4iP investment in Slugger O’Toole

Considering blogger Mick Fealty began blogging” by accident”, the acquisition of Slugger O’Toole by Channel 4’s 4iP is an interesting development.

Speaking to CoJo’s David Hayward a month ago there was a grassroots edginess to Slugger O’Toole in the way Mick Fealty described it and it’s reach. Back in October Mick stressed the unique position the blog had alongside journalism. In light of a lack of resources to pay ‘good journalists’ to go out and do ‘good journalism’, the site he said acted as a powerpack to other journalists to do the job instead: “It’s not about handling mass audiences,” he added.

Writing on 4iP’s blog today, Ewan McIntosh described the acquisition (corrected after error in usage was pointed out by Ewan McIntosh) development as a “co-investment” and “a means of exploring localised political debate at scale.”

McIntosh ascribes an impressive byline to the Slugger site, describing it as the journalist’s “watering hole of choice”.

And yet the large readership which Fealty and his team of bloggers have built up over the past seven years is a massive draw for Channel 4 and 4iP. Just look at the banner graphic at the top of the 4iP blog: “Rethinking public service media”. First on the list is a revamp to make the site more accessible to “newbies” in a currently crowded market in pursuit of making the site’s ethic penetrate the mainstream. It’s not just a watering-hole then.

Does this represent 4iP buying up an audience and, if so, will it water-down Slugger O’Toole’s reputation? Or, once that all important redesign is complete, will it demonstrate a keen eye for the benefit on public service media of emerging newswires, a sign of bloggers and blogging’s rising reputation and much-needed validation?

Eurovision 2010: Belgium plumps for Tom Dice

This is a screenshot of a video. It won't actually play. Try the one at the bottom of this post instead. And yes, that's right. Tom does look a little bit different in that one.

Everyone in Belgium (bar two people who use two Twitter) must surely be thinking of 20 year old Tom Eeckhout (also known as Tom Dice) if the news story on Belgian broadcaster VRT’s website is anything to go by.

It was even on the broadcaster’s homepage. It’s not every country in Europe which sees the announcement of who will represent the country at Eurovision makes it to the homepage. I can’t see it happening in the UK (If as a result of some weird series of events I turn out to be the UK representative I will, of course, try my utmost to force my way on to the BBC homepage. Personally I can’t see it working, but seeing as I’m a shameless self-promoter I will give it a try.)

Don’t be misled by Tom’s slightly ungainly appearance in the Eurovision.tv promotional video however. The announcement ‘happened’ to coiincide with his 20th birthday. No surprises then the Eurovision team were keen to throw in a dribble of no-doubt warm champagne and a special Eurovision-themed birthday cake to mark the special day. Tom had better get used to that Eurovision logo. He’ll be sick of it come the final on Saturday 29 May 2009.

Eagle-eyed, slightly disingenuous Eurovision pedants will hopefully pick up on that last sentence and raise an eyebrow. You see, contrary to what I write it’s not a foregone conclusion that Tom Dice will appear in the final. He has to win that place first by singing his heart out in one of the semi-finals first next year.

But there’s something about the slightly clumsy looking chap which is reassuring, something echoed in the press release from the broadcaster included in the English translation of the VRT news report. According to VRT, the network manager and his consultation group have thought long and hard about selecting the X Factor runner-up from 2008. There were 30 artists to choose from in Belgium and then plumped for him. They felt reassured by his experience in music TV – and who wouldn’t if he had to go through the same kind media-endurance test the UK bunch do. And judging by the cover of Leona Lewis’ song Bleeding Love (see below), not only does he suit the song better than she does but he also sounds like he has a pretty good voice too. Not bad for a 20 year old. Sickening in fact.

More overwhelmingly touching is the lengths VRT go to to emphasise how much they’re behind the boy.

“We believe in Tom” they say. A line guaranteed to bring a tear to the eye, something still a bit weird for us cynical types in the UK. Mean spirited individuals might even describe it as laughable.

Only it’s not laughable at all. It hits the spot. Belgium have kicked off the PR game admirably.

True, they’ve not decided on their song yet. They might have the singer but the rest of us have yet to pass judgement on the song. Belgium are only half-way there. And, not only that, their selection procedure hasn’t been decided upon as yet. There’s a chance they’ll adopt the same “internal procedure” they’ve exercised for selecting the talent.

Maybe that’s the best way. Maybe there’s no point in getting the public to vote for who they think is best. They’ve already done that in X-Factor. Why not leave the most important decision to the producers? They’ll want to get it right. Their reputations depend on it.

There’s time yet, anyway. The Belgians will be thorough in their consideration. Or at least we’ll be led to believe they have. Their press releases will make sure of that.

See? Maybe that place in the final will be effortless this year after all.

Radio: The Archers

Radio 4 Blog Editor Chappy Steve Bowbrick has been at The Archers headquarters this week, nosing around the studio at the BBC’s Mailbox in Birmingham. He went with his digital camera. Some of his pictures are spookily engaging.

I say spookily because I’m normally averse to seeing too much behind the scenes of a radio drama. I don’t want too many mental images shattered by taking a peek at the real identity of Ambridge. Especially right at this moment in time.

There’s a story line at the moment which is making me feel incredibly sad. Jack Woolley is – I think – suffering from Alzheimers. His illness is being played out with a ongoing degeneration of his formerly stable mind, not unlike the slow dripping of a tap. At times it was amusing. Now as Jack’s illness edges him ever closer to a nursing home – The Laurels – each incident makes it a more attractive option for his carers. Us listeners is find it increasingly more difficult to listen to.

As a son with aging parents, it is – let me be honest – my worst nightmare. My parents are fit and healthy. They have all of there marbles and frequently make use of them, scaring me in the process. If I could be half as active as them at their age I’d feel quite pleased. As the years roll on and I admire their energy so the thought of Jack’s illness makes me worry.

I’ve no idea how I would cope in that situation, seeing someone I know in one way behave in a completely different way in front of me. And yet, as scary a thought as that is I check in with the Archers every single night at the moment.

That’s the key to the Archers you see. I can check in with an entirely different (albeit fictitious) community. It’s escape. It’s entertainment. It’s thought provoking. And when its good it stays with me all day long.

And seeing pictures from behind the scenes doesn’t really change that. Sure Ruth Archer does look a bit different from how I picture her and David Archer might want to think about shaving that silly beard off, but Ambridge still exists in my mind. So much so I know I’ll find things a little difficult when Jack faces his ultimate end.

• The picture entitled “In the studio with Ruth and David” is from the Flickr set of the same name from the Steve Bowbrick’s Flickr account. It’s also used under the terms of the Creative Commons License.
• Steve Bowbrick tweets here and blogs here.

Eurovision 2010: Might it be Gary Barlow?

Eurovision fans are bristling with excitement today. Not only is our most treasured of light entertainment shows written about in The Sun’s TV Biz section (I don’t read The Sun, obviously – but really with all that shouty red colour and big bold writing, Eurovision’s inclusion in its column inches must surely be a good thing) but speculation seems to be mounting about Gary Barlow’s involvement in the UK Eurovision effort. Even Irish broadcaster RTE.ie is writing about it.

Gary Barlow to write a UK Eurovision song? With those devilish eyes, four day stubble and chisselled jaw we’re bound to do well. Take That are good. There comeback albums are good. The Circus was brilliant. I’ve got The Circus. You know the one with them all balancing on a high wire. I love that album. I love every track. Just imagine if the rest of Europe knew Gary Barlow was writing our effort. We’re bound to do well.

Assuming it’s not a spot of speculation, of course. Quite apart from the shamefully weak headline (those puns don’t work on the web) it’s the word “may” in “Gary may Take on Eurovision” which make me rub my chin. The quote further down the story raises a wry smile too. “The BBC is hoping that .. ” said a BBC insider. It seems just a little mealy mouthed.  

Naturally, I go to great lengths to emphasise I’m not a BBC insider – one look at the disclaimer on this blog will show that whilst I’m BBC staff I always make a point of saying my name and the organisation I work for in the same sentence. I’m in no way the person to blame here.

No, before all of us who care about these things gets too excited is it worth slamming on the brakes and waiting for the official announcement, assuming there will be one?

My only reason for exercising caution is that Gary Barlow appears to crop up in all sorts of Eurovision-related to places.

Well, I say all sorts. I’m talking two, maybe three really.

On 22 February Barry Viniker from esctoday.com was relaying a story he’d read in The Star about how Gary Barlow was working on Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber’s team when Jade represented the UK in Moscow earlier this year. In 2008 Peter Devine’s blog on the Manchester Evening News website was reporting that Barlow had been invited to submit a song for the then Making Your Mind Up final, following a failed attempt four years previously in 2004, with a distinct lack of links back to the source of the information.

Is Gary Barlow someone who likes to tantalise Eurovision fans? Maybe he’s someone who can’t make up his mind. Or is it simply that like the often trotted out “Joanna Lumley is tipped to be the first female playing the role of the Time Lord in Doctor Who” story, maybe Gary Barlow is nothing more  than fodder for the rumour mill?

Time will tell. At this moment in time I’m banking on the rumour mill theory. There are six months to go yet after all. Emotions can go up as well as down during that time. I need to pace myself for now.

Who knows, in a few months time I might be writing this, looking like a fool as I eat my words. And of course, if I do have to eat my words it goes without saying I very much hope Mr Gary Barlow will agree to my request for an interview.

Tomato Sauce

I struggled to find something to write about this evening. This was in part down to feeling shattered at the end of a day which comparatively speaking wasn’t especially demanding. The usual pressures had weighed heavily on my mind as I wandered off towards Westfield in pursuit of the haircut I needed to correct the error of judgement I’d paid for five or so weeks before.

By the time I got home two big things dominated my thought processes. If I enjoy writing I should, theoretically be able to find sufficient to write about every single day. And .. more distressingly .. what on earth was I going to write about this evening?

It’s an odd thing to think really. If I stop and think about it I’m left with one overwhelming question. Who on earth really cares what I want to write about this evening? What makes me think I’m so important?

Writing is an addiction. It’s a drug. There’s a promise implicit in a blank form on a WordPress blog: It doesn’t matter what you write, I’ll make you look good.

With a promise like that ringing around my head it’s little wonder I’m sat here at the laptop allowing my stream of consciousness make it to the screen. God only knows what people will think when they read it, if they read it.

The audience isn’t really important. Bubbling away on the hob as I tip-tap away at the keyboard is a homemade tomato sauce. The knackered Le Creuset beside it with three-quarters of a packet of spaghetti. Two onions, two tins of chopped tomatoes, a few cloves of garlic and some fresh basil has taken an hour or so to reduce during which time I’ve relaxed listening to the brilliant Melting Point from Radio 3 on Saturday night. We’ll sit down to eat this modest creation listening to tonight’s Archers, the mental image of domestic bliss complete.

Sure, it’s not the most gripping of blog posts. But at least it’s honest. And there’s a sort of recipe for tomato sauce thrown in.

Eurovision 2010: The project begins (& it doesn’t involve Jedward either)

I was introduced to someone as a TV producer at the Proms earlier this year. I was a little taken aback at time – a concoction of excitement mixed with guilt. I didn’t correct the individual, obviously. It’s not the done thing in media circles, after all. If they want to think I’m a TV producer that’s good enough for me.

Having said that, I am a TV viewer. Yes, true. I might be BBC staff, but I’m still a viewer. I still pay the licence fee. I fund the machine. I’m a TV viewer … with a Twitter account.

And because I’m a viewer, that makes me a valid armchair TV producer whose done a great deal of research. We’re all armchair producers. The only difference between me and those with the proper title is that I don’t have an army of drones at my disposal to turn my dreams into a reality. Yes, it’s this kind of self-affirming talk which continues to fuel my already over-active imagination.

It’s almost late-November. This weekend saw the staging of yet another Junior Eurovision Song Contest. I wasn’t especially interested in it. It might have “Eurovision” in the title but the sight of young children singing a song for their country makes me wonder whether I’m transgressing a law somewhere. I try and steer clear of it.

That said, the word ‘Eurovision’ is enough to get me thinking about the proper event in May. It may be six months away, but in project management terms that’s only around the corner. Others have already thrown their two-penneth into the Eurovision pit for the UK. The fact is, where Eurovision’s concerned there’s never a holiday from the damn thing. It’s a year long, annual commitment.

Plenty of other countries have already outlined how they’ll select their songs. Sweden has decided their TV viewing public will choose from 32 songs, whilst the Maltese have made it quite clear that only Maltese singers and songwriters will be considered for the top job in Oslo this year. Yes. For some countries the greatest TV light entertainment show promises kudos. It’s right we should all demonstrate our passion for the event.

It feels a little late in the day to start scoping out the project and gathering requirements for the UK. I’m always late to the party. I really should have kept up to speed with what was going on.

It was back in October that Eurovision Webby Bloke (and desperately European with his twangy accent and three-day stubble) Siettse Bakker announced changes in voting procedure. In addition to a 50% split between jury and telephone vote, there will next year be the additional pressure of phone lines being open all the way through the presentation of songs during the two semi-finals and final.

Why is that important? Well, instead of only being able to cast your telephone vote after an hour or so of getting inexorably more drunk as you watch the songs, you’ll be able to pass judgement on the song as you hear it or (if you pay close to attention to the ‘choice’ Eurovision blogs available on the internet) before you’ve even heard it performed.

In other words, the hard promotional work will have been done on the internet long before the semi-finals or finals will have started. You’ll know which song you want to go through or win before the broadcast begins. You won’t necessarily be casting your vote on what you see on TV, but quite possibly on what you’ve seen on the internet before hand. PR types across Europe are currently rubbing their hands together with glee.

Which technically means the UK is probably not going to do very well. You see, we don’t do PR very well. There aren’t that many people in the UK who like the Eurovision (or at least don’t see it as something worth making an effort at) and consequently that filters through to everything we churn out. PR types see it as an impossible task.

They shouldn’t do, however. The power of the internet, combined with the egos of the few and a better grasp of the Eurovision calendar means there’s every chance certain boxes can be ticked before the UK’s Eurovision bus sets off from Television Centre for Oslo.

We managed it well last year. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s machine did a pretty good job. Jade came 5th last year with her song written by The Good Lord. Ewen’s understudy was livid he didn’t get an opportunity to show his mettle.

There’s plenty to do. There’s a singer to decide upon. A song to choose. A stage presence to agree on. Costumes, make-up and dance routines. PR campaigns to pour scorn upon. All that before we get to see everyone else’s effort on the Eurovision stage.

But is six months too early to start on this mammoth project?

I’d say no. There’s no time like the present to make a start on the most crucial musical event Europe (and some parts of the southern hemisphere) embrace, enjoy or endure.

After all. UK audiences of ITV’s The X Factor witnessed the departure of Irish twin duo Jedward this evening.

How can this possibly be tied in to the UK’s chances at Eurovision? Easily.

As an armchair TV producer I’m at pains to point out that us in the UK don’t want Jedward in the running for the job of representing us. And as a long-term fan of the Eurovision, I’m hoping and praying the Irish delegation don’t want them either.

No, I’m not mounting a hate campaign. I’m just kicking off a project. That’s all.

Journalism 101: Consider your timing

One thing about editing vox-pops which may have escaped your notice: going over the same clips time and time again has the effect of rooting the words of your contributors deep into the recesses of your mind.

So much so, you could even find yourself waking up in the middle of the night reciting what the BBC’s Director of Global News said in the briefest of interviews seven days ago. What I took from that series of interviews was how important error checking is to the journalist. The words echo around my head. It’s a mantra now.

It’s the same with freelance journalist Adam Westbrook who I met up with yesterday.

If you want to find out about an industry, speak to the people who work in it. Speak to the people who speak or write about it. Follow your instincts. Find out what they have to say.

Inevitably, I fell into that oh-so-predictable trap of not pressing the record button before I engaged in a thought-provoking discussion about the future of journalism. Adam and I met for an hour, although all you’re seeing in the video is six minutes we recorded after our conversation.

Still, there’s something which resonates after our conversation. If there’s a question about the future of journalism as there has been for twelve months now, there are distinct opportunities which lay ahead.

Strip journalism down to its constituent parts. It’s nothing more than storytelling. Like prime-time dramas, successful storytelling is measured by the attention it gets.

The likelihood of audience attention is increased when a story engages with people. And sometimes engaging with people needs to be done in an unexpected way.

The same can be said for journalism. If you want people to pay attention to your story, you’re going to need to connect with them, be it visually, audibly or on the internet. Just like drama or entertainment, that may mean a change to the traditions of visual language, for example.

And if that’s the case, that opens the opportunities wide to a great many more individuals whose aptitude is not judged solely on their years of experience but on their grasp of the core skills.

Now that … that is an exciting prospect.

 

• Adam Westbook blogs here
• Watch Blood and Treasure – Adam’s piece on troops in Iraq

 

 

Music: Pink Martini / Hammersmith Apollo

 

Pink Martini, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

I’m certain the leading lights in easy listening Pink Martini were late to the stage at the Hammersmith Apollo. I only say this because being a classical music fan, I’m used to concerts starting at the time stated on the ticket. This one was due to start 7.30pm. We were still waiting at 7.47pm.

No matter really. Pink Martini’s set list contained all our favourites – including Dosvedanya Mio Bombino, Hey Eugene and Hang On Little Tomato as well as a few tracks from their new album including Splendour in the Grass and the slightly more engaging and (apparently their most controversial song to date) Bippy Botty Betty – a song about a tranvestite.

The band, fronted by pianist Thomas Lauderdale with China Forbes on lead vocals, clearly felt at ease inside the Hammersmith Apollo and were quick to strike up a rapport with the near capacity audience.

But whilst their performance enthralled – members of the audience were literally dancing in the aisles during the encore Brasil – it did also prove that their reputation is established primarily on their studio production. Hang On Little Tomato lacked intimacy (in addition to its clarinet line). Sometimes the piano overpowered, so too the percussion section.

That said, the band got a standing ovation from some members of the terribly well-behaved audience. No-one leaves a Pink Martini gig saying they didn’t really enjoy it. If anyone does, you can be assured they’re just being curmudgeonly.

He said what?

You know when an editor is happy with the product, when he starts blogging about a password-protected website and namechecking one of the people involved in its production.

The BBC’s new College of Journalism website will soon be public and when it is a year of my life (and a handful more years of others) will draw to a close.

Like editor Kevin says in his blog post, the site is primarily written for BBC journalists outside of their usual BBC environment although it’s becoming increasingly clear as we tour around the country with our various events that the 2,500 pages of content will also appeal to those aspiring to be journalists too. That’s gratifying. Especially given our lengthy meetings about what to put where on the site.

It’s an exciting time. No really, it is.

TV: Doctor Who – The Waters of Mars

Not an especially happy bunny, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

 

Around about four years ago (I can’t be exact) I sent an email to Doctor Who Executive Producers Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies asking them for an interview for inclusion in my modestly titled Thoroughly Good Podcast.

This was par for the course, I reckoned. Here was I a mere outsider to the BBC, reckoning I was the big man, attempting to rub shoulders with the big guys in the hope of an interview. I wanted to find out about the show, find out about their new series Torchwood. I was sure they’d be accommodating.

I heard nothing from either of them. Nothing. Zippo. Silence. A couple of other people (their names, rank and file escape me at the present time) did contact me. I can’t say they were particularly pleasant. They weren’t exactly rude, although they did make it quite clear to me, my line manager and his line manager in no uncertain terms that me recording a podcast in my bedroom about Russell T Davies, Julie Gardner, Torchwood or Doctor Who wasn’t allowed.

I was heartbroken, it has to be said. I dealt with things in the way I continue to deal with things now.

I threw my toys out of the pram. I formally announced the end of my love affair with the programme and promptly put my DVD box set of season one up for sale on the interweb. Nobody bought it. It still resides on the bottom shelf of DVDs alongside the classic series collection of Doctor Who I look upon adoringly.

Any new Doctor Whos I’ve watched in the intervening years have been through an incredibly critical eye. I’ve been dismissive of nearly everything, spectacularly allowing my prejudices to influence what I’ve seen on screen. Then, when I learnt David Tennant, Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies were leaving the good ship Doctor Who, I confess to feeling pleased. Maybe the next bunch would be agreeable to an interview.

I’m quite a bitter old queen. Really, quite a bitter old queen.

A few weeks ago, however, something unexpected happened.

I met up with someone who used to work on Doctor Who in season two. Shortly after offering me a large glass of wine he, completely unbidden, launched into a series of happy memories about working on the Doctor Who production team. He spoke so warmly of executive producers Julie Gardner and Russell T Davies and Phil Collinson, the disparaging mental image I had of the lot of them wandering around the offices of BBC Wales accompanied by the BBC National Orchestra of Wales playing the Doctor Who theme music behind them began to dissipate.

How could my prejudiced view of all of them hold up against someone who spoke warmly of his experiences when I hadn’t let on about any of mine?

That’s why I ended up buying season two of Doctor Who on Friday – David Tennant’s first series in the role. I’ve watched five episodes from that series this weekend ahead of the latest episode (and first of his last three – The Waters of Mars) this weekend.

Three out of the five episodes I’ve watched have been better than I remember watching first time around. I’ve concluded I must have been drunk or (almost certainly) had the memory of what amounted to nothing but a misunderstanding cloud my judgement. Tennant is brilliant (although I knew this anyway) and there’s some really quite dark writing in places.

But none of that I’ve re-visited this weekend compares to the first episode of Tennant’s last installment. Dark, upsetting and scary, Davies and Gardner have disproved the age old Doctor Who myth that the British can’t do futuristic drama. Scariness is implied when it’s not obvious on the screen and I’ve had my mind tinkered with – something to be applauded. But where the episode scores is its proof that an extra 15 minutes doesn’t mean 15 minutes of filler.

Sure, I’d still want it to go on week after week (the next episode on Christmas Day seems like a lifetime away – the broadcast itself may well eclipse Christmas celebrations too), but I’ve ended an hour’s entertainment feeling suitably satisfied. For critical bitter old me that’s important.

Now, can I have that interview?

• Watch Doctor Who: The Waters of Mars via BBC iPlayer

Belle du Jour, Brooke Magnanti, Paul Carr & The Sunday Times

Given it’s a Sunday afternoon and I’ve managed to twist the arm of my Significant Other to prepare one of Clarissa Dickson Wright’s beef stews, I’m not especially surprised I’m feeling relaxed. There’s the newest episode of Doctor Who to watch this evening, a backlog of Cranford to watch on Blu-Ray and the rest of The Sunday Times to read.

According to the cover of the newspaper, £2 represents great value for money considering all the sections available to me. Whereas the Observer has recently announced swingeing cuts to its Sunday newspaper, it seems Rupert Murdoch and his bunch have been keen to underline how some parts of the Sunday newspaper industry are not apparently in danger. That’s good then. As we’re approaching the winter, I’m going to need a supply of suitable material to put on the roaring fire we like to have at the weekends. Yes, we’re that middle class.

I only buy the Sunday Times this morning because I’m at the garage getting some dishwasher powder. And it’s only the Sunday Times because there are no more Guardians left. (I was momentarily tempted to purchase the News of The World to read about Jedward apparently watching pornography in the X-Factor house but think better of it when I imagine my work colleagues laughing uncontrollably at me when I inevitably reveal the truth the following morning at work).

But why by a Sunday newspaper when for the past five months or so I’ve steered well clear of purchasing newspapers at all after my tyrannical subscription to the Guardian came to an end?

I bought the paper because of Paul Carr. Paul was tweeting as he worked on his Techcrunch column. Then he tweeted when it was available, the blog being in response to the Sunday Times interview about Belle du Jour research scientist writer Brooke Magnanti. I haven’t read the Belle du Jour blog. I know only a small amount about it. I know only a small amount about Paul Carr, but my interest is piqued. I buy the newspaper. Monkey see, monkey do. I’m predictable like that. I’m exactly the kind of non-thinking newspaper-purchasing member of the public Rupert Murdoch must look out for on a lazy, sunny Sunday morning.

There’s not a great deal to India Knight’s interview, it has to be said. Blogging since 2003, the Belle du Jour (formerly) anonymous author Dr Brooke Magnanti now feels the need to “come out”. The phrase alone is enough to see my hackles rise. Please for the love of God don’t commandeer that phrase us gayers have owned since the beginning of time. You’re not coming out at all. You’re merely telling us your full name and your association with a blog.

She’s telling us in part because she has a mouthy ex-boyfriend who threatens the very fabric of time and space and also (we’re led to believe) the Archibishop of Canterbury’s recent comments which led Magnanti to think it was time to explain she wasn’t glamourising prostitution.

Some people fall into prostitution because they’re in with a bad crowd, others follow that path for purely pragmatic reasons. Her explanation as to what she was thinking before she went into her 14 month stretch of hookerdom seem eminently sensible. I’m not especially shocked. I’m not especially concerned about women up and down the country. It’s just someone I don’t know telling me her name, telling me what she did prior to 2003 and what she does now. So what?

She’s done incredibly well out of it as far as I can see. She had an education and in part successfully realised career in science as well as demonstrating a pragmatic solution to resolving some financial difficulties which she in turn translated into another, almost certainly more lucrative income for the future. In that respect she was acting like any journalist would – sell the story in as many different forms as you possibly can. Wring the rag dry.

And now, by revealing her name she has merely established herself on the market as the talented writer she obviously is. It’s time for the next stage of her career, something which was unlikely to happen if she attempted to remain anonymous.

Sure, you might as Paul Carr’s argues, question whether or not the Times were employing underhand tactics merely to raise sales of a weekend title. If that was the case, it worked (in part because Paul Carr alerted me to it late last night). But it’s down to Magnanti’s audience to judge her.

And as far as I can see, the only way I can judge is by trying to fight against the instinctive bitterness and resentment I have for irritatingly talented lady. Like the prefects at school who secured their questionably responsible role for being adept on the sports field as well as in music and academia, Magnanti has demonstrated she’s a good writer both in entertainment and science. I hate that.

As a blogger who took her experiences as a prostitute and translated them into a money earner for ITV, she epitomises the dream we all have in the back of our minds. Thus whether Magnanti was outed or not by a newspaper looking to ride on her coat tails is neither here nor there. If she continues her writing career (as surely she must) then she’ll weedle her way into our hearts as a geek who did salaciousness and humour and earnt money from it. Good on her.

It’s still easier to be jealous of her though.

Journalism 101: What is journalism exactly?

Typical me. I naiively trot and skip and bounce along to the Reuter / Amplified 09’s unconference about Twitter and whether it can save the world or not and spectacularly miss the point.

I went along because they were discussing what the impact of Twitter is or will be or has been on the future of news.

News, I think. That’s journalism. There’s something to report there. I could shoot some video. I could tweet stuff. I could meet other people. I might get some ideas. I must go along.

At least that’s what I was thinking in my pseudo-journalistic brain last week when I booked my ticket. Then I posted a discussion post on the BBC’s College of Journalism networking thing (you’ll need to be a) a BBC journalist and b) working in the College of Journalism to get into that particular club – it’s very select, you won’t get in the back door) and my brain starts filling up with something else.

I’d moaned about a particular news story I’d seen on the internet and in so doing posed the question that there was a serious risk to journalistic values (ie make sure there’s an actual story there to report when you put your news story together) if headlines are written to optimise traffic. In other words, if you write your headlines to grab attention but the pay-off is there’s hardly anything there of substance, isn’t there a seriously negative impact to your audience?

I’d qualified all of this in my discussion post on the CoJo network by saying I was probably being unfairly critical, something I reckoned came easy given that I’d missed the journalist-boat a number of years ago and – frankly – even if I was given a chance to work in a newsroom I probably wouldn’t survive anyway. I’d probably stand in the corner crying into a hanky with some old-hack coming up to me and whispering in my ear how “it’s probably best you run along now Jacob – don’t think you can play with the big boys anymore”

Self-deprecating as the dismissal of how I reckoned I’d be working in a newsroom, the comment did reveal something I’d overlooked. For years now I’ve accomodated a stereotypical view of what kind of a person a journalist is, possibly as a way of explaining to myself why I wouldn’t have been any good at it anyway. It’s almost as though the dismissal of the profession using a stereotypical view was a way of making the disappointment I hadn’t followed up that teenage career aspiration seem less painful.

It was that which prompted me to ignore the main discussion point set by the BBC’s Director of Global News Richard Sambrook at the Reuters unconference. I did try discussing whether or not Twitter could curate journalism or merely fuel with @reutersjeremygaunt and @mrsbunz amongst others but instead wanted a few important questions answered instead: What is a journalist? What is journalism? And what sort of person do you have to be in order to be one?

The resulting piece isn’t want you’d call far-reaching journalism but it does answer the questions for me. Pursuing my original career aspirations doesn’t seem like such an impossible task really.

TV: Graham Norton Show (Episode 6.6 Mon 9 Nov 2009)

Shameless self-promotion, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Either I’m consistently wasted on cheap wine, or Mr Norton’s show is proving a reliable source of entertainment. I’m veering towards the latter but am prepared to concede the former in the event of having to sit through a duff episode in the next few weeks.

Tonight, beau-of-the-ball and soon to be ex-Time Lord David Tennant carried out what must now feel like tiresome process of winding up the contract he’s been in for the past few years by promoting a TV series he’s soon no longer to star in. The beginning of the end – the story is entitled The Waters of Mars – airs on BBC One on Sunday 15 November.

He was joined by an arrestingly honest Johnny Vegas and the strangely alluring Alison Moyet and equally gorgeous complexion and best-of album.

A giggle from beginning to end. Marvellous work.

• Watch Episode 6.6 of The Graham Norton Show via BBC iPlayer

Remembrance Sunday: It’s the very least we can do

“Did they mark 2 minutes silence here?” I asked the lady sat at the checkout in Lee Sainsburys.

“Yes. They always do. They’re good like that. Where were you?”

I hadn’t been at Sainsburys. Had it not have been for me getting lost on what I thought was the familiar journey from Lewisham to Landmann Way Reuse and Recylcing Centre I probably would have been home participating in the moment in the warmth of our central heated living room, watching proceedings on BBC HD.

As a piece of radio, the Ceremony of Remembrance from the Cenotaph was surprising. Nicholas Witchell annotated the solemn event in a reassuringly British way and yet hearing it on radio revealed the hour long broadcast for what it really was: a script whichreminds us about the military comittments this country is engaged in, with some interviews, ambient sounds and music played by a military band.

Careful thought before Christmas spend

It’s a rare thing me and Significant Other discuss the idea of doing as mundane a weekend chore as clearing the attic and then actually follow through by carrying out the task.

Forty-five minutes focussed attention on our near to capacity attic resulted in us collecting sufficient tat for one trip to the nearby dump.

More telling however was the predictable and tiresome guilty feeling experienced which I hope this year might act as the final reminder I need of how to confront the oncoming onslaught of Christmas.

I used to go mad at Christmas, spending ridiculous amounts of money on presents for other people convinced that personal happiness could only be assured if I was handing out a gift.

Tart remains

Tart Remains, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Mid-way through consuming my segment of the tart I did end up thinking that cooking dinner for four other people was something I always think would be a nice thing to do but always turns out to be a slightly stressful experience instead.

Not because of the warm potato salad which ended up being mashed near-cold mashed potato, nor the lack of salt in the filling.

In fact, I shouldn’t really complain. Everyone else seemed to like it. Everyone except me went back for seconds. There wasn’t very much left. That’s surely a good sign.

What’s stressful is the moment when you find yourself hoping like hell it’s turned out OK, hanging on the guests’ every word, analysing the feedback.

Cooking’s meant to be a relaxing experience. It is usually. Why should eating take all of that pleasure away?

Tart prepared

Tart, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

I can’t quite make out whether or not the leek and goat’s cheese tart is burnt or not. All of it’s homemade though, so on that basis I reckon it’s OK for tomorrow night’s big-meal-centre-piece to be rough around the edges.

(Leek and Goat’s Cheese Tart, Delia Smith, Rachel Allan)

On listening to the Moral Maze

Me and the Significant Other often take the mickey when we hear Michael Buerk deliver his opener to Radio 4’s Moral Maze. Our minds rush back to 999 on BBC One years ago. All that drama. All those emergencies. All that weight in Michael Buerk’s voice. We do rather laugh.

That’s mean I know. I shouldn’t really. It’s not fair on Michael Buerk who is a journalist and a broadcaster and someone from my youth. Someone I remember watching on television during snowy days when I was stranded at home revising for my GCSEs and wondering how many more days I’d have to myself getting my chemistry revision notes just up to scratch.

In writing that I’m reminded of one of the key tensions I feel writing a blog about the place I love, the things I watch on television and listen on the radio served up by the place I love and splashing around on the internet as I’ve become accustomed to in recent years.

I’m constantly wondering whether it’s really on to comment on BBC stuff when I watch it and I work there. Might there be someone out there who misconstrues what I say? Might there be someone within the organisation who takes umbrage at my comments and says “That man Jacob. He needs getting rid of”.

It’s the same with Twitter.

Yes, I know Twitter is a tiresome term. Everyone rolls their eyes when it’s talked about. I roll my eyes when I talk about it.

They were talking about Twitter on the Moral Maze this evening. I only knew that because someone outside the BBC (@abigailH) told me about it. She told me on Twitter.

You’d think I’d have known about it solely because I work at the BBC. The fact is I didn’t. I spent the day trying to get a problem fixed with a quiz on a website which frankly (had I documented the problem earlier when it occurred earlier in the year) I could have got done quicker.

So I sit down. I listen to the panelists discuss the rights and the wrongs of the social networking phenomenon. Inevitably I engage in a conversation online, using Twitter as I listen. As I do so, I’m struck by how invigorating the experience really is.

Significant Other is sat in the bath upstairs listening too. “Are you listening to this?” he asks,  ”It’s really interesting.”

I nod and snatch a gulp of red wine. I shy away from confessing I’m feeling a little looked down upon by the panelists. I carry on tweeting, conscious as I do so the editor of the @radio4blog is tweeting about the live broadcast as I indulge in reacting to what’s going on.

When the programme is over I shuffle to the lounge with my half drunk glass of wine and sigh. Significant Other looks at me gives me a withering look. I know what he’s thinking. I know exactly what he’s thinking. He was thinking the same when Norway won the Eurovision.

“Worrying you’ve overstepped the mark? Said too much? Upset the powers that be?”

Yes. Yes he’s right.

And therein lies the danger with publishing your thoughts on the internet. There’ll almost certainly be someone who could interpret what you say and use it as a weapon.

Which is why anyone who uses Twitter (or anything else on the internet for that matter) should remember one very important thing: speak from the heart. At the moment of writing whatever you’re thinking of feeling must be justifiable by you and you alone. If you can do that, you’ll be fine.

• Listen to the Moral Maze via the BBC Radio 4 website.

The World’s Strictest Parents / Episode 2.1 / BBC Three

I don’t normally watch much on BBC Three. I’ll occasionally drop in to Family Guy (Who wouldn’t? It’s painfully funny. And Stewy’s adorable) but the rest of the schedule I normally give a wide berth. Three years out of the target audience age range (16-34 year olds), I always look at the pink neon three in the top left hand corner of the screen and think “Nope, it’s just not for me.”

The words “seventeen year old homosexual” were what commanded my attention when I was flicking channels last night however. That teenager was Chezden Dundee, openly gay with a view of his heart disease-suffering mother amounting to little more than a master/slave relationship. He seemed quite happy to give instructions about how to use the washing machine even though his mother had no doubt been using it for considerably more years than he’d been alive.

Chezden joined equally troublesome (and equally troubled) teenager Bex Keene (pictured above) in a trip to Atlanta for eight days to be parented by Baptists David and Wanda Kimbrough in the latest episode of BBC Three’s The World’s Strictest Parents. Would the teenagers go about a significant change in attitude during those eight days? Would they return to the UK vowing to treat their own parents with considerably more respect than they had been prior to departure?

A more pressing question for me was whether I’d get to the end of the broadcast. At first the pseudo-documentary style was irritating. If noddies in interviews are generally sneered upon now, then surely the more generic cutaway (where edited coversations need to be papered over so everything looks a little smooth) must be on the way out. At times the editing felt a little clumsy. Sometimes I just wanted to hear complete exchanges between characters.

Despite that stylistic criticism, the hour long programme didn’t feel like an hour at all – usually an indication of a story taking longer than is absolutely necessary. There were pockets of seemingly genuine exchange between David Kimbrugh and Chez over a box of matches (the Kimbrughs weren’t keen on the teenagers smoking, let’s put it like that) which was surprising, ticking the “you’re in my personal space”  and “which one of you is the more angry at this point and over what exactly?” boxes.

Similarly, the Sister at the school the Kimbrughs run (they own and run a Baptist church too) who did singularly have the most significant effect on errant Bex at the point where the teenager expressed considerable reluctance to dissect a dead baby pig in the classroom. Frankly, I probably would have reacted in the same way as the the teenager and wouldn’t have taken too kindly to being advised on the right way to behave as a teenager. Certainly watching the entire programme I did find myself often on the side of Chez and Bex when I was rather expecting to be totally in support of the Kimbrughs given they’re adults.

What surprised me the most was how I remained with the programme to the end. I cared about the central characters and appreciated the final scenes. Bex and Wanda reconciled their differences whilst Chez and David did the same. This was the conclusion. There were tears. There was hold handing. This was what we were expecting. And yet it seemed genuine. And it was a definite relief. There was less cutting, less papering over audio edits and in general things felt like they’d slowed down. What a relief.

I had no idea that World’s Strictest Parents was now in it’s second series on BBC Three. Nor had I realised the American style reality TV show produced by ShedMedia (the same people who produce the US version of Who Do You Think You Are? donchyanow) had originated on BBC Three last year either. There are versions in the US (with a surprisingly groovy if slightly gaudy looking application website) and one in Australia too. This is a successful format it seems. Everyone wants a bit of it. Little wonder the visual language is the way it is. Time prevents production companies from making something which fits the style demanded by a vocal if slightly self-obsessed member of the minority audience.

If I did question the sincerity of the edits in places, there was one picture which reset the balance at the end. If I’d thought there were staged elements (and there must have been – some of the editing in the earlier discussions when the Kimburghs walked into the teenagers bedroom after they’d been out on the balcony must have been reshot – it was all too convenient and looked it) then the shot of both kids with their locum parents for the stills camera communicated immense warmth. In those pictures it seemed as though there was a genuine bond, one which had seemingly formed over a short space of time. That was important to see. It confirmed the content was there even if the style sometimes wasn’t.

• Watch World’s Strictest Parents / Episode 2.1 / Atlanta on BBC iPlayer

TV: Did Heston Change Little Chef?

Heston Blumenthal returned to the Little Chef in Popham recently to check on how his previous efforts to improve its output have been maintained.

If Little Chef’s percentage increase on sales after Heston’s previous visit to the chain are to believed, then the Liverpool Echo’s assessment of the programme being a glorified advert for the restaurant chain is in part correct. Mind you, the combined broadcast viewing figures on Channel 4 and Channel 4+1 proved Heston’s ongoing popularity (more to do with his obvious on-screen sincerity rather than a desire to see an old brand like Little Chef revitalised) up and against the brilliant Andrew Marr and his new series on BBC Two.

Mark Lawson argues in the Guardian that the jeopardy inherent in infotainment type programmes such as Did Heston Change Little Chef? is threatened by the pressure TV networks are under to secure viewing figures. Consequently the overriding question about whether or not Blumenthal succeeded in turning around the fortunes of the restaurant chain was already known before the programme was broadcast.It came out, he says, when the Good Food Guide was published.

I don’t pour over the Good Food Guide press releases – although my recent ‘Jonny On Tour’ in Cardiff, Newcastle and Belfast may now prompt me to at least buy the publication – consequently, I was unaware of the inclusion of Little Chef Popham in the directory. What was obvious however from the style of documentary was that there was always going to be a happy ending anyway. That is the way these programmes are made. We start knowing Heston’s going back. We figure there’ll probably be something he needs to sort out (after all – this is an hour’s worth of material) and there has to be some kind of redemption at the end of it.

Like reality TV, maybe there’s a call for this kind of formulaic docu-entertainment to be put down. There is nothing more boring than being able to visualise the storyboard and the shooting script when you’re watching a programme.

The food – even if fish and chips – didn’t look that amazing. If anything it looked like the kind of basic standard food I’d expect from a company who have a captive audience to satisfy in 170 properties nestling alongside the UK’s main roads.

What I rather hope is that it’s one small step along the way to improving this country’s appalling service industry culture with it’s long fringes, bottle blonde hair and alabaster attitude. Now that would make an interesting documentary. A twelve parter, I’d suggest.

Stephen Fry & @brumplum in the playground

Remember the school playground? Remember how someone would say something, then someone would react and then before you knew what was going on there was one group on one side of the playground backing the person who spoke first and then an even bigger group people on the other side of the playground backing the perceived victim?

The same thing has happened today. On the interweb. On Twitter. Today.

Caught in the middle are those of us who reckon we understand what the web is like, desperate to stake out our position by acting as judge and arbiter, if such a dual role can exist.

Something’s kicked off on the internet this afternoon. One tweeter – someone I’ve been in contact with on various occasions – @brumplum passed comment on Stephen Fry’s tweets, dismissing them as “boring”.

Stephen Fry didn’t exactly warm to this and as a result blocked @brumplum from his list of followers. This is his right. This is how Twitter works. I do it all the time. I usually do it with people I know from work when their unbearable smugness grinds me down. I’m in doubt there are plenty of people at work who do exactly the same to me.

No celebrity has done it to me (almost certainly because no celebrity follows me, or if they do they probably don’t take any notice of what I say). But I have done it to plenty of celebrities – including @wossy who’s frequent tweets became inextricably linked with the perception I had of him when he was on gardening leave after that Russell Brand-Andrew Sachs affair early this year.

I confess I also took the liberty of pointing out to Mr Ross why I was abandoning him. It probably wasn’t the best idea of all, but I figure in retrospect that the high profile celebrity he is and the willingness he demonstrated to place his head on the block by indulging in Twitter meant he was almost certainly able to handle the feedback.

I’ll also confess to unfollowing Mr Fry sometime ago. I didn’t tell him why on that occasion and have no desire to do so now. What I’m surprised to discover is that at some point I ended up refollowing him. That did come as a surprise. Clearly I receive so much Twitter spam I never hear from the man.

Unlike the people who are criticising @brumplum for voicing his opinions, the Brummy blogger isn’t wrong to have expressed his reasons for abandoning Mr Fry.

Twitter is about free speech. It’s a communication tool. It’s a massive playground. Children say all sorts of things in the playground especially when they’re using a communication tool which offers them distance from the recipient. Recall the last time you sent an email because you were angry knowing full well you were extremely unlikely to say the same words to the person’s face.

Stephen Fry earlier announced “Think I may have to give up on Twitter. Too much aggression and unkindness around.”

This in response to an exchange with @brumplum, the most recent being a response to the “boring” accusation. Good comeback.

You can see where I’m going with this. Fry has already held up his hands and suggested he’s feeling very low and depressed. No one likes the thought of Stephen Fry feeling depressed. Even though I don’t know him at all, I remember feeling quite concerned for his welfare when he disappeared during a west-end run of a play. He returned and reasserted himself. If it is he’s hit one of those down moments then I’ve every faith he’ll bounce back in time.

@brumplum was well within his Twitter rights to reveal the fact he’d been blocked by Mr Fry and was also well within his rights to describe Fry’s tweets as ‘boring’. You can’t satisfy everyone all of the time. Some won’t get you. Others will. So long as you’re reasonably polite about stuff, saying ‘boring’ isn’t all that difficult a piece of feedback to take on board. I know I’ve received far worse.

But what would be really good is this. Could everyone just shut up about the spat? Could everyone quit churning messages of support for Stephen Fry and could the remainder on Twitter quit turning @brumplum into some kind of perahia?

If people don’t then pretty much everyone on the social networking tool will be guilty of the very thing Stephen Fry is claiming is putting him off Twitter. And if that’s the case it will be him who’ll need to hold out the olive branch.

So boys and girls – the hoards congregating behind the perpetraitor and the victim. All of you. Break time is over. Go back to your classrooms and get on with your work. @brumplum say sorry to @stephenfry. @stephenfry say sorry to @brumplum. And any journalists with a notebook, please move on. There’s nothing to see here.

Electric Proms 2009 / Robbie Williams

I missed the live broadcast of Robbie Williams’ Electric Proms gig. I heard about it though. People were raving about it to me whilst I was at Radio 3’s Free Thinking Festival last weekend.

I must watch it, I thought. So I watched it online switching from the full screen version on my laptop to follow the set list (and avoid Scott Mills’ face – his appearance in both Attitude Magazine and Gay Times this month means the cutesy Radio 1 DJ may be in danger of jumping the shark if he’s not careful).

It was nice to see Williams back. It was nice too to hear songs given a thorough orchestration by producer Trevor Horn. The strings sounded iffy in places but the sound of a timpani underpinning some dramatic moments in various tracks made for a nice effect combined with the interestingly satisfying interior of The Roundhouse packed full of screaming girls. (I tried to overlook the appearance of James Corden and Dec from Ant and Dec fame.)

But there is a fly in the ointment I thought. I’m sure there’s a few places where Robbie’s not necessarily delivering 100% on the intonation front. There are moments, I’m sure of it, when the cheeky chappy whose swagger can be just a bit too much at times just can’t reach those top notes. Maybe it’s me being overcritical, I thought. Maybe I should give the boy I was once obsessed with (didn’t you see the Rock DJ video?) a second chance.

BBC HD re-ran the concert last night. Me and The Significant Other watched it this afternoon.

I can confirm that I wasn’t wrong. There are many times when Robbie illustrates to what extent he needs to work on his live performance. I was surprised to see him reading from his autocue, amazed to observe he had the obligatory ear-piece in just one ear. And yet at various points it was clear the massive orchestra behind him and the track played into his ear wasn’t helping. I grimaced a number of times. I’m sorry Mr Williams but I did. You need to work on this.

What’s infinitely more frustrating is the reviews from the mainstream press about the concert (Independent, Times Online, The Guardian). Not one other person picks up on the intonation troubles Williams suffered. It’s as though there’s a different quality threshold rehabilitated popstars must reach in order to get four out of five stars. It’s as though we’re happy to overlook that. It’s as though they were all given a free ticket, access to the VIP area and plenty of booze for the night. That does so make my blood boil.

Why is this important? Possibly because Williams has a story and, as a result, a place in our hearts. He did great stuff and we want him to do great stuff again. Perhaps we want him to acquire that much-desired ‘national treasure’ status. I do. He fits the bill. You’ve just got to turn in a consistently high standard of performance Robbie. I’m stickler for perfection.

>> Watch the live performance of Robbie Williams’ concert at the BBC Electric Proms

Ian Baynham vigil in Trafalgar Square

Thousands of people converged on Trafalgar Square on the night of Saturday 31 October in a peaceful protest against hate-crime.

They were there to remember the assault on 62 year old Ian Baynham who died of brain damage on 13 October. He was a gay man who stood up to people shouting homophobic abuse at him. Gordon Brown has sent a letter of support whilst Boris Johnson has signalled his support.

Lobbying is one thing. Looking to those with influence is important. But there’s another angle we shouldn’t lose sight of.

I have a friend whose tales of similar abuse and his boldness in tackling it head on in public spaces leave me breathless with pride. Like the Baynham friends and family described in the speech last night, my friend is not frightened about dealing with such abuse head on. There have been numerous occasions where the coda to his reports have always been a chorus of “Be careful, won’t you? It’s right you do what you do. But do be careful.”

It isn’t war on the streets. At least, I don’t think so. Instead, Baynham’s murder and the solidarity shown in the many thousands who turned up at Trafalgar Square remind us that such homophobia does still exist and we should all strive to eradicate it. Such action requires a loud voice from a united community.

I didn’t attend the vigil last night. I look at the pictures and read the tweets from it I end up feeling as though I’ve let the side down. Maybe that’s my inner-critic. The overriding aim of the vigil was to remember Ian Baynham, the Soho nail-bomb and James Parks. If I’m thinking about it now, should I have made the effort and gone last night?

Possibly. You might argue that. But something strikes me as even more important as I watch the moving speech delivered with Ian Baynham’s sister Jenny standing in the background. Vigils are one thing. Memories of vigils are something else. But what’s most important now is that the overwhelming statement made by that vigil and all who attended continues. The best place for that to continue is on the internet.

So, do this.

Your sexuality is of no consequence. Everyone should do this. Reserve a small part of your mind and file this event and the one which precipitated it in a folder marked “hate crime”. It doesn’t demand a great deal of thought. Nor does it require debate, proposals of how we might tackle it or a great long list of people you need to lobby to eradicate it. Just remember that this event happened and that thousands of people converged on Trafalgar Square (the majority of whom won’t have known Baynham) and remember that as sad as this tale is, the speech still raised a smile about someone you didn’t know.

That alone should be sufficient to motivate you into saying something the moment someone hurls abuse, or indeed leaping to someone’s aid if you see another individual being physically attacked in the street. You’re not telling me it was totally silent in Trafalgar Square that night. There would have been plenty of other people around. We all share a responsibility.

There’s a fine line between freedom of speech and all out homophobic abuse – some people haven’t found that line yet. But whilst we’re looking for where exactly the line can be drawn, we should continue to keep such issues uppermost in our mind, vowing to tackle any examples of abuse at a local level.

Be bold. Be safe. But for goodness sake, don’t let it slip.

Members of the London Gay Men’s Chorus sing “Something Inside So Strong” at the vigil

TV: Graham Norton Show (Episode 6.4 Mon 26 Oct 2009)

Unbearably cute with a firm grasp of camp, originally uploaded by Thoroughly Good.

Singer Michael Buble is a TV executive’s dream. Not only is the man unbearably cute, at home singing live and comes with a band who dress a set perfectly, the singer also has that rare talent of being able to engage in the perfect banter for a mainstream entertainment show.

Obviously, Michael Buble had something to sell. No guest goes on a chat show without a good reason. His reason is a new album, an album which accompanies a tour it seems. And yet, the 34 year old combined an endearing nervousness with boyish enthusiasm whilst sat alongside Lily Cole, Isabella Rossalini and Sue Perkins. Little wonder we wanted the anecdotes to keep coming.

Chat wasn’t relegated during this particular show, surprising given the crowd of guests Norton faced. Banter ensued instead, with just the right combination of giggling, put-downs and innuendo. Oh .. and of course there was a ginger joke. (I hope to God no-one starts saying that’s offensive. Catherine Tate did a series of sketches about that. She sets the precedent.)

Two and a half years ago, I stood in the Executive Producer’s office at So Television all green, naiive and lonely. I hadn’t really gelled with anyone during my work experience week. I’d made no-one laugh, embarrassed myself by doing research no-one asked for, succeeding only in making the production team certain I was a tabloid journalist desperate to find some dirt.

“When will Graham be on BBC One ?” I asked the exec, desperate to ingratiate myself, “Isn’t it time he got his 45 minutes on a Friday? He’s the perfect Friday-nighter.”

A few months after that I winced with embarrassment when I recalled that exchange. Experience has shown that anything I like on BBC Two (The Graham Norton Show started on BBC Two) normally seriously goes off the boil when it moves to BBC One. Yes, we might all be consuming our TV via BBC iPlayer, but still the audience profile and the material for each of those networks differs considerably.

When I heard The Graham Norton Show would move to BBC One I reckoned that would be the end of it, that I’d look back over my blogs about the show and realise the sad truth: the only reason I watched it was because of the rose-tinted memories which remained from those 13 days at So Television in March 2007.

Episode 4 of this new series – The Buble Show – proves me wrong. It holds up well as testament to how chat / entertainment shows really can work just so long as the right combination of people are producing it.

A successful show depends on the chemistry between the guests, the ideas of the producer and the effeciency of the production team. Episode 4 sits well on BBC One – better than quite a few originally aired on BBC Two and an illustration of how some things take a lot of finessing before the right combination of elements can be exploited for good TV.

I hope to God Episode 5 is just as good, otherwise I’m going to look like a complete twat.

• Watch Buble’s infectious Haven’t We Met Yet on YouTube

(remember to set your stopwatch running after the end to monitor exactly how long it will take before you realise this song will be played everywhere, accompanying all sorts of TV montages – it *will* happen)

• Watch The Graham Norton Show on BBC iPlayer

Journalists are human beings too

My two week jaunt around the country is coming to an end. I’m relieved. I’m getting tired of the hotel experience (although the central Belfast Holiday Inn more than makes up for the prison-like interior of Newcastle’s riverside Travelodge). I’m keen to see my cats and I’m longing to see the garden from the kitchen window. I’m a sucker for home-life.

Hotels aside, it’s not all been bad. My brief has been simple: to cover as much of a series of events titled “New Tools for a New Way of Working” in a social media capacity for the new BBC College of Journalism website (currently beta for BBC staff).

CoJo (get used to the BBC College of Journalism acronym) has filmed a few of the specifically journalism related events in Cardiff including a presentation given by Executive Editor Kevin Marsh on how audiences are sourcing their own background information on a given subject following a news “announcements”. It’s changing the nature of news consumption and necessarily what methods journalists employ to tell their stories.

Former Assistant Editor of the BBC Six O’Clock News Mark Georgiou also made a repeat appearance at BBC Northern Ireland today, sharing his thoughts on producing news stories for a variety of multiplatforms. Memory is fading of the time when a producer and his reporter could film one piece about one story for one news programme. Now they have to be across the whole thing.

Some do it better than others, it has to be said. Some people take to writing blog entries and web stories and look for new ways to share their stories online, on radio and on TV. Georgiou offered practical tips on how to meet the challenge some producers may face when embracing multi-platform production.

It is during events like this I find myself impatient and unforgiving. I subscribe completely to the need to produce the same story in a variety of different ways for a variety of different outlets be it radio, TV or the web. My style may need finessing in some areas and skills might need to be acquired but still I’m surprised and frustrated such an event is even deemed necessary.

This may be in a small part down to the realisation I made a few years of my original career aspirations when I approached the end of my GCSEs 20 years ago. If I wanted to be a journalist, I’d obviously need English, which in turn meant an English degree. A-Level studies were fine. One term at University however and I soon discovered I wasn’t going to be able to meet the one book a week requirement demanded of me. I switched courses soon after and stupidly dropped my journalism aspiration too. A career in music administration, IT support and website management followed.

It’s only now I find myself in the journalism world I once thought I’d want to be a part of, even if I’m not actually – in the strictest sense of the word – a journalist. But having embraced the internet and its technologies (whilst steadfastly maintaining a healthy distance from any accusations of geekdom) and insodoing finding an outlet for my creative juices, I’m surprised there might be those who find the web platform a bewildering affair.

In short, I work on the basis ‘if I get it, it really can’t be that difficult, so why can’t you?’ Of course, such a view is blinkered and unforgiving, but it is the truth, one no doubt fuelled by a spark in my head that maybe at some point I might just end up doing what I thought I’d wanted to do 20 years ago. Who knows.

My lack of patience for those who perhaps need a bit more time to become accustomed with new ways of sharing stories is tempered by the experience of BBC Wales Political Editor with the Welsh Politics blog she writes on the BBC. This is no small part because she’s a pleasure to talk to and (as you would expect from someone used to delivering 2 minutes on tv or radio) and an effortless interview. During her New Tools presentation in Cardiff last week she said “I have become accustomed to it [blogging]. It’s not my enemy now.”

So as I approach the end of our two weeks away from the London CoJo office, I’m reminded of the blinkered and unforgiving view I have of journalists and the kind of people they are. They aren’t all one kind of person and they’re not necessarily anything like me. No surprises there. If only I could remember that the next time I sense that frustration rising up like bile inside of me.