School Dinners

I’m an ardent believer in ethical journalism.
I’m not going to run off and write an expose – not unless it’s to reveal criminality of some kind.
We’re not into scape-goating locals on local papers.
But just two month’s into the job and I’ve already received complaints on a couple of stories.
Today’s moan came from the headteacher of a primary school.
The story on page five of the Advertiser began:
LUNCHTIMES will never be the same again for an Enfield school that has been fitted with a swanky new kitchen.
Xxxx school is putting good health and taste back on the menu now that they can prepare home-cooked meals on site.
Previously pupils had to make do with “mushy” vegetables brought in from xxxx school nearby. A school spokeswoman said: The food wasn’t particularly good before as vegetables were rotten by the time they had been transported to us.”
And so on.
I failed to see the problem.
And so did my editor.
But alas – I had made a grave error with “mushy” and “rotten” in the copy, which “showed the school in a bad light”.
Hands up – but I only wrote what I was told.
Even the school chef of the school that did the cooking before the other school got its new stove phoned in offended.
And the council suggested I go and eat lunch there to write a piece to prove the food is not "mushy" or "rotten."
WOAH - that'll teach me.
I invited the schools to write a letter to my news editor and he chatted to the aggrieved parties and asked them to stop giving his reporters a hard time.
We’re just doing our job.
In my view, they were pretty lucky to have been the subject of a page five lead in the first place. We were half expecting a raging call-in from he subject of the splash this week – which was a REAL expose.
And would have warranted the required explaination.
But we didn’t hear a tinkle and had a school in a tizz instead.
Maybe tomorrow the "racists" will catch on.
See above post to go up shortly.

Access all Areas

My NUJ press card has landed.

And my photo looks as dodgy as deems nessesary.

It seems obligitory that you look a bit mischievous and grubby - like a wanted person if we're going by most press cards of people I know.

Still, it pleases me that I'm armed with that all important accessory for any journalist wanting to get through many a heavy door often shut in the face of the public.

I've had an oversized temporary blue one to date, which always needed an explanation.

Most memorably last month when I attended Woolwich Crown Court for the 7/7 suspected London bombers' trial.

An usher eyed me suspicously from the floor as I sat above her behind a glass screen in the public gallery.

I eyed her back.

Until she came upstairs and asked me who I was.

I pulled out my card with gusto and announced the publication for which I was there with pride.

"One of the men lived on our patch ", I said - (So there).

She handed the card back with a disdainful look.

There's no getting away from the fact that a lot of people think the press to be scum.

Despite the fact that we do an honourable public service.

But she did let me stay.

So i got the story.

And that at the end of all events - is all that matters.

I couldn't think of a headline today

A helluva load goes down on our newsdesk.
I write for two papers.
My editors work on four.
And our stories go through about six pairs of eyes before they hit the printers each week.
Rigorous evidently.
And the schedule is relentless.

Even with the fresh air breaks you get out on jobs.

Days of shorthand scrawl, bleed into evenings of writing, into meetings with your colleagues, more interviews over the phone and even more waiting to hear back from others for that all important quote that will make your story publishable.
The latter seem to have an irritating habit of phoning back just when you’ve got a sandwich spread across your keyboard, which sends crumbs flying in the face of your computer screen as you scrabble for a pencil to note their spicy quote.

Some days I feel I've written to the point I've exceeded my word quota for the day and can't sustain a verbal conversation.

Fellow reporters might recognise this affliction.

I'm sure our team does.

To end, I’ve said it before, and here I go again – it’s not a job you could do unless you love it.
It’s not for the money.
But because there’s no other buzz like the kind you get when your editor nods a little “well done”, in your direction.