Diary of a Trainee Journalist

Diary of a Trainee Journalist: Tracy Beaker eat your heart out.

It’s History of Journalism week and the title “was it The Sun Wot Won It?” is reverberating as fervently as it has every election since 1992, but possibly on a smaller, less political, more “good-god what more can I say about Kinnock’s wispy locks” way than you’re average psephologist. He had a tough ride, our Kinnock, I bet the image of her husband and that infamous light bulb has never left poor Gladys’ side; and she never even read The Sun. (Annoyingly, in an age of social media, news aggregators, Google and it’s unloved step-child, Bing, there are no official statistics as to how many people a year get a light bulb stuck up their jacksy. Because there would’ve been a good joke in there somewhere…) In terms of essay writing, as our dear Tracy Beaker used to say, black curls piled high in a pre-emptive Russell Brand back comber’s orgy of a hair–do; “I’d rather drink a cup of cold sick.” Its no wonder our generation are such a poetic kind. With each paragraph built around the classic PEACE architecture, (Point, Evidence, Analysis, Cross reference, Evaluate) my brain feels like its been trapped in a working microwave with Zoella. Don’t get me wrong, politics, history; they’re the stories that make mankind great, but they’re also precautionary tales, and in that way, they’re cocking depressing.   And so, my essay for life: So what’s the Point? To keep bloody going, that’ll help me. Evidence? I’ve heard they don’t make coffins like they used to. Analysis? Deforestation? Cross-reference? I like hamburgers Evaluate? When I read this column to my dog, does she just pretend to listen?


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