Skint!

OMG, readers! I got my redundancy cheque through today. It was substantially smaller than I was expecting it to be. It was just a month’s notice, actually. I’d heard my old company paid out big bucks when they let people go and so hadn’t actually read the letter they sent me. I was trusting my instincts, which is key for any new journalist who’s hot on the scent of a big splash.

Anyway, while I maintain that I am right to trust my instincts, I admit that I was wrong to trust my former employers, who screwed me royally. Looking around the lounge at my new possessions I began to rue my impulsive nature. But it’s who I am, I’ll never change.

As it happens, I was planning to call Mum anyway and, when I told her what had happened, she jumped in the car and headed over. She made really good time, Lincoln’s quite a long way away. When she arrived I told her I had to go out looking for a story, and that I’d left the Cilit Bang! under the sink. Meanwhile I had some thinking to do about Sky, so I went to the pub.

When I got home the flat was spotless and there were fresh cheese scones baking in the oven. I love my Mum, and I’m not afraid to say it. She was writing me a cheque, so I decided not to mention the fact that she hadn’t dusted the TV. I’m no bully. Not like Dad. I’ve never told you about my Dad. Maybe one day I will.

Mum mentioned that she’d chatted with my neighbour, Mrs Bradley, the one whose dog had gone missing. Apparently the police were ‘apathetic’ about the crime. This is man’s best friend we’re talking about here! Mum suggested it might make a good story. I think she might be right.

Then she started on about her night vision again and I got the impression that she was angling to stay over. Like I said, I’ve got a lot of time for my Mum, but I’m a man now, independent and strong. I can’t have my Mum staying over at my flat. What if Gill wants to come over and get jiggly with it? What if I want to bust a number?

Like, wtf?

So I gave her one of the scones for the journey and walked her to the car. She said she was scared about the drive but I know better than most that fears have to be confronted! I felt good that I’d helped her face up to the whole thing.

Another follower!!!!

It seems the old Newsdesk charm has reeled in yet another follower. Donnac1968* is a fellow blogger. And, if I may say so myself, is nothing short of prolific.

*Apologies Donnac1968 - this pic of you has come out highly pixelated, which gives the impression that I've made the image blurry in order to project your identity, much like they do on TV shows featuring criminals.

Donnac1968 has also been dabbling in Twitterland and Tweets under the name 'electrogirl68'.

Her blog, ‘From Little Acorns’, covers a wide range of topics. Knitting seems to feature prominently, as do photographs of Mighty Boosh star Noel Fielding. She has won a couple of awards and, like Jesus, has 12 followers (at the time of writing).

Do you ever wonder how many followers Jesus would have if he was around today….?

Wonder no more according to Twitter he has 510 followers. This figure comes in well under the number of followers He is estimated to have that follow using the more conventional methods.

Clearly, both Donnac1968 and myself have a long way to go before we can hope to achieve the sort of popularity possible when you’re the Son of God.

Bloodsuckers

Unbelievable. When my so-called lawyer said he'd be sending through an invoice for his work so far, I assumed that he was joking. When I got up this morning and saw the letter sitting waiting for me, I assumed it would be an apology.

Assume nothing, dear readers. It makes an ass of you and me.

Firstly, there was some legal mumbo-jumbo (why can't lawyers write in plain English?), then a short paragraph outlining the nature of our agreement. Which included regular nominal administration fees to cover the retainer and also additional consultation charges. The contract was to run over 12 months, but could be terminated by either party with a three month's notice.

That bloodsucking scumbag is trying to charge me £1500 for the next three months' retainer fee, plus £250 call handling fee from Sky, £250 for the telephone conversation and legal 'advice' I received yesterday and a further £175 for sending the letter that included this invoice.

That's a total of £2175.

I was too gobsmacked to do anything but stare open mouthed at the letter on my table. I felt sick initially, but then I thought 'no, you don't have to take this Barry!'

I called the bastard up. He said that he was contractually obliged to take the call since I still had the best part of three month's worth of retainer available. However, he did need to inform me that the standard consultation fee of £250 would stand and, indeed, that I would receive a further invoice, including an additional £175 administration fee.

It was as though I was an unwilling passenger sitting in the back of a taxi whose meter was on fast forward. Not only that, the taxi I was sitting in was taking me to the wrong place.

"You are joking?" I asked, incredulous.
"Do I sound like I'm joking?"

I was forced to concede that if this were a joke, I was unable to see the funny side. Ergo, he must not be joking.

"So I now owe you £2500?" I asked.
"No sir, not at all," he said, "you owe us £2600."
"But that's ridiculous," I said.
"Do you know how much Sky could have sued you for had your article made it into the newspapers?"
"But it was true, it was a true story."

My legal council merely repeated the question. I was forced to concede that I didn't know, although had assumed that since it was a true story, they wouldn't be able to sue me at all. It was at this point that my lawyer used some fairly colourful language and suggested that I draw a line under things, to "quit while you're still not too far behind" he said.

I put the phone down in the end. But this thing is not over. I swear.

New media

Apologies blogosphere, I have only just managed to get home. Today has been just hectic. First up, I had a call from my lawyer, he started out telling me that he needs to speak to Gill - apparently he has been contacted by Sky regarding the sexual harassment incident. I said I didn't want Gill involved, but then he said why did I use her name in the article? I had to concede that was naive of me. There's more to journalism than simply writing stories, these stories affect people. Real people.

The thing is though, this shows that I've got them on the ropes dear readers.

My lawyer (fucking coward) advised me to drop the case, and disist from, GET THIS!!! "spreading spurious rumours in the press".

He then said some unrepeatable things, and could not understand why I'd added his contact details to the piece. I said, "what's the point having lawyers if you can't use them?". He said some more unrepeatable things, so I said I would no longer be using his services, he said I'd be receiving an invoice. An INVOICE! for his 'services' so far.

Whatever happened to the Freedom of the Fourth Estate??

Gill says I shouldn't really be blogging about this. But it's a free country right?

I have signed up to Twitter. I cannot seem to make it work properly though. I can't really see the point to be honest. But then, I said that about the Internet and it came back to bite me in the wallet.

I got home in a funk and so decided to call my mum. I love my mum, I'll make no apologies, she's stood by me through thick and thin. She wants to come and stay, but I've told her that London is no place for a lady. Where are the views?

She's made up about the redundancy money though, I said I'd send her a little bit so she could treat herself to something, but I haven't actually got the package yet. I've been putting everything so far on my credit cards, I'll pay it off when the redundancy package arrives. Mum said she'd best transfer some cash into my account. I told her I'd pay her back and WITH INTEREST!!

Right, I'd best go now. I've got a Frey Bentos in the oven, a few cans of Cobra in the fridge and a few games of Pro Evo lined up before bed so I'm fresh and ready for some more citizen journalism tomorrow.

First up, I'll be writing to the editors that I sent my peice to, I'm going to find out who ratted me to Sky - almost certainly one of the Murdoch rags. I thought journalists were supposed to respect their sources!!

A follower!!!!

Who says journalism is a lonely career. I logged on this morning and was greeted by the news that I have a follower!

Jennifer Walker-Shannon has tied her colours to the Barry Newsdesk mast, so to speak, and agreed to follow me.

A Californian writer. She looks every bit as glamorous as she sounds too! Though I should also point out that she is married to a gentleman called Brett. Hopefully, this will assure Gill that our virtual friendship is purely platonic.

I wonder what Jennifer makes of the great public transport vs atheism debate? I know our American cousins can be quite religious, however, I also know that public transport leaves a lot to be desired in the Land of the Free!

Perhaps this is something President Obama will be looking to change during his tenure. He's probably got a lot on his plate, but he seems like the sort of man who will leave no stone unturned. Even if it means upsetting a few people.

I have yet to receive any feedback from the various editors whom I furnished with my piece on sexual harassment. It's early days, of course, and I'm not too downhearted. Particularly in light of the news that Jennifer (a published writer!!!!) is now following yours truly.

Perhaps I will go out into the virtual world and follow some other notable bloggers - in journalism, it is a case of who you know AND what you know!

Invoices

I'm so excited about my new life as a journalist. Metaphorically speaking, I'm learning something new every day. Today's harsh lesson in the realities of life as a humble scribe came in the form of a wake up and smell the coffee call regarding remuneration.

I'm drawn to life as a journalist because I'm inquisitive, I have a keen sense of what's right and what's wrong and I feel that everyone has a civic and spiritual duty to do unto others as you would have done unto you.

As a practicing Buddhist I understand about karma. You only have to look at what has happened to deviant pop star Boy George to realise that you cannot mess with karma.

But you can't pay the gas bill with karmic credits either!!!

My redundancy package will only last so long, I need to start earning some money from my journalism. I am swiftly coming to the conclusion that while journalism is rich in the rewards of life, it is not rich in the rewards of high finance. Money, it seems, is a dirty word among the hack fraternity. Still, that's the price for choosing the path of enlightenment. No one said it would be easy.

I billed the Metro £11.46 for the two hours I spent researching and writing my piece about the general public's views on the great public transport versus atheism debate.

I admit now I was naive.

Journalists, it seems, do not charge by the hour at all. They charge by the word. And quite right too, the pen is mightier than the sword after all. Man cannot survive on paltry sums like £11.46. My piece on sexual harassment is 237 words long, so I will send an invoice valued at £1 per word to selected editors.

I know that £237 is not a fortune, it pails into insignificance by comparison with the sort of figures I used to bring home as a salesman, but it should help to keep the wolf from the door for a while longer at least.

Sexual harassment

After carrying out research yesterday I decided that I was now armed with enough background material to write a well-balance article outlining the Sky sexual harassment case. I will be sending the piece to select members of the media forthwith.

Here though, I reproduce it in full:


You can’t touch this!

Sexual harassment in today’s Britain is illegal. Yet for so many of today’s young women it is an all too unfortunate fact of life. Nowhere is sexual harassment more disgusting than in the home.
In Britain today, the vast majority of the victims of sexual harassment are harassed in the home. That these scandals are going unchecked by the government and authorities is something Gordon Brown needs to feel personally ashamed and responsible for.
This week, in this journalist’s own home, representatives of a publicly listed multinational corporation that specialises in satellite television and the broadcasting of Premier League soccer, which cannot be revealed for legal reasons, sexually harassed this journalist’s girlfriend Gillian Nelson.
Attractive brunette Nelson (36) was waiting patiently at home, alone, when the two engineers arrived to install a Sky box.
“One of the engineers was a bit weird,” she said, “just a bit sleazy,” she added clearly suffering from post traumatic stress, tears welling in her pretty brown eyes.
The lone white female was then subjected to a barrage of innuendo and when the smutty Sky employee made lewd comments about her appearance and clothing she was forced to leave the room.
A spokesperson for the company refused to deny the allegations when pressed, but did say “we take allegations such as these very seriously sir,” before suggesting that the victim file a formal complaint in the usual manner.