A Long and short of it interview with: Kate Adie

If I happen to interview anyone of remarkable interest - which lets face it, doesn't happen too often in Perth - I will upload it on this here blog.

This interview is particularly interesting,
1/because it's with war correspondant, author and all-round amazing lady Kate Adie,
2/because she makes some very interesting remarks about journalism, and how she 'fell in' to the industry.
and
3/because whilst she's extremely admirable, she's also very scary...

Click here to listen

Let me know what you think.

Radio power

Two weeks into the launch of Perth FM 106.6, a bit of shmoozing and coverage on air, and myself, our sales exec. and our admin assistant were invited to the highty esteemed Perthshire Chamber of Commerce Business Awards 2008.

The night included a three course meal, followed by an awards ceremony to celebrate the success of businesses in the shire, but most importantly, a fantastic place to network.

In one place we had the Lord provost, councillors, MSP's, MPs, staff of most of the leading businesses in town (or is it city?!), and they were all pissed. Brilliant.

We managed to get a free year's membership to the Chamber of Commerce, a promise from the Provost that we'll be switching on the christmas lights next year (taking it away from the competition), good contacts with the local politicians and the possibility of a free landrover safari.

Go the power of radio and contra deals!

First job and reality...

Got me first job.

I'm a reporter at a brand new local station, Perth FM 106.6. After working there for only one week, I've realised a few things about University newsdays:
1/ We went to HUMUNGOUS lengths to get a 20 second audio clip, which no one has time time to do in the real world.
2/ We took three hours to edit something which really only takes about 30 seconds.
3/ Clips dont have to be perfect, a few umms and aahs go unnoticed.
4/ Sheffield is an AMAZING news patch. Barnsley, Peniston and Rotherham are all pretty good compared to Perth.
5/ About 20 of us did one persons job.
6/ No one actually listens to local radio news anyway, apart from the newsreaders mum and a few of her friends.

Now, lets give everyone a little run down of my day. I arrive for 9am. I usually get someone to come to the studio for an interview, and half the time I cant get rid of them till 9.30am. Then I have half an hour to find three stories for the morning (Tayside police/NHS press releases/a few vox pops I took the day before...). I have to write the bulletin, record it, fart about with the settings, edit my clips into it on a waveform, mix it down, then add financial news plus jingles and sports news plus jingles. All in 30 minutes.

This then happens on the hour every hour, but in the meantime, I have to prepare bulletins for the rest of the week, organise interviews, and on a Friday I go to the football stadium, wait for the football manager for half an hour, then get a 3 minute interview with him.

It's VERY stressful, long hours, and I'm on minimum wage.

But that's what we all knew anyway, didn't we?

Unemployment, job seeking and bad times

It has been almost a month since I wrote my last blog.

That is not because I have been so over-run with freelance work that I haven't had time to keep up with my blogging activities. Nor is it because I have finally (and in due time), been offered that all important first job.

It's because I've been working as a full time Jobseeker. I even get paid. And so I should think so, because it's the most difficult job I've ever had to do.

I'm receiving benefits of £47 a week to cover my £77 a-week rent plus living expenses. So I've taken a part time job at, of all places, a call centre. Where many of my 16-year-old cousin's friends work. I have to phone people from 8am-3.30pm and ask them to complete a survey about something they don't give a crap about, and it takes about 20mins. I feel my two degrees are being slightly wasted.

In the last month, I've filled out more tax forms than I care to mention, spent endless hours on the phone to the bank, the job centre, various radio stations who owe me money and the Inland Revenue.

I've begged, borrowed and stolen money from Bank of Scotland, Bank of Dad and Bank of Boyfriend.

I have done a grand total of one day's journalism work, unpaid, for the BBC.

The next person who tells me that my current benefit-taking status makes me a tax hoarding, money stealing coach potato is going to get a square punch in the face.

The Freelance diaries Part 1

I have, dear reader, finally been a bona fide freelancer for the last few weeks.

After weeks of moping around the house, not working, moaning about everything and smoking a lot, my time came.

I've decided that it has little to do with experience, talent, skills, or event pestering. I think some unknown force, the Broadcast God, decides it's your turn and picks you. Sometimes, he gives you an amazing job in London. Sometimes, he gives you a rubbishly paid job in Skegness. Sometimes he gives you a freelance shift at the other side of Yorkshire. I took that.

So, it is with glee that I can tell you, a radio station in Leeds have been giving me plentiful shifts and paying, yes, PAYING for me to be a journalist.

I get to drive round in a brand new Honda civic, interviewing all kinds of interesting residents of Leeds; from bank managers to the producer of Spooks, from the late Pat Regan's best friend to competitors of GMTVs Battle of the Bride, and from a British Olympic nuitritionalist from Leeds to a Child Psychologist.

I get paid the same as a BBC freelancer.

And whilst the driving is plentiful, the SatNav takes me the wrong way up one-way roads in Leeds, and sometimes I answer the phone with the name of the wrong station, the work has reminded me why I want to struggle to be a journalist.

Cos it's fun.

The Devil's Arse, Lord of the rings and clotted cream tea

After much discussion, my boyfriend Chris and I decided that we couldn't afford to fulfill our dreams of travelling round South America, we couldn't afford a week partying in Ibiza, hell, we couldn't even afford a weekend in Blackpool. But we really needed a holiday. So we packed our bags and drove twenty minutes up the road to camp in a field for a night.

The beautiful village of Castleton is a popular camping destination for families of four and little old ladies looking for a countryside retreat. It is rarely a holiday location for a couple of recently graduated students with a penchant for partying, travelling and being a bit wild. However, we decided that the popular Peak District haven, boasting the 'Devil's Arse' caves and an underground boat trip through a cave, may just instill a little excitement to tide us over.

The Devil's Arse was, of course subjected to photographs featuring Chris's bare arse beside the sign. (Picture to be uploaded...) Once paying the £6 fee to get in, we were looking forward to our little tour round the "unusual rock formations, the eerie sound of running water and echoes of a bygone age". What actually happened was we giggled hysterically at our dumpy yorkshire tour guide, who's accent was so strong, he sounded like he was speaking in some historic coded language to confuse us. The limited information (that we could understand) that he gave us into the history and insights of the Peak Cavern was the following:

Some bloke called Neil died there 50 years ago, and he mentioned him "out of respect, because it would be disrespectful not to."

On a paticular trip into the caves, our guide and a man named Richard were cementing the ground, when Richard's dog Jake left paw imprints in the cement, and they left them there in the hope tourists would think it was a cave monster.

Our guide informed us: "I love fossils, me."

It was very informative.

After our exciting day, we went for a traditinal english pub meal, followed by several pints and several Jack Daniel's. This was followed by a 3 mile walk, uphill through vast cliffs, in the pitch dark, as cars zoomed past. After giving up on hitchhiking, we pretended we were in 'Lord of the Rings.' It took about an hour to get back to the tent.

The underground caves were fun, though our 12 year old tour guide looked like he'd rather be at home smoking pot, and seemed extremely bored as he regurgitated appaulingly unfunny jokes and subjected us to shouting at another boat, pretending we had been down there for two weeks. Chris told them they were dead. We were frowned upon by the families and dear old ladies, partly because Chris was smoking in the queue, but largely because we are a young, unmarried, childless couple.

The highlight of the holiday was definately a good old fashioned cream tea, with clotted cream and jam, in Rose's Cafe. Delightful.

A guide to Scottishness

Following on from a conversation I had with a fellow Scot living in England the other day, I thought I should clear a few things up for those of you English folk who are not educated in the ways of us 'blue skinned rain merchants of the north' (thanks to Luke for that title):

1/Language
It is a common misconception that us Scots say 'och aye the noo'. We have never, and will never use that phrase in everyday conversation. We regularly say 'Och' and 'aye' as two separate words; which are basically the equivalent of 'oh' and 'yes'. 'The noo' is only used in certain parts of Scotland. It is common to hear in central Scotland, in the less privileged parts of society. Basically it's a chav way of saying 'now'. So 'och aye the noo' roughly translates as 'oh yes now'. Sex noises spring to mind, no? Any grey haired scotsman with a kilt looking at you with a cheeky smile and saying this is perving on you.

Also, accents do vary drastically across Scotland To the untrained English ear, it may sound "the same". That's like your parents claiming that Pantera sounded "the same" as Green Day when you were younger. They never thought that. They were just too obnoxious to listen to either band and admit there was a difference.

Aberdonians speak Doric, e.g. "Fit like" and "Foos yer doos." Glasgwegian speak Weeg, e.g. "Get it up ye" and "d'ya waant a burst mooth?". And let's not start on the Hebrideans.

2/Food
Yes, sometimes we eat deep fried goods. But no more than the rest of Britain. There are a lot more chippies (fish and chip shops) in Sheffield than there are in Perth, and I've seen more deep fried fish eating here than I ever have in my home town. I once ate the Scottish delicacy deep fried mars bar about ten years ago, and still haven't quite recovered from the shock.

And Haggis IS a real animal. Fact. Proof: http://haggishunt.scotsman.com/

3/Scotland does not need England. When Scotland had independence they were perfectly happy, and neither the Scots nor the English particularly wanted a union. The Scots are on the whole content with their own government, with SNP in power and Alex Salmond as leader. Compare: Labour and Gordon Brown. Plus, need I say it, we have the oil. Plus we invented everything:



This does not mean I necessarily back Scottish Independence. I'm just disagreeing with the Sassenachs who claim we can't live without England. I like England, hence the fact I now live here. Both my parents are (largely) English. However I have found some fairly backwards views about our bonnie country since moving down here, and I hope this clears a few of them up.