THE VIEW FROM HERESOME seedier sections of the press pack got very excited when a Denver newspaper advertised for a journalist to investigate Colorado’s marijuana dispensaries.
Thrilled at the prospect of meeting their deadlines in a haze of dope, more than 120 scribes applied.
Oh, how different from the home life of our own dear County Press. Its editorial department is ever conscious of its respectable Victorian roots and stimulants such as marijuana are a complete no-no.
When the pressure is on, tea and biscuits are the order of the day. The editor has his own special caddy of organic honeybush, while our news editor, Suzanne Pert, guards her HobNobs with the ferocity of a rottweiler.
There is naturally a pecking order. Trainees writing wedding reports start with Ty-Phoo and arrowroot biscuits, aiming for the pinnacle of a full-page spread and a dip into our features editor’s tin of choccie digestives.
Village Talk correspondents have their own supply of madeira cake, while Mr Newbery in the penthouse suite of this page occasionally drops a few crumbs in the direction of my basement from the groaning table that is the banquet of his cricket team.
Marijuana indeed! The very idea!
On the other hand, here in the basement it’s very gloomy. And what with the mildew, my biscuits get dreadfully soggy.
Colorado, eh?
Perhaps I might just drop into the editor’s office and discuss the possibility of a sabbatical. I don’t see any need for the chairman to find out.
Blubbing when they win, blubbing when they lose – it’s got to stop
DRESSING the Table was a fund-raising event organised last week by the gloriously bossy Amy Willcock.
She was flagged up in the Daily Telegraph as being "general lady in charge of the Isle of Wight", thus occasioning a massive gnashing of teeth among all the other women who thought they were.
Anyway, she was certainly in charge of this event and bullied a number of us into creating table settings, each done on a theme and laden with tricksy accessories. It was extremely exhausting and I still have nightmares of Tornado Amy’s shrieks of "I want the wow factor!"
One interesting aspect of the event was almost every guest assumed it was a competition.
"Who’s going to win?" they asked.
Well, it wasn’t a competition, it was a display, which some people found a bit baffling.
We seem to have moved into a competitive culture, with everyone desperate to be the best cook, dancer, singer or just answerer of interminably boring questions on some daytime quiz show.
The losing finalists on the recent Masterchef series behaved as if they’d received a death sentence, collapsing in an absurd heap of devastation.
Paradoxically, we also encourage a culture where children are not allowed to lose or fail.
Can’t spell, can’t add up?
No worries. Have another GCSE, dear, we’re handing them out like dolly mixtures. We need balance.
Children must accept failure, yet understand that to win competitions is not necessarily particularly important.
It is an end in itself to be as good as possible at what you do.
Let’s stop all that soppy blubbing when those frightful celebrity judges award top marks and the even soppier blubbing when they don’t.
Reform no more than a big joke
THE parliamentary expenses row thunders on, with the prime minister assuring us this kind of thing will not happen again.
Unfortunately, this kind of thing appears not to include the elevation to the House of Lords of former speaker Michael Martin, a man who was forced from office, who was at best incompetent and at worst did his best to block exposure of a corrupt system and whose wife claimed £50,000 of taxpayers’ money on free air travel and more than £4,000 in taxi fares.
With this man swanning round the Lords, the idea of reform is nothing more than a joke.