How this started

A couple of friends have suggested I post a piece about “the thinking” behind this blog, how it all came about and so on.

How and why indeed, I ask myself? Is there a cognitive process that can actually be called “thinking” behind it, I wonder?

As a freelance journalist, I’ve often thought about having a website but have never got around to it. There are lots of reasons why I think it’s a good idea – publicity is the main one – but I really don’t know much about this ‘ere cyberlark. I read a couple of blogs fairly often (this one and these from the Guardian) and find them alternately fascinating and really bloody irritating. On one level, the whole notion of a weblog is supremely indulgent. On another, the blogosphere seems to be a very small world, with a few dedicated, even obsessive posters dominating the conversation. And some of the time (as with that guy who tried to blog about his gap year on the Grauniad travel site) it’s downright nasty.

But, like every other mid-30s journalist I feel times are a changin’ and the old model of being commissioned to write a piece by a newspaper or magazine for a certain amount of money may come under pressure as more and more people take their reading and writing habits to the web. Plus, I can write stuff here that I want to write without squaring it with anyone first. If you, as a reader, don’t like what you read you simply won’t come back so that should keep me focused.

Also – and this is where I tackled the self-indulgence problem – a good blog, like any good column, view or opinion published anywhere, should say something about life, the universe and everything which other people can relate to. If there’s a nugget of general truth within the highly personal ranting and raving, it may just add a teeny tiny amount to the sum of greater human knowledge and understanding and I’m all for that.

What’s really got me going now is hearing Clay Shirky speak at the Edinburgh TV Festival just over a week ago. Before then, I didn’t understand why someone who is paid to write would want to write for free on an open blog.

Now, I totally get it. Mr Shirky talked about a friend of his who posted short videos of himself doing funny stuff on a website and, pretty soon – through donations and subscriptions, some advertising and some direct sales of mugs and t-shirts with his catchphrases on – he’d paid his rent. Because he was a one-man band, he didn’t need to earn a fortune from his blogging. And incrementally he built an online audience which allowed him to earn enough in micro-transactions to pay his rent. I only have six years to run on my mortgage, so I’m going to try the same trick.

Clay also said that the price of failure on the net is very low. Fear of failure has always, until now, held me back from going public with any sort of writing other than media business stuff, but knowing it’s not going to cost me much to fail, I’m inspired to have a go. If you don’t like what you see and you won’t pay for anything, well, screw you. There’s a new Waitrose opening in my home town soon and you get shares if you work for the John Lewis Partnership.

So I’ll give this blog a go for a while (quite a while; my friends say you’ve got to stick at it for a few years to get noticed) and see where we get. I also desperately need to crack Technorati, so if anyone knows what they’re talking about on that score, please get in touch.

Meanwhile this blog will evolve, hopefully it will get better and more interesting as we all get to know each other and it will certainly stop looking like a standard WordPress blog as soon as I have time to get things sorted out and sexed up.

Finally, I must thank a great friend who I’ve known for almost 20 years (which is scary, I can’t be that old) and who’s helped me get this far. He is Martin Thomson, a fellow alumnus of York University, Heslington, York who just happens to have racks of his own excellent websites. One I’d particularly recommend is for really shit-hot slogan t-shirts. My favourite is the one I came up with – “Fleece me, I’m a parent” for anyone and everyone taking their kids to some ‘family’ attraction which charges upwards of £50 for a family of four to just get inside, before offering them a phalanx of Westlers hotdogs and dried out fries retailing at £5 per meal. Plus the obligatory “merchandise”, again retailing at upwards of £5 for items that will disintegrate in the car on the way home.

If you’re a parent, buy one of these t-shirts and wear the freakin’ thing. Then boycott these stupidly expensive places and take the kids to the beach, a hill, a park or wherefookingever, just don’t pay over the odds for a really mediocre ‘family’ funtime experience.

Adieu and good evening.


lucecannon’s first ever post

The week in review

So what did we get from last weekend’s Edinburgh TV Festival, except for the usual three-day hangover and, possibly, a dose of the clap?

Well, we certainly saw quite a few “stars” up there which was nice – Jamie Oliver licking his lips as Jana, one blonde haired beauty from the Broadcast magazine team, went on stage to take part in a cookery demo. Methinks he is the red-blooded Essex boy we all want him to be. Oliver even said “Men think with their penises,” which, while true, is not what you’d expect to hear from a TV chef just hours into the one of the largest gatherings of TV executives in the calendar year.

His point, by the way, was that if men are to be taught something like how to cook they must be impressed and able to show off to their mates about it afterwards. Women are more complicated, more wrapped up in feelings and – I’ll say this bit for him – smothered in guilt about whether they should or shouldn’t be the one primarily shopping and cooking for husband/partner and children.

Oliver may not be the sharpest knife in the Sebatier rack but he’s got cod psychology down to a tee and, after that session, I was assured that his heart is well and truly in the right place. Pass it on: if you teach one recipe to four friends who in turn pass it on to four other friends after thirteen passes, the whole British population will know how to cook your recipe. It might be idealistic and entirely unfeasible, but it’s a nice idea and it’s Jamie’s so I love it.

At Edinburgh we also saw the inimitable Gok Wan, the indefatigable Angus Deayton and the unidentifiable Stephen Moffat, most recently of Dr Who script fame. And Sharon Osbourne, so I’ll start using the word “celebrity” instead of “star” at this point.

This year’s TV Festival – properly called the MediaGuardian International Television Festival – was all about celebrating telly and talent after last year when, as Festival chair and Endemol head honcho Tim Hincks has said, hair shirts were handed round and execs ritually self-flagellated over a series of cock-ups that included fleecing the public of millions in rigged premium rate phone competitions and, apparently more seriously, showing the Queen storming out of a photoshoot when she was in fact walking in. Someone resigned over that one. No one so far has left their job directly as a result of the phone scandals.

So this year the industry was healing itself, telling itself that everything’s OK – Britain still has the best telly programmes in the world. There were just a few lone voices saying, more or less, “That’s all very well but if no one can find those programmes in the welter of content that’s coming down a broadband or digital TV pipe into every home by 2012, you might be buggered anyway.”

US geek Clay Shirky (where do these guys get baptised?) and our own Armando Ianucci were two such voices. “The notion of making something for a particular slot [on a TV channel] will soon become meaningless,” said Ianucci, of The Thick of It, The Day Today, Blackadder etc fame.

The other serious issue under the spotlight was the future of public service broadcasting but you’ve got to be seriously into the business of television to be interested in that one. In essence, the debate is about whether the BBC should continue to be funded by the compulsory TV licence fee and whether Channel 4 should get any money from the public purse to make shows like Dispatches to complement Big Brother in future (it currently makes its money from advertising).

I can’t tell you how that debate went because I was at the Book Festival at the time listening to Orange Broadband fiction prizewinner Rose Tremain read from The Road Home, which sounded rather good. I can tell you that Steve Hewlett who chaired the public service session thought it was a load of pants and couldn’t tell me whether the audience got anything out of it.

So that’s this year’s festival in my particular nutshell. Of course there were hours of licentiousness, too, some of which could be called networking. A lot of it could also be called not working.

TV Review

BBC 1’s Mutual Friends, Tuesday 26 August at 9pm

Is it just me or was this programme actually quite brilliant? Like when Cold Feet started if I’d been thirtysomething then and had the nous to watch that ITV series from the beginning instead of coming into it when Hermione whatsername was already an alcoholic with twin babies? Or was that the beginning of Cold Feet?

Mutual Friends had everything I want in a BBC 1 comedy/drama or dramedy as some nonce called it in previews. Marc Warren, for one thing who is so delectable and good I’d eat him up visually in anything on TV. Alexander Armstrong from Armstrong and Miller who, although I suspect he may be a smug arsehole in real life, is excellent as a smug, funny arsehole on TV. He was brilliant as ‘the Nick Day character’ as we’re now calling him in our household, the guy who’s got more money than sense, is shagging a bird at 8am on the day of his best friend’s funeral, then wades in to speak at the funeral, initially horrifying all and sundry with talk of a boys’ holiday in Thailand (“a lifetime of sex squeezed into two weeks”) before finally and brilliantly saving the day with the tear-jerking notion that it is the dead bloke’s friends and not the suicide himself who are ill-prepared for him to die.

There were so many great, uncomfortable moments like the serial explosions of Mark Warren’s cuckolded character, Martin, each time with his unseen eight-year-old son lurking in the background lapping up the detail of how his mother has shagged his dad’s dead best friend. The boy then of course repeats this to the dead best friend’s widow while taking his party bag from her kid’s party.

Ok, it was a little obvious. We knew Martin (Marc Warren) would be surprised by someone when he insouciantly slipped a lady’s dress over his head, lingering in a bedroom while the Nick Day character crapped in a sandal to show his displeasure over being usurped by his ex-business partner in both boardroom and bedroom. But it was funny, it had great timing and performances and was close enough to a possible truth that some of the lines are being quoted between my life partner and myself today.

None of my book group mates, who are normal people and not TV types, saw Mutual Friends. One confessed she hadn’t watched any TV at all over the summer so was completely “out of the loop” about what was on etc. I urged her to get the first episode from the iPlayer which she will probably do. So, marketing people, either up your game with your off-air press and PR activity or at least pay me for bigging up your shows and creating yet more traffic to the iPlayer. My kids must eat etc etc.