Journalism, a Paper Won't Refuse Ink

Journalism, a Paper Won’t Refuse Ink ©

By Michael Casey

My dad used to say that “a paper won’t refuse ink” when he read something that he thought was too scandalous for words and should not be printed at all, or in my dad’s opinion was just all lies.  The old adage that newspapers can and do print anything.

Everybody reads the Sun, or used to, on your way to work you buy sweets, fags and a copy of the Sun. This presents one world view, a borrowed copy of the Mirror presents a different world view. As you grow older you read other papers, such as the Guardian in Dunkin Donuts then you graduate to The Daily Telegraph.

I am a DT person now, though it’s hard with all the paywalls, so you have to have 8 browsers at least so you can continue reading it for free. I do look at the DM and DE too, I am a news junkie after all. My dad used to watch Sir Robin Day on Panorama, I sat with him watching maybe 50 years ago now, then a few years later I shared a double bed with my brother and Douglas Stewart Reporting, the world tonight on Radio 4. This has given me my love of words, and 20 more years listening to BBC Radio 4, before I started as a writer.

Its funnier still as my wife’s uncle was a Political Editor in Shanghai and her dad did a bit of writing in a newspaper in Shanghai too. I only found this out less than 20 years ago. So in a way it’s obvious that our daughter at 12 is already such a good writer, it’s in the breed as my dad would say. He also used to say, they couldn’t be honest if you paid them, which could be applied to some of the naughty boys, but let’s move on.

I do have a radio reporter in my novel The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker, you’ll have to read it for yourselves. But what of reporters here in UK, how do they go about their business. There are a variety of styles and weights, I do have one favourite who has now moved to USA in the massive crop rotation of BBC reporters. Suddenly without warning my favourites were now on different continents. Anyway my favourite one, XX, treats politicians with contempt, he doesn’t call them lying bastards but his manner towards them is so great to watch. He’ll no-doubt say he is drilling them, as they should be.  

You have different styles on different stations, and should you stray to foreign stations it’s more like a toothpaste commercial, all floss and no substance, but the clothes do look good even if the quality of the journalism does not match. Not that I want scruffs on tv, and of course radio reporters are all nudists after all, that’s why they are always sniffling and getting colds. However the quality is better on the radio, I did spend my formative 20 years with BBC Radio 4 nudists, in a manner of speaking that is. I’m sure they’ll be a rush of graduates heading for Radio 4 now.

Why do people talk to journalists in the first place? Is it the sight of the microphone and the pop filters that turn their heads, let’s put Radio 4 nudists behind us or we will be distracted, it was only a thought after all, I’m sure Nick and John would disapprove, not unless they are hiding something. Anyway why do people talk to journalists? Is it the overpowering reek of alcohol which overpowers them so they just give in and spill the beans? In today’s world it’s is more likely the Costa Coffee, though I’d rather have a pint of Stella Artois myself, and it’s probably cheaper.

People just love sharing gossip, and if it’s about that Slut or Bastard up the road, and no I’m not talking about celebrity journalists now, I mean people talking about people in number 94 by the bus stop, next door to the chip shop and that suspicious lock up garage. Well with a bit of coaxing the whole can of worms is opened, and why should he park his motor in that little garage, his very expensive motor. Jealousy and Envy are great tools to excavate a story. As is getting people blindingly drunk, or flirting outrageously with a a woman old enough to be your grandmother.

For balance I should say there are heart-warming stories too, and some reporters do a load of those. We’ve all seen Bruce Almighty and the lame film with Will Ferell, I’m sure the unctuous Royal Reporter would love to stop all the brown nosing and have a juicy murder mystery to sink his fangs into. A tale of modern day vampires, in the churchyard, or in the flat above the laundromat, the churchyard is so cold in the winter.

And on and on it goes, reporters report, what has been seen and what has thought to be seen, and there is a difference, and knowing that difference is the difference between good and bad journalism. And a Pulitizer Prize  is their reward, not unless they get caught making it all up, then they go to jail. When instead they should have just have sent it to Simon & Schuster, Inc.