A minor set back

True to my word, I emailed Kenny Campbell the editor (and his deputy editor David Monk) of Britain's brightest freesheet, The Metro, pitching my story idea of one simple man's quest to stride the corridors of power.

As regular readers will know, it was The Metro that inspired me to become a Citizen Journalist. It's the people's paper! (Hey Kenny, you can use that strapline if you like!)

Anyway, cutting a long story short, Kenny responded late last night (he was clearly up proofing today's issue). Here's what he had to say:

Dear Barry,

Many thanks for your email. Sorry to hear you've lost your job - I know the fact you're one of many doesn't make it any less unpleasant.

Perhaps not surprisingly, we're not commissioning new talent at the moment, even when someone appears to have some ability (and, believe me, I see plenty of submissions which demonstrate remarkable inability with the language...).

I had a look at your website and you obviously enjoy working with words, so stick with it, even though I can't use your abilities right now.

All the best, and good luck on the work front.

Kenny Campbell (Editor)

What a top guy. I know I've sent several pieces into The Metro and got nothing back (yet) but at least I'm on the big man's radar now. So it's probably only a matter of time before they give me a regular column.

It's great that the editor himself emailed me (I thought he might get the deputy to do all the menial stuff), just goes to show that Kenny is plugged into the world. He probably sits in his office, hawk-like, observing matters as they unravel all around the world.

Dave's probably too busy 'repurposing' that night's Evening Standard!

Yours in News

Barry

Business models, new in town

A few weeks ago, on the tenth birthday of London's premier free newspaper - the Metro - I came up with a new paradigm in business publishing. The Oyster - the world's first adult entertainment commuter freesheet.

I've been working on a presentation that I plan to take to prospective advertisers. What to take a sneak preview?

Of course you do:

THE OYSTER

Good morning/afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Barry Newsdesk. For ten years I worked in media sales. I single hendedly witnessed the downfall of print media. But during that time, one publication bucked the trend, one publication grew where others whithered on the vine.

I'm talking about the Metro, of course.

WAIT!! I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm here to simply peddle out yet another freesheet wannabe immitator - like the London Paper or the London Lite.

But I'm not. It's true I've been inspired by the unlikely success of the Metro, but I'm going to bring you a whole new concept. And it's not just a concept, it's backed up with cold hard facts.

A few weeks ago, on the tenth birthday of London's premier free newspaper - the Metro - I came up with a new paradigm in business publishing. The Oyster - the world's first adult entertainment commuter freesheet.

Based on the Metro's groundbreaking business model of repurposing material and placing advertisements against it, the Metro revolutionised how the commuters of the world consume news.

Now I'm proposing to revolutionise how the commuters of the world consume bongo.

That's right, you heard me, I said bongo.

Grumble. Smut. Porn. Jazz mags!!

Forget the Internet, with all its fancy widgets and functionality, the Metro almost single-hendedly changed the landscape of the world beyond recognition. And besides, you can't get a signal on the underground, so mobile phones and laptops don't work, which is almost certainly probably half the reason no one reads adult literature while traveling to and from work.

Think about it.

Just for a second.

Sex sells, that much is obvious, you've only got step into your nearest newsagent to buy a four pack of Cobra and some Monster Munch the shelves are stacked with the stuff, or take a walk around Soho and you'll see it literally for sale all over the place. Or just nip into a phone box to make a call becasue the battery on your mobile is dead, you'll be greeted by genuine photos of busty blondes new in town who love their jobs.

Now, imagine a FREE newspaper packed to the rafters with smut. You wouldn't even need to hire people in luminous jackets to hand out the papers at stations, commuters would be literally clamouring for it.

But don't take my word for it. I carried out extensive research, asking a potential audience of millions of Internet users (many of whom almost certainly use the World Wide Web to satisfy their desire for grumble), whether the world was reading for a free adult entertainment newspaper. A resounding 60 per cent of voters agreed that, yes, the world is reading for a free adult entertainment newspaper.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking where on earth is Barry going to find enough filfth to fill the pages of a London freesheet five days a week, 52 weeks a years?

Well, that's easy. The Internet. It's completely riddled with the stuff. I don't have time to catalogue the sheer volume and variety here, but don't take my word for it. Go home and type something insanely filthy into Google. You can bet your bottom dollar that someone has not only already thought of it, but they've taken a video of it and uploaded it onto the Internet.

Trust me, The Oyster won't struggle for content. It won't struggle for readers. And now, I know, having sold you the concept, it won't struggle for advertisers!

What do you think readers? It's not bad is it? I thought I'd probably charge £1000 per quarter page. My friend Dave, the roofer, knows one of the blokes involved with CFCUK, Chelsea supporters' fanzine, and he reckons he'll be able to get some reasonable printing fees. I'd take care of repurposing all the material and all the journalism, so my overheads would be nominal.

I spent today going around the phone boxes of London collecting prostitutes' calling cards, I'll give them a ring later and see if they want to hear the pitch. After that, I think I'll probably go and see some of the strip clubs dotted around town, and then the sex shops of Soho. All in the name of research and new business leads, of course.

I wonder if I'll bump into Jacqui Smith's husband. The dirty tinker. ;-)

Who knows, if things are a success in London, maybe I'll take the idea into Europe, Amsterdam first I dare say, then Paris.

PORN!!!

OMG!

OMG!

You won't believe what I've discovered!

Two days ago I announced my new concept: The Oyster - London's first free commuter pornographic magazine.

I was inspired by the ten-year success of my fav newspaper, the Metro. It seems such a simple concept, handing out a free newspaper to commuters in the mornings, where the content had already appeared in the London Evening Standard the night before, and selling advertising space against it.

It's yesterday's news tomorrow.

It's bloody genius really, so much so that The London Lite, The London Paper, City AM, Sport and Shortlist have all ripped off the business model and attempted to undercut the Metro's advertising spend by offering the commuters of London an alternative version of the paper they love.

Essentially, though, it's reinventing the wheel. It's diluting the advertising cordial. There must be another way?!@?

Two days ago, I spotted a gap in the market based on the success of newspapers such as The Sun, The Star, the Sunday Sport and Razzle.

Boobs.

I dreamed up with the concept of The Oyster - London's premier adult entertainment freesheet.

Sex sell readers!!

In order to build a business model, I decided that I'd need to carry out some research.

The success of the freesheets is based around repurposing material. That's literally copying something and selling it as something new. For The Oyster, I'd need to repurpose adult entertainment.

But where the hell was I going to find an almost limitless supply of filth?

I decided to research content for The Oyster online.

It didn't take much work. Try it for yourself, just type 'porn' into Google. You'll be amazed.

Although, I would add that if you work in an organisation that has IT support or Systems Administration in place, you should probably wait until you get home.

I know someone who was accused of looking at porn at work and he was totally innocent. The management called him aside and asked him about his "surfing habits", they said "maybe there are sites you shouldn't look at". He definitely wasn't looking at sites with material that was unacceptable to company policy, he suggested that it was probably one of the cleaners who was accessing his computer when everyone had left. In the end the management decided that they'd get a new cleaning contract.

Problem solved!

Frankly, I've found stuff on the Internet that would make a prostitute blush. Honestly readers, the Internet is literally riddled with filth.

Try it for yourself, go to Google and type in something soul-destroyingly obscene. I bet you a million pounds whatever you can think of, however depraved, already exists on the Internet.

I spent all evening looking at a wide variety of pornographic websites, of every possible persuasion, purely, I might add, for research purposes, and I can reveal that I can think of nothing that is not on the Internet.

A MONKEY WANKING A HORSE!!!!!

Jeesh, who gets a kick out of that?

There's so much porn on the Internet that I can't even begin to catalogue it all here. What I will say is that there is enough material freely available that The Oyster is never going to struggle for content.

All I need to do now is line up a few advertisers. I can almost certainly change the landscape of publishing forever. Who would've believed that sex sells on the internet?

The mind boggles.

The Oyster

It's been a tumultuous week readers. Last Sunday, I gave an in depth study into the religion of Astrology. It almost goes without saying that I thought predicting the future according to the time and date that you were born sounded about as plausible as transubstantiation or the X-Files.

Thing is, when I came to write a post today I thought I'd look back on the previous week's activities and compare them with my horoscope. Just to recap, here's what was said:

"Business relationships will require solid definition this week. Beginning early Tuesday expect office managers and officials to publicly demand results or announce key policy changes. Much of this may be simple dramatics; don't expect authority figures to actually implement long term changes. The next 11 days will determine the outcome of difficult office dynamics or business power struggles. Wait for concrete signs of change before making public statements. After Wednesday romance and social obligations will be complex. Expect loved ones to compete for your attention or make unusual statements concerning family relationships. Emotions are unpredictable at present: watch for minor outbursts and criticism. Friday calm attitudes return: pace yourself and avoid quick judgements."

Well, look at that! On Tuesday I had a massive run in with Richard at Blockbusters, I thought he was being dramatic at the time, maybe he really won't implement long term changes. And then on Wednesday, after I told Gill about Leigh and the goings on, she gave me a massively hard time.

It's black & white readers, almost everything that my horoscope predicted came true!!!

There's no smoke without fire, so they say, although Michael Jackson's lawyers would probably contend otherwise ;-).

Today, also saw the close of my latest poll on immigration. Not surprisingly the world did not vote entirely against an amnesty on immigration. I think it's fair to say my readers have proved yourselves to be open-minded liberal types with the vast majority coming out in favour of "it depends".

Though, it would probably also be fair comment to say that immigration is not perhaps as burning an issue as certain elements of the media would make out. Since a massive two less people voted in the poll, compared with the seven that voted in the previous week's great crisp debate.

Finally, I would like to wish my fav newspaper, the Metro, a happy tenth birthday. God, it seems like only yesterday that the Metro was born. Now though, the Metro is available in tens of cities across the globe. It's perfect balance of news and fun seized the zeitgeist of the moment and became a new paradigm of news.

There are plenty of imitators, but only one champion of the freesheet. That said, I don't think that the Metro will necessarily rule the roost forever more. There's a gap in the market that I think I have identified.

Sex sells readers. You've only got to look at the success of Britain's number one newspaper. The super soaraway Sun.

It's boobs. Pure & simple. There's a gap in the market for whoever realises that the commuters of modern London are ready for free porn.

I present to you, the readers of the blogospehere, my business plan to really take it to the Metro and hit them where it hurts. I'm not talking about the bollocks, I'm talking about the wallets.

I present you with The Oyster. London's premier adult entertainment freesheet newspaper.

I'll pop up a poll, not the sort that the models in The Oyster would be dancing around, but one that gauges the weight of public opinion on the subject of commuter grumble.

Scientology

It’s Sunday today and naturally my thoughts are tending towards all matters spiritual. As part of my on-going quest to decide whether or not there is a God, I’ve covered some of the classic religions: Voodoo, Islam and Christianity. Today though, I’d like to share with you the fruits of my labours regarding an avant garde new religion that you might not have heard of.

Scientology.

Wtf? It doesn’t even sound like a religion. It sounds like one of the options you get at schools these days. In my day, you did chemistry, physics and biology. From what Amber was telling me these days they all get lumped together, if I had to guess at a decent name for this lumping together of all the sciences, I’d guess at Scientology. But I’d be wrong. You’d be much more likely to stumble across Scientology as part of your religious education.

Then again, when I did RE at school we tended to focus mainly on Christianity. No one mentioned Scientology – not once. Which is bit odd, because it’s been around since 1953 when the religion’s founder L Ron Hubbard made it all up. That said, the religion only gained its tax-free status in the 1990s. This was an important breakthrough for the Church of Scientology, which basically rewards its followers with something called ‘Tech’ according to their levels of financial contributions.

In short, Tech is knowledge. The more Tech you acquire, the more you understand the religion and the more in tune with God you become. Unlike pretty much every other religion in the world, the followers of Scientology aren’t given the full low down from the word go. They have to invest in Tech. Some people are critical of this religious business model, but I think it makes a lot of sense, particularly in today’s non-stop hectic world. Sometimes you haven’t got time to sit around reading about theology. If you do it by stages, you’ve got a better chance of understanding it all. Like the Open University.

There’s lots of stuff on the internet about Scientology. Lots of people are openly critical of Scientology because, frankly, it promotes some fairly ‘out there’ view points. Do you remember the TV show V? Well, that’s basically Scientology in a nutshell. Man is immortal, and his soul is called a Thetan. Thetans have lived on other planets before coming to live on Earth. They’re just using our bodies as soul storage facilities.

It sounds totally mental, right? Well, yeah, I suppose it does a little bit, but if you think about the tall tales you're expected to swallow with all the other religions, then maybe it's not so mental afterall. I suppose there's just as much chance of us all being Immportal Lizard Men as there is of the whole world being created in just seven days 6000 years ago by some all-seeing, all-powerful dude who lives in a place called Heaven where we all go when we die.

I’d better be careful about just how much information I present here readers. The Scientologists are pretty touchy when it comes to copyright infringements and they’ve been known to use some fairly strong-arm techniques when it comes to getting their message across.

That said, you might well see Scientologists on your local High Street. They sometimes set up shop offering Free Stress Tests. Which sounds pretty nice to me. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as Mum always says.

Scientology is probably the sexiest religion going at the moment, and as such it attracts famous actors from Hollywood. Tom Cruise, John Travolta and David Beckham are all famous Scientologists. You're much more likely to see those guys in the Metro than you are the Pope. And if you're looking to attract youngsters to your religion you stand a much better chance if its followers are in the Metro.

You can certainly see why Scientology is so popular at the moment. It attracts genuine Hollywood followers, it offers up the belief that we’re all immortal Lizard Gods from Outer Space, and you can buy your way in. So it offers up a level of exclusivity that you just don’t seem to find with all the boring old fashioned religions.

If you’ve got the cash, you can be a Scientologist pretty much anywhere in the world. One place you can’t be a Scientologist though is Germany. Those guys have banned it. I’m disappointed in the Germans' lack of religious tolerance. Disappointed, but not that surprised!

Gotta go now readers, I’m starving. If I was back in Lincoln Mum’d be cooking me a lovely roast dinner. As it is, all I’ve got are beans and broccoli. Think I’ll have that on toast, washed down with a can of Cobra. Natch*.

*naturally.

A dog’s life

Had a bit of a down day today, readers. I started out full of pith and vinegar, as my old Gran used to say. I realised that I was getting behind on my journalism and so I decided it was time to write that Dog Theft story. I had wanted to do a bit more research but, what with Blockbusters, my religious quest and normal life stuff like cooking, cleaning, eating, PES and Gill, I realised I just didn’t have the time.

Besides, I figured I had the meat of the story. I had Mrs Bradley and Raffles as the victims, I had the faceless bureaucracy of the Metropolitan police force representing a cold and uncaring society and I had my role as neighbour, which would have to double up with my role as writer. Granted, it wasn’t yet epidemic but even an epidemic has to begin with one crime. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, runs the ancient Chinese proverb, and a spate of dog thefts is no different, as I’m sure Confucius would tell us, were the great man still dispensing wisdom today.

I dialed 999 and demanded that I be through to the police. I spoke to them about Raffles, and I didn’t hold back. I told them I was a freelance journalist and that an anonymous tipster had informed me of their lack of interest in this serious case of theft. I told them it was supposed to be their duty to protect and serve, but the officer told me that was the motto of the American police. One point for him in the pedantry stakes, I suppose. But the moral victory was mine. He took down Mrs Bradley’s details and promised to look into it.

I toyed with the idea of nipping round to see Mrs Bradley for a few extra quotes but I was scheduled for an afternoon shift at Blockbusters and I really believe there’s no time like the present. Carpe Diem – that’s my motto! So I sat down at the iBook and crafted the following:

No Leads in Dog Thefts

Police have been unable to throw any light on the recent spate of pedigree dog thefts in the South West London area. Victims of these cruel canine kidnappings have been left with the sense that their suffering is not important enough to warrant the Met’s attention.
One victim, whose prize Bernese Mountain Dog, Raffles, was stolen from her front garden, described the police response as ‘apathetic’. When the Metro spoke to the Met, this claim was rejected, although the officer who took the call was able to offer no information on the case. It didn’t even seem to be on record.
One possible reason for this could be that the police don’t want to see their crime figures inflated. A stolen dog represents a crime; a missing dog does not.
As anyone who has ever marveled at the pristine specimens on Crufts will know, pedigree dogs are very expensive. Puppies can cost up to £300 and the money spent on their upkeep runs into the thousands, when you take vet bills and food into the equation. While pet owners can take out special insurance, this can never repay the sentimental value of the bond one strikes with Man’s Best Friend if something bad happens to them.
Relationships between the police and the public are often strained, with victim’s rights groups increasingly vocal. If the Met doesn’t get its nose to the trail in this case, it could end up in the doghouse.

ENDS

I was really pleased with this story readers, as it had a pun in the title, doggy allusions in the conclusion and some nice alliteration in the opening paragraph. The whole piece was punchy and read exactly like something you’d see in the Metro, so I sent it to them along with an invoice for £247. I think £1 per word is more than fair.

Realising I was running late for work, I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door to be met with a big shock. What did I see, readers? A police car parked outside Mrs Bradley’s house! Not only that, there were two policemen talking to Mrs Bradley!! And not only that, either: One of the policemen was petting Raffles!!! Mrs Bradley’s missing dog!!!! Because I didn’t want to interfere I hid round the corner and watched until the police had left and then ran up to Mrs Bradley. I enquired about Raffles and she told me he hadn’t been stolen after all, he’d just wondered off. He’d come back the same day at teatime, I just hadn’t noticed.

I asked her about the police and their apathy and she said she didn’t even remember saying that to my Mum!

I had a Yoko Ono moment, have you heard of those? As in I went Oh No!! It’s got nothing to do with splitting up the Beatles. I couldn’t believe I’d just emailed the Metro with the story and none of it was true! I’d only just begun may career and I was in danger of having something published that wasn’t factually accurate. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was now really late, I would have been in a right state. The only solace I could find was that it was Richard’s day off and at least he wouldn’t catch me being un retard, as the French say.

Or so I thought. The paranoid little Hitler turned up just to make sure we were all there and, of course, I wasn’t. He gave me a dressing down in front of the others, and I’m pretty sure Amber and Leigh were laughing at me. I felt like pointing out to him that Nottingham Trent University was originally supposed to be named the City University of Nottingham upon Trent, and that suited him just perfectly, but I kept my cool because I need the money.

After he was gone I tried to make chit chat with the others. But Leigh had a stream of friends who came in, all giving him those fancy handshakes, although none of them rented any DVDs, or even bought some sweets. And when I asked Amber if she had any performances scheduled, because I’d be interested to come and see one, she said it would be too weird, what with us working together.

What the hell’s with these people, readers?

Not a good day chez Newsdesk. :-(((

Redundancy

Today, after yesterday's decision to take the plunge into the world of journalism, I went into the world seeking inspiration.

I left my flat and turned right onto my road. I'd dressed appropriately, not just for the time of the year, but also for my chosen career path. This is the sort of thing I would have worn on a dress down Friday. Although, coincidentally, it was Friday anyway. But this would be my new apparel irrespective of the weekday in question. Unless I had an important meeting.

Smart casual, with serious leanings toward the latter. Converse sneakers, faded jeans, a plaid lemon shirt, underneath the grey jumper my Mum gave me for Christmas. She's always had such excellent taste.

I went into Specsavers and spent £300 of my redundancy package on clear glass spectacles with thick black frames.

Already feeling good I went into WH Smith and bought a new pen and 'reporters' pad - 100% recycled paper, made from post-consumer waste.

I looked the part.

All needed now was news.

I sat on a bench outside what was Woolworths on the high street. Not much happened for an hour or so, a woman sat next to me for ten minutes until her bus arrived. She was youngish, wearing a work uniform. Observation is key in journalism.

Some time after, a man arrived and started unlocking the metal mesh protective window protector of Woolworths. He would not be drawn on the issues that surround the collapse of the high street store.

The weather was inclement, although not any worse than it was yesterday.

For lunch I had McDonalds. I found a copy of Metro and read it from cover to cover seeking inspiration and stumbled across a story about a bus driver who refused to drive his bus because it carried an atheist slogan.

It got me thinking. Would God be angry that the bus driver had failed to turn the other cheek? Would God be angry with himself, or herself, for failing to turn the other cheek?

Religion is a contentious issue. Perfect for Citizan Journalists.

I thought this would make an interesting article for the readers of the Metro. So I carried out a poll on the highstreet. I simply asked the two questions I had posed myself earlier: Would God be angry that the bus driver had failed to turn the other cheek? Would God be angry with himself, or herself, for failing to turn the other cheek?

I asked 30 people. 4 people completely ignored me, 1 person was verbally abusive, 12 people said they didn't know, 2 people said yes and 11 said probably not.

I sent my findings to the editor at mail@ukmetro.co.uk.

I had spent about two hours on the project (10 minutes background reading, 10 minutes considering the issues, 1 hour 30 mins collecting data and 10 minutes writing up the findings). I thought I would bill for the UK minimum wage allowance of £5.73 per hour. This seemed fair considering my inexperience.

I await a response.