arthritis research in twenty-five years, A LOVED UP couple’s diamond wedding anniversary, A MAN with learning difficulties who thought he was “stupid” because he didn't know the alphabet who has just been short-listed for a student of the year award and an EIGHT-YEAR-OLD schoolboy who won first place in a tae kwon do championship with hopes to become the youngest to hold a black-belt in the country.

Most recently I visited a member of the Green Party at his home for a feature I was writing on 'How to reduce your carbon footprint and live lighter,' and last week a case study on a survivor of domestic violence. The interview was conducted in Urdu with me translating into English as I went along - which really put my multi-tasking skills to the test. The latter was a story my editor wasn't sure about in the first instance but open to persuasion as he is, he let me have a go and ran it. That's another reason that makes this team so good. I must sound like I want a job there. (Off the record: I do).

All news is news worth writing. But what we call human interest stories in the business are my niche and what I strive to do.

London Lite Cleans up Messy Business

I read London Lite the other day (Free sheet from the Evening Standard, handed out on weekdays in Central London).

It was my first read. I admit I’m a bit late in catching up. But when you’re surrounded by news and read all the nationals everyday, there’s often no room for another newspaper to get a look in.

Actually, there's always room for paper in my life. Truth is I've been reading the London Paper (launched by Rupert Murdoch aka proprietor of the Times/Sun) instead, because that’s what was handed to me often enough to become habit forming.

Picture the scene: Friday night on the tube homeward bound, someone has left a copy of said free sheet on a nearby seat. You reach, rifle, read, rifle some more then fold and go to put it in your bag. And this is where you notice the strap-line above the headline. “Printed with ink that won’t come off on your hands” it says.

I’m sure non-journalists, who form the bulk readership of London Lite probably appreciate the thought. To me it didn’t make sense.

The smell, ink, grain of paper, the fact that you can tear it in a dead straight horizontal line, is what I love about newsprint. The familiarity of news writing style and the quality of snatched pictures that can’t afford as much time as long-drawn photo-shoots.

I understand that when we live in the Big Smoke its all so filthy, keeping people’s hands clean might prove a good move.

But as a die-hard traditionalist at heart, I do feel printing with non-budge ink seems to sterilise a bit that illicit stain of grubbiness on your fingers that's left behind after a gloriously greedy read.

Quick Thinkers

Journalists have incredibly fast minds. They’ll ask you a question, be taking notes all the while thinking about the next piece of information they want from you. This is an asset and a specific necessity in the world of newspapers when you often have to source your story, write and file it for publication the same day.

Often when I go to interview someone, I know what their answers to my questions are going to be but I ask them to get it in their words. Their words will form the life of my story.

In the past I’d sometimes hear what was probably minor irritation in the voice of my subject at the obviousness of my question. But I’ve moved on from that and I don't hear it anymore. No question is stupid. I am not asking it for me – I’m asking it for the story, which I would not be able to write without the obvious vital information.

We were taught very early on in our training to develop skills not unlike a detective. Learn to read things upside down, and to read people’s faces and body language. How does our interviewee look? Tired? Well? Run down? Pregnant? (!) Are they shy, being honest or suspect? It's not always easy to get this over the phone but we get what we can.

Either way, all of it has to be got really quickly. This fast pace, fresh immediacy and realness, is part of why we love doing it.

“Relationships are imperfections”

A friend quoted another’s adage over the phone last night. Yes I agreed, they are, but what would we do without them?

It came clear as the conversation progressed that the root of the fore-stated comment was after recent shouting matches with her on-off-partner.

Thinking in the bigger scheme of current events, I've noticed how much of their conversation people devote to talking about their relationships - and not usually with the person they're in the relationship with.

I’m not speaking here about the entire spectrum of social interaction of course. I do not mean employers, friends, siblings, parents or others – with whom, granted we may have less than perfect relationships. I'm refering to times when people’s hot topic of choice is their significant other, who may ideally be a friend, but is in the fortunate position of sleeping with them too.

From a scant non-national, non-exhaustive study of the species, it appears that beyond the honeymoon period when being with someone new is exciting and electric, when we speak of our relationships it is less to celebrate the others’ good points than to ponder what they could do better.

At a party last night, a friend shared concerns that the woman he is “seeing” is not “the one.” He said: “I know I’m never going to fall in love with her because I want more.” It turns out that the “more” he seeks is manifest amply within his circle friends. His relationship is the soothing balm to go home to at the end of it all to wake up to on Sunday morning. Sounds good to me. Opposites attract and all that. He conceded my point and reconsidered his views.

A nearby source who has been married for thirty-eight years said the relationship's success owed everything to compromise. Add to this a story I wrote for my paper a couple of months ago on a couple who were celebrating their 60th diamond anniversary. The seventy-eight year old husband’s secret was along a similar compromising line. He said: “I love my wife, so I’ve never strayed. It’s that simple. ”

Perhaps it is ego-obsessed arrogance that makes the rest of us struggle with negotiation. Or maybe we suspect somewhere not too far, the grass is that bit greener.

I can't help thinking if we thought about the sad prospect of being lonely we’d settle down and enjoy what we have. Or get on with ironing out those creases we're not happy about rather than just talking about them all the time. If it's broke, fix it. And if it ain't, think how pretty it is.

Image: group de quatre nus (Four Nudes) - Tamara de Lempicka

Some of the Music I like

One of the photographers at the Enfield Advertiser had to take a picture of me to illustrate a feature of mine. It's the longest ten minutes we've ever spent together.

He's German and we bonded over the Berlin electro-music scene. He asked me what I've been listening to recently and truth is I had no idea. I'm lucky enough to have my own private supplier of music and mixes courtesy of dj - Thee hausfly you see. Check: www.houseflymusik.blogspot.com for more.

"Spike Spondike aka Thee hausefly was born and raised in Ohio USA, and has been mixing mix-tapes since the 1980’s and DJ-ing on the scene since 2000.
An international superstar, she was resident DJ at Crush, Portland Oregon, and has since played everywhere from San Francisco to Helsinki to Sophia to London. Versatile sets range from electro-punk to minimal tech to dirty house beats and slow-it-down groovy lounge vibes."

She's currently without a home so if anyone has word of third parties interested in having her play/be resident, all the better. Do get in touch with me on this blog. Or leave her a comment on hers.

Shorthand Kit

See here: all the necessary acoutrements for Teeline practice. I'm currently at a speed of 80-90, sometimes, back down to 70. Enter panic = the highs and lows of shorthand.

Still, Teeline has to be one of my most favourite subjects. The intense concentration it requires leaves no room to think about anything else. It's almost meditative. Move over chanting and lets go Teeline!

The other day someone in my class asked our teacher to dictate at 120 words per minute. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it but started to sharpen my pencil anyway. The boy next to me told me I was a masochist. Maybe. But there's no other way for it but to be obsessive.

I've been practicing manically everywhere, on the bus, in lectures, at friends houses, even on the walk to college, listening to a Yorkshire woman dictate passages to me on my ipod nano and writing outlines on the floor of my mind.

The exam's in January and I have to get up to 100 wpm to pass. No prizes for guessing what I'll be doing frantically over the festive break.

Start Writing - now

It’s the eve before exam number 1 and I’m feeling pretty numb. That’s news writing, followed by Public Affairs on Weds, then law on day three.

The past three weeks have been spent at my mother’s, holed up in one room , knee deep in past exam papers and enveloped by floor to ceiling notes on lining paper (used to line your walls before wallpaper) in a bid to focus.

When you’re brain’s feeling freeze-dried and you take a break with friends, and find yourself partly listening, but mostly rattling through judicial proceedings and reporting restrictions on points of law, elections and local government finance, you realise you are headed towards going very slowly, and quite blandly mad.

So unready as I feel, the prospect of any more revision makes me feel queasy and there seems nothing for it but to do them and be done.

It’s our Christmas party on our last day. Mine’ll be a G&T I think – pint of.

First though, it’s show-time.