At risk of sounding sycophantic, work experience at The Times was amazing. I shadowed the defence editor, who effected on me a kaleidoscopic sense of awe. All the exciting stuff was off-record, though, so I can't describe it here. She made me giddy by telling me I have 'the right drive'. I'll need it. The print media market is shrinking and the pool of talent grows daily.
The cost of my incessant job/internship-hunting will be slightly supplemented by some part-time work I've just acquired at a London nightclub, to open on Friday. I went to the site today and found the interior still being built.
'Hello, what do you do?'
'I'm a trained journalist but I have no job. I've also got waitressing experience.'
'Well we need bus boys and girls, I'll give you my email address, you've got my phone number…'
(behind him is only dust and noise, a vast encampment of ladders, stage lights, bar stools and debris…)
'Is there anything I can do to help?'
'Well I have to move all this wood downstairs, but- I really don't think-'
'Why? Because I'm a lady?'
'Well-!'
'I can carry wood.' I beamed. I am highly versatile
So I got dusty while the important people discussed who was doing what where and what the acts needed and how it was all to be built on schedule.
A small flutter followed when one of my triplet sisters arrived, being short of cash too - isn't everyone? The owner immediately mixed us up and got quite excited about it.
At last, an opportunity to capitalise on mutant clone status.
We're to be dressed identically, and play the twin act. I assume they want the cute version. Need I remind you of the alternative…
Wins'em every time.
Since this is an ad-hoc part-time deal, I hope the clientele tip well. I will be fitted for a Victorian costume on Wednesday, but I need to find my own shoes… Apart from that, I've been applying for jobs and internships today and checked out the High Courts because I'm keeping an eye on a case… Apparently, judgement has been suspended. I'm an optimistic rookie all the same. I've got a piece in The Times and that's got to count for something, hasn't it?
On a much smaller, lighter note, check out my review of Dreadzone on page 17 of The Hackney Gazette.
Monday, 17 May 2010
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Work in Hackney
Hello there,
Here's my most recent work for Ventnor Blog:
Bluebyrds & Sundown City to play IW Fest
Veterans in Prison
Subsequently, I did a week's placement at the Hackney Gazette and kept myself busy. Ents coverage was fun. I had a good dance to Dreadzone and slightly fell in love with Dalston at the Land of Kings Festival, during which I interviewed indie popsters Yuck, who made me giggle. They can be found wandering Stoke Newington's streets, hugging one another, possibly to the croon of harmonica…
I also interviewed Hackney-based director David Bond about the release of his new film Erasing David, in which he tries to hide from a team of private investigators hired by his producer to track him down. The idea is that this game of cat and mouse reveals just how much information about you is available in the public domain.
Personally, though, my most important work came on a rainy Sunday, marching with mourners to Stamford Hill, where Godwin Lawson was killed.
Making a stand against knife crime, members of the Ghanaian High Commission, local politicians, freelance photographers and youth activists attended. I was the only reporter present and his family kindly thanked me for coming.
Being professional is not the same as being detached and this event climbed onto my back quite hauntingly. I'll definitely be following what happens.
The most eloquent speech came not from local MPs or ambassadors, but from 21-year-old Symeon Brown, chairman of a group called Haringey Young People's Empowerment.
I did my best to use as few words as possible, but there was no space for Symeon's speech in the printed version of the report, which hasn't been published online.
Here is my copy:
Marchers mourn Godwin
Hundreds marched in the rain on Sunday to the place where 17-year-old Godwin Lawson was fatally stabbed on Stamford Hill. Ambassadors, politicians, schools and youth activists joined with his friends and family to protest against knife crime.
Godwin’s aunt, Romana Lawson-Wobyl organised the protest in his memory. ‘If we can save even one child’s life, it will all be worthwhile,’ she said.
Leading members of the Ghana High Commission and the Ghana Union also attended: ‘We have to send a message to young people that knife and gun crime is alien to our culture,’ said Edward Cofie, Counsellor of Consular Affairs.
The marchers sang, prayed and chanted anti-violent slogans, but drew quiet as they reached Stamford Hill. Mourners wept. A one-minute silence was followed by speeches, a release of red balloons and the lighting of candles.
Diane Abbott, Labour MP for Hackney and Stoke Newington said: ‘Speaking as a mother, I have tried to support too many who have said goodbye to their sons. We cannot afford to lose more men like Godwin in this cruel way.’
Symeon Brown, 21-year-old chairman of Haringey Young People’s Empowerment (HYPE), remembered playing football with Godwin:
‘There was so much to admire in him. He was a young leader of London, and still is. We need to be led by his legacy. I don’t want to hear anybody crying, I don’t want to hear anything being said unless we are going to work. We are marching to build a safer London and a safer community. If we are not here to do this, then what are we here for?’
The crowd made a vow to work against knife crime and Godwin's parents embraced those that stood with them at the place where he died.
Here's my most recent work for Ventnor Blog:
Bluebyrds & Sundown City to play IW Fest
Veterans in Prison
Subsequently, I did a week's placement at the Hackney Gazette and kept myself busy. Ents coverage was fun. I had a good dance to Dreadzone and slightly fell in love with Dalston at the Land of Kings Festival, during which I interviewed indie popsters Yuck, who made me giggle. They can be found wandering Stoke Newington's streets, hugging one another, possibly to the croon of harmonica…
I also interviewed Hackney-based director David Bond about the release of his new film Erasing David, in which he tries to hide from a team of private investigators hired by his producer to track him down. The idea is that this game of cat and mouse reveals just how much information about you is available in the public domain.
Personally, though, my most important work came on a rainy Sunday, marching with mourners to Stamford Hill, where Godwin Lawson was killed.
Making a stand against knife crime, members of the Ghanaian High Commission, local politicians, freelance photographers and youth activists attended. I was the only reporter present and his family kindly thanked me for coming.
Being professional is not the same as being detached and this event climbed onto my back quite hauntingly. I'll definitely be following what happens.
The most eloquent speech came not from local MPs or ambassadors, but from 21-year-old Symeon Brown, chairman of a group called Haringey Young People's Empowerment.
I did my best to use as few words as possible, but there was no space for Symeon's speech in the printed version of the report, which hasn't been published online.
Here is my copy:
Marchers mourn Godwin
Hundreds marched in the rain on Sunday to the place where 17-year-old Godwin Lawson was fatally stabbed on Stamford Hill. Ambassadors, politicians, schools and youth activists joined with his friends and family to protest against knife crime.
Godwin’s aunt, Romana Lawson-Wobyl organised the protest in his memory. ‘If we can save even one child’s life, it will all be worthwhile,’ she said.
Leading members of the Ghana High Commission and the Ghana Union also attended: ‘We have to send a message to young people that knife and gun crime is alien to our culture,’ said Edward Cofie, Counsellor of Consular Affairs.
The marchers sang, prayed and chanted anti-violent slogans, but drew quiet as they reached Stamford Hill. Mourners wept. A one-minute silence was followed by speeches, a release of red balloons and the lighting of candles.
Diane Abbott, Labour MP for Hackney and Stoke Newington said: ‘Speaking as a mother, I have tried to support too many who have said goodbye to their sons. We cannot afford to lose more men like Godwin in this cruel way.’
Symeon Brown, 21-year-old chairman of Haringey Young People’s Empowerment (HYPE), remembered playing football with Godwin:
‘There was so much to admire in him. He was a young leader of London, and still is. We need to be led by his legacy. I don’t want to hear anybody crying, I don’t want to hear anything being said unless we are going to work. We are marching to build a safer London and a safer community. If we are not here to do this, then what are we here for?’
The crowd made a vow to work against knife crime and Godwin's parents embraced those that stood with them at the place where he died.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Meanwhile, on a less industrious note
I've seen Kick Ass and I don't know why it's viewed as controversial…
Well, wait… I do know. It's the pre-pubescent girl wearing leather and the cartoon violence. But you'll only find that titillating if there's something irrevocably wrong with you already! This film will corrupt nobody. It made me laugh so much I cried.
Also… Fionn Regan should be old news by now but I've only just got the memo. I find his self-conscious emulation of Bob Dylan here quite charming! Especially the hat and sunglasses which, combined with the pratfall, make him look about TWELVE.
And this Villagers song appeals to the frustrated artist in me. :) Hooray for creepy pigs and lyrical poetry.
Well, wait… I do know. It's the pre-pubescent girl wearing leather and the cartoon violence. But you'll only find that titillating if there's something irrevocably wrong with you already! This film will corrupt nobody. It made me laugh so much I cried.
Also… Fionn Regan should be old news by now but I've only just got the memo. I find his self-conscious emulation of Bob Dylan here quite charming! Especially the hat and sunglasses which, combined with the pratfall, make him look about TWELVE.
And this Villagers song appeals to the frustrated artist in me. :) Hooray for creepy pigs and lyrical poetry.
Updatedness…
Hello, realised I haven't written in a while. This is partly because I'm juggling… I currently have one foot on the Isle of Wight, one foot in London. I'm trying to dedicate myself to 2 lots of work experience simultaneously, while applying for journalistic jobs and preparing for interviews.
I thought, optimistically, that being unemployed might be a *restful* state to be in, but that's not really the case and I'm trying to keep all my plates spinning at once!
Here are some articles I dashed off…
I am enjoying the local music scene and discovered a band called The Bluebyrds. Their performance was so astonishing - so true to the spirit of Hendrix - that I ran up to the lead singer afterwards and told him so - which made him blush like crazy. He's only sixteen.
It seemed they need to write more of their own material (most of their repertoire consists of sixties covers) but they are only in high school after all. Here's my review of the evening:
Battle of the Bands
On a more unsettling note, I interviewed a man about Mephedrone use on the Island. The 'legal high' has hit headlines everywhere.
Incidentally, I was irritated by 'plant food' use at a house party recently… the users were extremely hyperactive, suddenly developed terrible taste in music (played at full volume) and talked ALL NIGHT, only about themselves. When it got to 5am, I just wanted to sleep. Substance-induced narcissism is such a yawn.
Researching this particular substance proved interesting. Meph is compared, variously, to heroine, coke and ecstasy… none of which are innocuous. It also turns your knees blue after a while because it damages your circulation. What larks.
And fulfilling my mundane news quotient I have once again been writing about roads. It seems all Islanders live for is getting from A to B on wobbly scenic trajectories!
This particular road threat (one of the most scenic drives on the Isle and a particular favorite of mine, actually) led to my contacting pearl jewelers who have based themselves helpfully in the middle of nowhere.
I produced a podcast interview with prospective Lib Dem MP Jill Wareham on this hot election issue, if anybody feels like listening to my voice. :) Thrilling stuff.
I've got plenty of other plates spinning, none of which are getting me any money just yet but hopefully I will develop real prospects, rather than continuing with this strange circus act.
I thought, optimistically, that being unemployed might be a *restful* state to be in, but that's not really the case and I'm trying to keep all my plates spinning at once!
Here are some articles I dashed off…
I am enjoying the local music scene and discovered a band called The Bluebyrds. Their performance was so astonishing - so true to the spirit of Hendrix - that I ran up to the lead singer afterwards and told him so - which made him blush like crazy. He's only sixteen.
It seemed they need to write more of their own material (most of their repertoire consists of sixties covers) but they are only in high school after all. Here's my review of the evening:
Battle of the Bands
On a more unsettling note, I interviewed a man about Mephedrone use on the Island. The 'legal high' has hit headlines everywhere.
Incidentally, I was irritated by 'plant food' use at a house party recently… the users were extremely hyperactive, suddenly developed terrible taste in music (played at full volume) and talked ALL NIGHT, only about themselves. When it got to 5am, I just wanted to sleep. Substance-induced narcissism is such a yawn.
Researching this particular substance proved interesting. Meph is compared, variously, to heroine, coke and ecstasy… none of which are innocuous. It also turns your knees blue after a while because it damages your circulation. What larks.
And fulfilling my mundane news quotient I have once again been writing about roads. It seems all Islanders live for is getting from A to B on wobbly scenic trajectories!
This particular road threat (one of the most scenic drives on the Isle and a particular favorite of mine, actually) led to my contacting pearl jewelers who have based themselves helpfully in the middle of nowhere.
I produced a podcast interview with prospective Lib Dem MP Jill Wareham on this hot election issue, if anybody feels like listening to my voice. :) Thrilling stuff.
I've got plenty of other plates spinning, none of which are getting me any money just yet but hopefully I will develop real prospects, rather than continuing with this strange circus act.
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
The most provocative thing I've ever done?
My latest article on the 'transformation' of social care on the Isle of Wight was published today and Ventnor Blog's comment box is ablaze.
Wheeeeeee. Watch it go. See it fly.
I also did a piece on school admissions over lunch. This is proving much less controversial.
Wheeeeeee. Watch it go. See it fly.
I also did a piece on school admissions over lunch. This is proving much less controversial.
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Clay and articles…
Mission accomplished.In addition to that lovely stuff, I've been finding out about poorly-negotiated changes to social care on the Isle of Wight…
The next installment should be published tomorrow. Yesterday I phoned 16 conservative councillors to ask inconvenient questions.
I was terribly humble but the second man I introduced myself to still sounded like he wanted to spit on me and cut me off without saying goodbye. I captured his anger in shorthand though. (Geeky dance of victory).
In other news, I have found out that Island folk don't just care about roads. They also care about 200-year-old walls under threat from planning.
There's other stuff too, but it's less exciting (less exciting? Why yes, pumpkins. I prefer the stories in which I wasn't helped so much by PR people. I did conduct a pleasant interview with a new employee at IW Steam Railway, but consider my write-up a bit twee.)
Apart from that, just job-seeking and trying to get a larger feature off the ground. In testing the water, I've discovered that prisons are fairly impenetrable. What a surprise. :)
Minghella
Hello, hello,
I signed on today! A bit slow off the mark. I suppose I thought my luck would run faster.
This weekend I went to the Minghella Film Festival, which proved moving. Like most people, I never met Anthony Minghella, but when you've spend any time at these events you suddenly miss him, quite acutely.
Notable, too, was the oceanic melancholy of independent film-making. I sat in on a Ventnorblog interview with two scriptwriters, who said they collaborate on projects to stave off loneliness and despair.
"It's the most frustrating job in the world," one concluded, eyes brimming, I kid you not. I hope a little optimism will ensue for them. After all, they'd just had their first successful public premiere of their film and it got an excellent response.
My highlight of the festival was a screening of Minghella's writing for childrens' television: 'The Storyteller', starring John Hurt. An unorthodox choice for a film festival but it proved charming and was followed by a conversation with John Hurt and Duncan Kenworthy. I took shorthand and asked a question to feed into what I hoped would be a lively arts piece, read my write-up here.
I've been doing plenty of work for VB lately so will post more links shortly. Right now, though, it's sunny so I intend to make a big sculpture out of beach clay… Photographic evidence will follow.
I signed on today! A bit slow off the mark. I suppose I thought my luck would run faster.
This weekend I went to the Minghella Film Festival, which proved moving. Like most people, I never met Anthony Minghella, but when you've spend any time at these events you suddenly miss him, quite acutely.
Notable, too, was the oceanic melancholy of independent film-making. I sat in on a Ventnorblog interview with two scriptwriters, who said they collaborate on projects to stave off loneliness and despair.
"It's the most frustrating job in the world," one concluded, eyes brimming, I kid you not. I hope a little optimism will ensue for them. After all, they'd just had their first successful public premiere of their film and it got an excellent response.
My highlight of the festival was a screening of Minghella's writing for childrens' television: 'The Storyteller', starring John Hurt. An unorthodox choice for a film festival but it proved charming and was followed by a conversation with John Hurt and Duncan Kenworthy. I took shorthand and asked a question to feed into what I hoped would be a lively arts piece, read my write-up here.
I've been doing plenty of work for VB lately so will post more links shortly. Right now, though, it's sunny so I intend to make a big sculpture out of beach clay… Photographic evidence will follow.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
This country's possible war crimes and where to find the best bowl of chips in London…
My interview with musical retro-dreamers Mike Champion and Michael Yates is now actually published along with my less trendy comment piece on IoW council cuts. Yayy.
Saturday's Masterclass in investigative reporting was great fun.
The first principle:
"If you encounter somebody who says 'I'm an investigative journalist' you're almost certainly dealing with someone who has quite a significant personality problem. All reporting is investigative."
As expected there were some manly stories - doorstepping pedophile ringleaders, tracking down Russian spies, fighting legal battles, which was all very inspiring. The pair were swamped at the bar by a crowd of admirers.
All in all the free bar provided the most intense social experience I've had in a while… Walking home, I was slightly adrift in it all - I'll break some of it down for you:
A Russian newspaper editor, originally from the UK, told me Britain is going to the dogs.
The wrong-doings of a cult were passionately laid out by a lady researching a book on the subject.
A financial journalist left me thinking that money is modernity's religion of choice (the financial system rests so heavily on faith).
The most unsettling story came from a man who left the R.A.F. following air strikes in Iraq. I paraphrase here so be aware it's unreliable. He was ver' drunk and I'm going from memory.
"They'll say 'oh those are bomb shelters, just go for the target, they'll be alright', but some of these American missiles, they're so huge and just" - he made an exploding gesture. "Then they say oh fuck, it's all gone. How many d'you reckon that was? 1000? 1500 people? All those poor buggers wiped out. They just don't care. They don't."
He muttered something about cover-ups, made his excuses and left, saying he would come back later. He didn't.
It was a sad encounter, particularly as he'd been beaming at me a few minutes before, when I was making an overblown statement about a sixties renaissance.
My question is this: is nostalgia always directed fifty years into the past? Why aren't we cool anymore?
Perhaps we're just practical… Back in the 1950s, less than a third of young people thought being rich was an important life goal. Now, more than 70% say so.
Well since so many of us are unemployed and skint at the moment, will we reject that model of success completely? Is this a new dawn for genius-losers? I still find a lot of young men thrilled to discover Kerouac's On the Road. Wow, let's just go and work the land, live in a trailer with migrant workers and hammer away at a typewriter! Suddenly, poverty seems like a lifestyle choice.
This neglects to mention the perviness of the novel. Underage prostitution? Oh that's fine because we're in Mexico! Well, no, actually. So I err on the side of 'loser' when it comes to Kerouac. Has nobody emerged since?
Thinking this through, I trumpeted optimistic slogans to a new friend I'd found wearing a trilby: 'Money's shit!' I said, 'there's no poetry in an easy life.'
"What?"
"I said, there's NO POETRY in an EASY LIFE!"
At which he nodded, his eyes beer-lit, as if I'd said something profound.
Incidentally think the myth of retro-happiness is embodied in this performance, though I've no idea where it comes from. If we were all like this man, how frightening the world would be…
(Please ignore the title and web ad. attached to this YouTube video. I do not want to promote porn on my blog.)
So, that was an interesting evening. A couple of nice things have happened since then, as cheaply as possible.
First of all, I've witnessed Marina Diamantis cavorting in front of a fan. You won't forget it.
In terms of actual human interaction… on Sunday a friend treated my sister and I to lunch in Canary Wharf. The wind was howling round the skyscrapers, so we went back to his apartment for tea. I ogled his amazing collection of puppets, old books, big screens, steampunk jewellery and outfits, and he directed me to this article on the future of journalism.
Last night was good too. I went with sisters to The Lavender in Vauxhall and found the best bowl of chips for £2, perfectly crispy on the outside, perfectly fresh on the inside, honestly, they're a work of art. I got a friend to try one and her face transformed brilliantly.
"Mmm… You know - food. Sometimes, I just can't get over it."
In a fit of giggles I nearly spilled tomato juice everywhere. It was mostly Worcester sauce. Erk. What was the barman thinking? Perhaps it builds character.
We felt particularly celebratory because my unemployed sister is employed again! It only took… five months or something. My turn now. Hmm.
What was I saying? Oh yes! She's having a lovely time at the Natural History Museum, and has already had the wits scared out of her by human remains in the basement…
But that's her story to tell. I must get on. :)
Saturday's Masterclass in investigative reporting was great fun.
The first principle:
"If you encounter somebody who says 'I'm an investigative journalist' you're almost certainly dealing with someone who has quite a significant personality problem. All reporting is investigative."
As expected there were some manly stories - doorstepping pedophile ringleaders, tracking down Russian spies, fighting legal battles, which was all very inspiring. The pair were swamped at the bar by a crowd of admirers.
All in all the free bar provided the most intense social experience I've had in a while… Walking home, I was slightly adrift in it all - I'll break some of it down for you:
A Russian newspaper editor, originally from the UK, told me Britain is going to the dogs.
The wrong-doings of a cult were passionately laid out by a lady researching a book on the subject.
A financial journalist left me thinking that money is modernity's religion of choice (the financial system rests so heavily on faith).
The most unsettling story came from a man who left the R.A.F. following air strikes in Iraq. I paraphrase here so be aware it's unreliable. He was ver' drunk and I'm going from memory.
"They'll say 'oh those are bomb shelters, just go for the target, they'll be alright', but some of these American missiles, they're so huge and just" - he made an exploding gesture. "Then they say oh fuck, it's all gone. How many d'you reckon that was? 1000? 1500 people? All those poor buggers wiped out. They just don't care. They don't."
He muttered something about cover-ups, made his excuses and left, saying he would come back later. He didn't.
It was a sad encounter, particularly as he'd been beaming at me a few minutes before, when I was making an overblown statement about a sixties renaissance.
My question is this: is nostalgia always directed fifty years into the past? Why aren't we cool anymore?
Perhaps we're just practical… Back in the 1950s, less than a third of young people thought being rich was an important life goal. Now, more than 70% say so.
Well since so many of us are unemployed and skint at the moment, will we reject that model of success completely? Is this a new dawn for genius-losers? I still find a lot of young men thrilled to discover Kerouac's On the Road. Wow, let's just go and work the land, live in a trailer with migrant workers and hammer away at a typewriter! Suddenly, poverty seems like a lifestyle choice.
This neglects to mention the perviness of the novel. Underage prostitution? Oh that's fine because we're in Mexico! Well, no, actually. So I err on the side of 'loser' when it comes to Kerouac. Has nobody emerged since?
Thinking this through, I trumpeted optimistic slogans to a new friend I'd found wearing a trilby: 'Money's shit!' I said, 'there's no poetry in an easy life.'
"What?"
"I said, there's NO POETRY in an EASY LIFE!"
At which he nodded, his eyes beer-lit, as if I'd said something profound.
Incidentally think the myth of retro-happiness is embodied in this performance, though I've no idea where it comes from. If we were all like this man, how frightening the world would be…
(Please ignore the title and web ad. attached to this YouTube video. I do not want to promote porn on my blog.)
So, that was an interesting evening. A couple of nice things have happened since then, as cheaply as possible.
First of all, I've witnessed Marina Diamantis cavorting in front of a fan. You won't forget it.
In terms of actual human interaction… on Sunday a friend treated my sister and I to lunch in Canary Wharf. The wind was howling round the skyscrapers, so we went back to his apartment for tea. I ogled his amazing collection of puppets, old books, big screens, steampunk jewellery and outfits, and he directed me to this article on the future of journalism.
Last night was good too. I went with sisters to The Lavender in Vauxhall and found the best bowl of chips for £2, perfectly crispy on the outside, perfectly fresh on the inside, honestly, they're a work of art. I got a friend to try one and her face transformed brilliantly.
"Mmm… You know - food. Sometimes, I just can't get over it."
In a fit of giggles I nearly spilled tomato juice everywhere. It was mostly Worcester sauce. Erk. What was the barman thinking? Perhaps it builds character.
We felt particularly celebratory because my unemployed sister is employed again! It only took… five months or something. My turn now. Hmm.
What was I saying? Oh yes! She's having a lovely time at the Natural History Museum, and has already had the wits scared out of her by human remains in the basement…
But that's her story to tell. I must get on. :)
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Voluntary journalism on the Isle of Wight…
I've been staying with my parents on the Isle of Wight for the past week or so, building up my multimedia skills while applying for jobs. I've produced some charmingly local podcasts for Ventnor Blog, an extraordinary Isle of Wight news website.
Husband and wife team Sal and Simon have dedicated their lives to asking questions. In the time I spent in the office, they were working non-stop, on the phone to readers and councillors, moderating comments, plugged into Isle of Wight radio. I don't know how they sustain these ten-hour-a-day marathons with so little advertising, but they are a lot of fun to work with and had plenty to tell me about multimedia and interactive coverage.
"We're covering the Town Council elections today," said Sal. "We like to treat it like a national event, just to keep ourselves amused."
Outside the polling station with the rooks for company, I had a pleasant time discovering that people in Ventnor really care about roads,and got brief interviews with the voters and candidates.
On Saturday, my boyfriend and I went to a new Isle of Wight club night called Radieux. Read my review here! Island musicians The Shutes proved a thrilling discovery:
I secured an interview with Radieux's organisers Michael Champion (Shutes' frontman) and his mate Michael Yates. Champion invited me round for a cup of tea in a neighbouring village. His place was retro. I noted the vintage typewriter plonked on the coffee table.
"Yeah it's a beauty isn't it?" he said. "It doesn't work yet. I want to fix it up."
Mike's heavy cold made podcasting a bad idea, so I interviewed for a written piece about the pair's ambitions. This led onto sources of inspiration, feelings about the island, and musicians' enduring love affair with the 1960s. That night i wrote the piece up with the cat meowing at me and the wind howling outside. It won't be published until tomorrow though…
I seem to be doing my best work after darkness at the moment! Last night I went to a council meeting for Ventnor Blog. Lots of dusty voices discussing the same subject for four hours in fraught tones, then raising their hands along pre-ordained lines. I wrote about it until 3am.
There's a point at which energy becomes relentless… It had been a busy day and all. A creative friend and I decided to go to the beach in the pouring rain. I'd made the suggestion when it was sunny.
"No,we should go!" he insisted, as the heavens opened.
"You should wear wellies."
"No. No."
"Are you going to regret this?"
"Of course not!"
He didn't:
It seems the sea was lovely, and it wasn't muddy at all…
Actually, we slid through deep mud for at least a mile and I almost got stuck a couple of times. It was an adventure to exit mundanity and find ourselves at THE ENDS OF THE EARTH. The waves were immense… much taller than me. The kind of ferocity that can't be contained in a photograph.
This post has proved quite bitty and complicated - but I have one more piece of news. I'm off to London tomorrow for a weekend including an investigative reporting workshop with Nick Davies and David Leigh, which I'm quite excited about.
Husband and wife team Sal and Simon have dedicated their lives to asking questions. In the time I spent in the office, they were working non-stop, on the phone to readers and councillors, moderating comments, plugged into Isle of Wight radio. I don't know how they sustain these ten-hour-a-day marathons with so little advertising, but they are a lot of fun to work with and had plenty to tell me about multimedia and interactive coverage.
"We're covering the Town Council elections today," said Sal. "We like to treat it like a national event, just to keep ourselves amused."
Outside the polling station with the rooks for company, I had a pleasant time discovering that people in Ventnor really care about roads,and got brief interviews with the voters and candidates.
On Saturday, my boyfriend and I went to a new Isle of Wight club night called Radieux. Read my review here! Island musicians The Shutes proved a thrilling discovery:
I secured an interview with Radieux's organisers Michael Champion (Shutes' frontman) and his mate Michael Yates. Champion invited me round for a cup of tea in a neighbouring village. His place was retro. I noted the vintage typewriter plonked on the coffee table.
"Yeah it's a beauty isn't it?" he said. "It doesn't work yet. I want to fix it up."
Mike's heavy cold made podcasting a bad idea, so I interviewed for a written piece about the pair's ambitions. This led onto sources of inspiration, feelings about the island, and musicians' enduring love affair with the 1960s. That night i wrote the piece up with the cat meowing at me and the wind howling outside. It won't be published until tomorrow though…
I seem to be doing my best work after darkness at the moment! Last night I went to a council meeting for Ventnor Blog. Lots of dusty voices discussing the same subject for four hours in fraught tones, then raising their hands along pre-ordained lines. I wrote about it until 3am.
There's a point at which energy becomes relentless… It had been a busy day and all. A creative friend and I decided to go to the beach in the pouring rain. I'd made the suggestion when it was sunny.
"No,we should go!" he insisted, as the heavens opened.
"You should wear wellies."
"No. No."
"Are you going to regret this?"
"Of course not!"
He didn't:
It seems the sea was lovely, and it wasn't muddy at all…
Actually, we slid through deep mud for at least a mile and I almost got stuck a couple of times. It was an adventure to exit mundanity and find ourselves at THE ENDS OF THE EARTH. The waves were immense… much taller than me. The kind of ferocity that can't be contained in a photograph.
This post has proved quite bitty and complicated - but I have one more piece of news. I'm off to London tomorrow for a weekend including an investigative reporting workshop with Nick Davies and David Leigh, which I'm quite excited about.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
The wisdom of the soiree…
Good grief - what a disturbing picture is emerging from a recent survey of attitudes to rape victims. Women had better not have a trusting attitude in our society, no no no. We should stick to our sorry corners, shooting suspicious glances in all directions.
“I have unwittingly incurred the Victorian Wrath of the Council,” she said. “I was not eligible to pay [tax]. I have informed them of this. An email from them suggested that was that, but now I've got a letter from them saying they'll be sending the bailiffs round next week to 'remove my goods and chattels' (my chattels? Am I a medieval wench?) unless I pay the money straightaway.”
Hmm. If logic doesn't prevail I suppose I could chain myself to her door in protest.
On Saturday, my boyfriend and I went to see a play called Money, which was terribly trendy and cutting edge. I was blown away by the warehouse setting and artistic touches (such as policemen in riot gear, handing out balloons!).
I was disappointed, however, by the lack of story. I could sense a theme, and wowee, the action took place above us and below us, all over the place! We could get involved, too, which was fun, throwing bouncy balls around.
"Thankyou for your money!" they said.
Fair enough, but while you were fannying about with cigars and perambulators, or whatever it is you avant-gardeians do, I thought you were going to tell me something?
"Bah!" we said, running off into the darkness. "Pseudo-surrealists!" That was that. The lack of any real message was enough to make me wish we'd seen this play instead.
Headed straight from there to a house party which was a bit more enlightening. Somebody talked to me about the concept of entropy (loosely, chaos) and how it relates to India at the moment.
It proved quite complicated.
On a less cogent note, I overheard this drunken heart-to-heart between two revellers:
“I think you’re actually quite shatteringly normal," she philosophised. "What do you dream about?”
“Well," he ventured. "I had a dream about ducks the other day.”
She sighed. “I don’t know anything about ducks. I’m a vegetarian.”
…??
Perhaps she has taken it to a new level, and erased animals from her consciousness.
So I walked from Saturday to Sunday laughing about that. Sunday was Valentines Day wasn't it? What fun. My boyfriend took me to see the least appropriate film imaginable. Lots of blood and beatings! It proved a highly visceral experience.
I also visited a friend of mine in Cambridge yesterday. We went to the Zoology Museum and giggled at the grinning skeletal creatures. It was quite inspiring, artistically I mean. I scrawled some comics on the train and hope to post them here, when they’re rendered more competently in pen.
I didn't realise until I wrote this that a lot has happened in the past few days… Life has seemed relatively sedate after the intensity of the journalism course, which is now over. I've got 100wpm shorthand and everything, hooray.
So what's next? There's work experience pending on the Isle of Wight, but I am quite urgently looking for a source of income. In between applications, I have discovered Axe Cop, straight from the mind of a five year old genius.
I’ve also set up a flickr account for my prettier photos. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
