h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

An interesting piece, and having been a professional journalist for some years I'd agree with most of it. I actually DO know the meaning of "off the record", and wouldn't betray a friend's confidence, but certainly it's true that some journalists will do anything for a story - which is the main reason why journalists are such a despised breed.
I'd compare it to being a football referee. No matter how well you do the job, and however fair you try to be, there'll always be SOMEONE who disagrees with your verdict because it doesn't help their cause.
However, I really think it must be stressed that the biggest pressure on a journalist is likely to come from his or her editor - and that the editor in turn is likely to be under intense pressure from the magazine or newspaper's owners.
I spent several happy years gathering news stories for a music magazine, and was never under pressure to sensationalise, intrude into private lives or distort the truth... until the magazine changed owners and editors, and a hurried "dumbing down" was ordered in an unsuccessful attempt to win over younger and stupider readers. Suddenly we were under strict orders to produce tabloid-style stories and draw attention to the magazine by any possible means.
With hindsight I should have quit as soon as it became clear what direction the magazine was taking, but instead I stayed on and tried to reconcile what I was being forced to write with self-respect. I failed, and within a year I had a nervous breakdown. Even then I was stupid enough to return to the magazine, and was thoroughly miserable again. My heart wasn't in the job at all, and it was a relief when the evil editor noticed that and sacked me.
Even at the best of times, journalism is an intensely stressful job, with deadlines to meet whether you're feeling inspired or not. When heavy pressure to get exclusive and/or sensational stories is added to that... well, it's no wonder that so many journalists end up with drink and/or drug problems. I knew one great music journo (and nice bloke) who died from cocaine abuse, and a couple of others who were lucky not to go the same way.
For a long time I swore I'd never be a journalist again. Unfortunately, it's the only thing I'm qualified to do , so now I'm making a tentative return but doing it purely on a freelance basis. It's an insecure way of life - but if the people in charge haven't got you under contract and in their office every day, it's hard for them to make your life a misery.
BTW, if (in spite of all the above) anyone still wants to be a journalist and is looking for a good place to practice, I can recommend working for the "h2g2 Post" - http://www.h2g2.com/thepost - which I've been doing lately as a kind of therapy, to remind myself that writing can and should be a pleasure. Contributors don't get paid, but its editor Shazz is definitely not the kind of editor I've described above. It's a publication with integrity - the kind that does something to restore a little bit of respectability to journalism.

Although I rarely give interviews or accept offers to speak in public a couple of weeks back I said yes to a friend who asked me to talk to some college kids about getting a job in the media. No doubt I bored them to tears, which is one of the main reasons why I keep such a low profile. But I tried to say something worthwhile, and encouraging, and helpful. Part of my talk involved blathering on about what I used to do for a living. Afterwards, I went out and got pissed as a parrot, and wished my speech had described a fairly typical day at work. That way, maybe I could have inspired a new generation to set goals, to realise the virtue of hard work, to at least feel close to the action.

8.00am. You feel good about yourself arriving at work this early. It's quiet, almost serene - even an office can sometimes have tenderness about it. You feel especially good that you've managed to drag yourself out of bed and arrive at work this early despite getting pissed as a parrot the night before.

8.29am. Start reading the morning paper.

8.31am. Finish reading the morning paper.

9.30am. Having performed a few light duties, time to inspect your mail. Nice people write in and make flattering remarks about your work. God bless them.

9.35am. Your mail includes one swine who writes in and makes insulting remarks about your work, but it's good to be reminded that you are an appalling person who brings disgrace to your profession. These people are usually right.

9.50am. You step outside for a cigarette, and congratulate yourself on the fact that you're giving up tomorrow.

10.00am. A colleague's story crosses your desk. It is a pleasure to read and you feel proud to be on the same newspaper.

10.15am. You make the rounds of the office, spreading joy everywhere you go. You are hard of hearing, and never pick up what they say about you behind your back.

10.30am. The printer breaks down. You curse out loud and give it a good smack around the chops. This doesn't fix the bloody thing, but it always feels good to whack something.

10.45am. A story layout from the art department crosses your desk. It is a pleasure to look at and you feel proud to be on the same newspaper.

11.00am. A PR trout phones to try and get her client some publicity. It's the silliest thing you've ever heard in your life, and it makes you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

11.15am. A few light duties.

11.50am. You phone up a PR trout and try and make the right greasing noises that will get you on a free junket to Paris.

12.40pm. Good God, is that the time? You're starving to death, and heaven knows how many hours have passed since you last had a drink. You easily persuade someone to have lunch; it's payday, and so you fill your face with steak, prawns, and one or two beers, and you come up with all sorts of excellent ideas that involve someone else on staff to do the work.

2.40pm. Return from lunch. Yawn! You slide on over to the red velvet couch in your office, lie down, and enjoy a peaceful doze.

3.20pm. You wake up drooling on a red velvet cushion, and notice the newest staff member walking by your office. You wave them over, and ask, "Howzabout making me a cup of tea?" They agree, and you hand them your cup, and say to them four little words that mean so much: "Black, slice of lemon."

3.30pm. You go through the day's press releases stacked on your desk, and scrupulously examine each and every document, and then carry almost every single page out into the corridor and dump them in the recycling bin.

3.45pm. Your grandson visits, and you teach the top little bloke how to make paper planes out of the remaining press release pages.

4.00pm. A few light duties.

4.20pm. A colleague of lesser experience and a more unstable temperament suffers slight panic when something goes wrong. Wise, phlegmatic, sharp as a tack, you step in and sort it out.

4.30pm. You suffer slight panic when something you do goes wrong. Flustered, ashamed, groggy, you find someone to step in and sort it out.

4.45pm. Confirmation of your free flight to Wellington, where you have a few light duties to carry out, and can visit friends. It's not Paris, but you don't get into this profession to swan around or think you're anything special. You just try and do your best by your readers, and work to standards, and attempt to stay alert, considered, impulsive, and maybe even see about doing something intelligent. You work at the Napier Daily Telegraph, and it honestly doesn't get much better than that in this trade.

4.46pm. Good God, is that the time?

Very good, Loonytunes - but I know I've read it somewhere before. Please tell me where you got it from before I crack up again!

Ormondroyd, it's an original that I have posted to Asteroid Lils' (of Lils Atelier fame) and the h2g2 Post's mailing lists. I have also posted it a couple of times on h2g2 - whenever I feel reporters (I don't use the word journalist) are in danger of taking themselves a bit too seriously. Present company excepted of course

Look, I LOVED it when we weren't expected to take ourselves seriously and life was a bit like your spoof! (You missed the hours on the at the end of the day, BTW). It was when the new management came in and started expecting us to, y'know WORK HARD that I started hating it!
And BTW, I've just been up all night writing some soccer stuff for my local rag. So there.

Omrmondroyd, in light of the recent "Grannygate" scandal which engulfed British rugby - New Zealand players were picked to play for Wales. They were eligible because, allegedly, their grandmothers had brief flings with touring Welshmen - I thought I would investigate British soccer. (football)

LONDON, 2002: England manager Terry Venables offered Ronaldo an "International lifeline" when he named the Brazilian in his team to play Scotland in a World Cup warm-up match.

The injury-plagued Ronaldo has played only one game in the past two years, but impressed Venables sufficiently in that outing - in Japan's J League - to earn the call-up.

The striker moved to England three days ago and has easily met the new residential rule, which requires a minimum five minutes.

"It is wonderful," Ronaldo said of making the team. "Ever since I am making beautiful goals as young boy in Brazil I dream of playing for England.

"After World Cup, maybe I can go to Ghana because always I dream of playing for them, too.

Ronaldo is one of four newcomers to the squad, and teams up in attack with Australian Harry Kewell, which is sure to give the Scots nightmares.

Asked his reaction to lining up against Aussie pals Mark Viduka and Tony Vidmar, Kewell said: "Mate, it's mate against mate. It's a real big ask."

The other debutante is Middlesborough's German star Christian Ziege, who adds steel to the midfield. Ziege said: "Some peoples who are not so kind zey say I take the place off English player, but I know in my heart I am English."

As usual, Venables drew criticism from traditionalists who believe national teams should be reserved for nationals, but he defended his selections.

"All these lads are English through and through. Okay, so Roberto Carlos has never been here, but his mother has signed a sworn statement saying she'll move to London next year. We figure if she's English next year, she's English now, so Robbie's one of us as well. Besides, the lad takes a wicked free kick."

Venables was pleased to secure the sole English-born player in his team, David Beckham, who was wanted by six other countries, which he had visited on modelling assignments this year.

"Some fans are upset that he's the one local lad in the side. You'll always get those who think foreigners are better. "It's true that he can't run, tackle or head, but the boy takes a wicked free kick Under the new rolling sub rule, we'll bring him on for dead-ball situations when Robbie doesn't fancy it."

Venables's next side could feature more changes if human rights groups get their way.

"They say you've got the right to be whoever you want to be. If that means more Brazilians want to be English, that's great for our game," said Venables.

England: Ed de Goey, Albert Ferrer, Marcel Desailly, Jaap Stam, Roberto Carlos, David Beckham, Emmanuel Petit, Juninho, Christian Ziege, Ronaldo, Harry Kewell.

Scotland: Nigel Martyn, Lorenzo Arnoruso, Giovanni van Bronckhorst, Lubomir Moravcik, Jorg Albertz, Tony Vidmar, Mark Viduka, Eyal Berkovic, Andrei Kanchelskis, Andy Cole, Mixu Paatalainen.

Loony, having a bit of fun. Life's too short to take it seriously

Look, this is really serious - why do you think Venables is going to be in charge in a year's time? What's going to happen to that nice Sven person?

This bit of journalism falls down on the first line, as there won't be a stadium in London in which a football international can be played until at least 2004...and that's only if the new Ritz hotel-MacDonalds outles-Nike billboard masquerading as a stadium design gets planning permission.

P.S. Ormy, you are not convincing me that you are not the Guardian on-line's "Ormondroyd" at all, you know

Well, Duncan, this weekend I'm planning to join the teeming dozens at the crunch Unibond League encounter between Guiseley and Radcliffe Borough. So if "Ormondroyd's Virtual Match Report" covers that game, I guess it'll be a dead giveaway...