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.

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!!

Hello blogosphere

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. So the saying goes.

I was made redundant yesterday. I don't know what this means with regards the rest of my life.

In my heart of hearts I knew it was coming, but that didn't lessen the blow of receiving the dreaded call from the basement meeting rooms.

"Hello Barry, it's Emma Chaff from human resources."
"Hello Emma."
"Barry, can you come down to the basement meeting room please?"

Descending the steps into the office basement, cold sweat beading on my brow, I suddenly knew how Peter Anthony Allen must have felt as he climbed up the stairs of Walton Prison's gallows.

What followed was standard fair in these times of economic turmoil. The credit crunch has come home to roost, my glittering career in media sales was over. My legs went wobbly, my mouth dried up and a tear trickled down my cheek.

I was out of job.

A washed up dinosaur.

The internet is the future, I was told and I'll freely admit it's not one of my strong points. To be honest, I thought the internet was a flash in the pan, people will always want good old fashioned Hard Copy I'd always said. Maybe I was wrong all along

I might have been wrong, but I'm big enough to admit it. If the internet is the future, I would need to get up to speed. I went to PC World this morning and invested some of my redundancy package in an Apple Macintosh iBook.

I've been setting the damn thing up all day, and now I've set up this blog. With 15 years' media sales under my belt, I've decided to cross over the divide and become a journalist. How hard can it be?

You can't keep a good man down.