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The journo in the corner

The England cricketer Andrew Flintoff once described his first meeting as a young Lancashire intern with his all-time hero Ian Botham.

“I just dropped my shopping,” he said. “I didn’t know where to look.”

For such a recognisable and seemingly confident personality to admit to bashful hero-worship suggests there is hope after all for the socially inept among us.

I recently found myself in a similar situation at a certain media event in London.

I arrived unfashionably early, and after chatting briefly to the press officer, was left cowering in a corner, buried in my notes as a procession of national journalists, broadcasters and academics entered and hobnobbed before me.

There was the BBC’s home editor, Mark Easton; Saturday editor of the Times, George Brock; former Olympian and sports journalist Matthew Syed; and City A.M Editor Lawson Muncaster.

I disappeared further and further into my corner, drinking the complimentary tea like it was going out of style and reading and re-reading the press release in hope of discovering a formula for invisibility.

You may have guessed from all of this that I am not a good networker. I never have been.

Put me in a room filled with people I’ve never met before, place a drink in my hand and tell me to “mingle” and I descend into a navel gazing, quivering wreck.

Not very convenient for a journalist, you might say, given that the old adage of “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” could have been invented for the fickle world of media.

One a one-to-one basis, I’m usually fine. I can laugh when I need to laugh, I can nod and look serious, heck I can even stretch to a witty remark now and again.

But as a newly qualified rooky, how do I go about introducing myself to people who have been to more press briefings than I’ve had hot dinners?

People whose profound discourse I was reading only yesterday in The Guardian were now standing just feet away providing what more sure-footed colleagues would describe as “the perfect networking opportunity”.

I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to chicken out.

I stuck to my corner, eventually following the crowd into the event, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief and choking on my supreme embarrassment.

Maybe in the future, people will no longer communicate face to face and the phrase ‘social networking’ really will be confined to the impersonal comfort of technology.

Until then I remain the journo in the corner, my innate awkwardness shining through for all to see.

In praise of radio

WHEN ASKED to describe his reaction to the invention of the radio, German physicist Albert Enstein said: “Radio is a kind of very long cat. You pull his tail in New York and his head is meowing in Los Angeles.”

A mangled kind of explanation from arguably the greatest genius of all time, but you can see what he was getting at.

Before the invention of the magical box we have come to know as the ‘telly’, families used to crowd round the wireless and listen for news of events from around the globe, interspersed with the occassional Noel Coward play or spot of frivolity from the likes of Arthur Askey.

Simpler times, some might say. In this modern age of ipods, bendy buses and ‘Kit Kat Orange’, it can often be hard to keep up with the latest trends in technology.

Not a day goes by, it seems, without another channel appearing on TV – the BBC is spreading itself increasingly thin across it’s ever expanding empire – but online radio is the pot of gold at the end of this digital rainbow.

I recently found myself with an unexpected day of leisure, so rather than going for a healthy walk in the country or visiting one of the capital’s many culturally enlightening galleries, I decided to stick some hot cross buns in the toaster and settle down for an afternoon of radio.

There is something brilliantly comforting about Radio 4’s classic quiz show ‘Just a Minute’. No matter what is going on in your life, you get the feeling that it will always be there.

You could be standing in the burning wreckage of your flat, your treasured possessions going up in smoke as your spouse bids you farewell for the final time, and still you would raise a smile as Clement Freud attempts to talk for 60 seconds on the subject of ‘what I did on my summer holidays’.

The main thing that struck me as I surfed through the stations and indulged myself in radio goodness is that everything is so much slower, and better off for it.

Television is becoming overwhelmed by the constant need to keep the viewer from switching over, flashing graphics and blaring adverts, just in case we get bored and contemplate doing something more wholesome with our time.

Radio, on the other hand, assumes that it’s listeners are more patient, and thus there is more opportunity for the ‘aimless ramble’ – an intergral and neglected part of communication.

On his Sunday afternoon music show, actor and writer Stephen Merchant is a master of this art.

The conversation between Merchant and his co-presenters spanned a variety of topics, very few of which I can recall off the top of my head, but such is the nature of this kind of unplanned spontaneous setup.

Comedians Adam and Joe have a similar ethos with their Saturday morning slot on 6 music, but to the point where they are just saying the first thing that comes into their head – and it’s very, very funny.

You don’t get that kind of spontaneous humour anywhere else. At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man, TV is packed to the rafters with ‘comedy’ panel shows which masquerade as platforms for comedians to indulge in topical banter, but are in fact as carefully staged and scripted as the Labour party conference.

So here’s to radio, the oft-neglected orphan of the digital revolution. Next time you find yourself pulling a cat’s tail, think of Einstein, and let yourself drift off into a magical, wireless world.

Sam Blackledge