Prevailing
Up very early and working on agency copy till noon, and chatting to First Matie whose job I shall be covering next week. Then down to the gym for another sweaty session.
Then a bizarre and annoying visit to the printers to collect the remainder of the leaflets, over which there had been a mix up. They attempted to overcharge me, and claim they had "spoken to your wife who knew all about it" about their misquote. A story they stuck to despite me explaining I wasn't married, lived alone and showing them my phone which of course had no record of their call. I prevailed.
Then a few yards down the road to meet Matt and cheerily discuss the recordings in The Basketmakers over a pint of Seafarers. Simon sent us the raw sound files today, and I listened to them again - finding it hard to be objective about hearing myself recorded.
I soon pushed off to Lorraine's house from where we went to the local Indian restaurant The Shahi to join Cath and celebrate her birthday with three of her pals. Due to the table placings I only sampled the conversation of Colin who had just started a new job in the field of alcohol and drug abuse. Nice to see Cath, and enjoyed some steady knife and forkwork, but both Lorraine and I rather bushed and grateful to slink home to snooze.
A week which was somewhat tiresome. Next week I'm up to the smoke to work with my pals at Tavistock Square. Of course this meant that I had another call today asking about my availability next week. Am clear now that the thing that most needs doing is simply to move.
Enjoyed this poem I was sent by Jane written by her pal Paul.
The Vulture (after Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven)
If you find that you are stopping for a paper close to Wapping
You’ll look up to see a vulture silhouetted in a tree:
“Karrr! Don’t jump, it’s not surprising. I don’t look that appetizing
But I am monopolizing so you’d best get used to me.
Only fair – I spend a million so I get the world for free
And my latest target’s BSkyB.
Gossip, titbits, smears and scandal is the sort of stuff we handle
And it seems that that’s exactly what the public wants to see;
Up till now nobody’s caught us; no-one’s safe - lock up your daughters
Or unscrupulous reporters will expose them ruthlessly.
Don’t go on about press ethics, they mean bugger all to me
What I care about is BSkyB.
Policemen ran investigations, reassured an anxious nation
‘Cos they knew who paid their wages and it turned out that was me.
Lists of numbers, all forgotten; eyes in blinkers, only spottin’
Just one apple, very rotten – all the other hacks went free
For our coppers are the best that cash can buy, quite easily
And now I’m buying BSkyB.
MPs angry, strong emotions, editor goes through the motions
Says the e-mails all went missing somewhere near the China Sea.
Was it something in the weather? Now they’ve found them, all together -
Could have downed me with a feather, knocked me over with a flea.
Of course we’ll help enquiries, that’s plain as ABC
Provided we get BSkyB.
Go back through our former glories and you’ll find that we do stories
On actors, rock stars, footballers, the occasional MP.
Now The Guardian is attacking, said our journalists are hacking
But they never had my backing so you can’t go blaming me.
I don’t care – we’ll close the paper, but first listen to my plea:
What I want is B Sky B.
There’s a fan with shit approaching, got to do some crisis coaching;
Our Rebekah’s something special and to me she’s family.
Later there may be a hearing but for now the desks are clearing
And the jobs are disappearing, makes more elbow room for me.
Need to wash my hands of newsprint; options open, access free
Let me have it – BSky B.”
So the vulture’s sitting, waiting, and we’re all anticipating;
The government’s not saying what the final choice will be.
If the vulture’s grasping talons get control, good bye to balance
And prepare to drown in gallons of a toxic cyber sea.
He thinks it’s private business but it’s down to you and me
And he isn’t getting BSkyB.
Paul Francis July 2011
Up very early and working on agency copy till noon, and chatting to First Matie whose job I shall be covering next week. Then down to the gym for another sweaty session.
Then a bizarre and annoying visit to the printers to collect the remainder of the leaflets, over which there had been a mix up. They attempted to overcharge me, and claim they had "spoken to your wife who knew all about it" about their misquote. A story they stuck to despite me explaining I wasn't married, lived alone and showing them my phone which of course had no record of their call. I prevailed.
Then a few yards down the road to meet Matt and cheerily discuss the recordings in The Basketmakers over a pint of Seafarers. Simon sent us the raw sound files today, and I listened to them again - finding it hard to be objective about hearing myself recorded.
I soon pushed off to Lorraine's house from where we went to the local Indian restaurant The Shahi to join Cath and celebrate her birthday with three of her pals. Due to the table placings I only sampled the conversation of Colin who had just started a new job in the field of alcohol and drug abuse. Nice to see Cath, and enjoyed some steady knife and forkwork, but both Lorraine and I rather bushed and grateful to slink home to snooze.
A week which was somewhat tiresome. Next week I'm up to the smoke to work with my pals at Tavistock Square. Of course this meant that I had another call today asking about my availability next week. Am clear now that the thing that most needs doing is simply to move.
Enjoyed this poem I was sent by Jane written by her pal Paul.
The Vulture (after Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven)
If you find that you are stopping for a paper close to Wapping
You’ll look up to see a vulture silhouetted in a tree:
“Karrr! Don’t jump, it’s not surprising. I don’t look that appetizing
But I am monopolizing so you’d best get used to me.
Only fair – I spend a million so I get the world for free
And my latest target’s BSkyB.
Gossip, titbits, smears and scandal is the sort of stuff we handle
And it seems that that’s exactly what the public wants to see;
Up till now nobody’s caught us; no-one’s safe - lock up your daughters
Or unscrupulous reporters will expose them ruthlessly.
Don’t go on about press ethics, they mean bugger all to me
What I care about is BSkyB.
Policemen ran investigations, reassured an anxious nation
‘Cos they knew who paid their wages and it turned out that was me.
Lists of numbers, all forgotten; eyes in blinkers, only spottin’
Just one apple, very rotten – all the other hacks went free
For our coppers are the best that cash can buy, quite easily
And now I’m buying BSkyB.
MPs angry, strong emotions, editor goes through the motions
Says the e-mails all went missing somewhere near the China Sea.
Was it something in the weather? Now they’ve found them, all together -
Could have downed me with a feather, knocked me over with a flea.
Of course we’ll help enquiries, that’s plain as ABC
Provided we get BSkyB.
Go back through our former glories and you’ll find that we do stories
On actors, rock stars, footballers, the occasional MP.
Now The Guardian is attacking, said our journalists are hacking
But they never had my backing so you can’t go blaming me.
I don’t care – we’ll close the paper, but first listen to my plea:
What I want is B Sky B.
There’s a fan with shit approaching, got to do some crisis coaching;
Our Rebekah’s something special and to me she’s family.
Later there may be a hearing but for now the desks are clearing
And the jobs are disappearing, makes more elbow room for me.
Need to wash my hands of newsprint; options open, access free
Let me have it – BSky B.”
So the vulture’s sitting, waiting, and we’re all anticipating;
The government’s not saying what the final choice will be.
If the vulture’s grasping talons get control, good bye to balance
And prepare to drown in gallons of a toxic cyber sea.
He thinks it’s private business but it’s down to you and me
And he isn’t getting BSkyB.
Paul Francis July 2011
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