It is strange to look at the first day of a course and realise there are only eight weeks and four days left of it to complete. I spent three years working out the ‘exact ramifications of latent imagery within poetry’ and very little else during university. The idea, therefore, that shorthand, news, features, DTP, media law and goodness knows what else might be conquered in little over two months makes the heart sink, then beat a little faster than it should.


Round the table at the PMA centre, some were shivering due to the caffeine intake, others just from the cold and some even managed to hold off the shakes until we were given the course timetable. Despite my desperate efforts with a red biro, there seemed no way of converting the word ‘shorthand’ into ‘playtime’. Life it seems, as everyone keeps telling us, is only journalism and Sainsbury’s wraps for the next nine weeks.

While our business cards paint us as fully-fledged reporters, our drinking habits certainly don’t. Last night’s getting-to-know-you drinks were cut short by the fear-of-God look in everyone’s eyes. No hangover was definitely a good thing though, as today was the day we tackled the scariest news. Cue the Imperial March.
News is tricky. (Duh.) And figuring out what makes news and where you find it is even trickier. Some “Man bites dog” and “Romeo GP” painted a clear picture though, if a depressing one (I’m still an idealist and the notion that readers care more about ten people dead in Aldershot than 1,000 dead in Bangladesh is depressing.)
Keith’s style of running a class was a shock – a big change from Literature and Philosophy seminars, which are all about “perhaps”. Not at PMA. Wrong answers were brutally shot down, just like this passive sentence will be later.
Today was also the day of two firsts: Patricia Nemesis and actual writing. Patricia is the best, ever. I’d expected a test of some sort; it would’ve been in line with the picture Roberta and Keith painted of our shorthand teacher. Luckily not. Maybe Roberta and Keith were messing with our minds. Or maybe it will all hit the fan at some point. But I really can’t believe that Patricia would ever get mad at anything, apart from overly complex/simplified Teeline outlines.
The actual writing part was daunting. I’m sure there will be loads of red pen and rejection. I’m also sure there is a joke in there somewhere about how that doesn’t make it much different from my everyday life, but that’s inappropriate given we’ve only just met. And it doesn’t make any sense.
Ah well, we can only get better from here on in, right?

It’s Wednesday, 3 days into the course and nerves have settled to an even level of excitement and apprehension. The prospects of pop news quizzes that reveal our inability to read and yet retain no relevant facts, or the rejection reflected in our rising pile of rewrites is starting to be taken in our stride. We relax in the faith that Keith, Roberta and Andy will pull us through, and the fact that they have seen it all before.

Today was a day of realisations; PR reps are not a journalist’s best friend, in fact they make our lives rather difficult with unwavering agendas and dreadful press releases. Nothing can be taken at face value, and we must recognise news in what is staring us in the face. Teeline is (not) easy, no matter how many times we are told to write it, and sleep is a luxury that I will never take for granted again.

Saturday 12th January 2008

So, another day, another morning I wake up while seemingly the whole of London town is snoring merrily behind me. It’s only been five days but already my ears are scarred by the overuse of ‘snooze’ on my 57,000-decibel alarm clocks (three to be precise). Plus, I seem to spend the first hour of my waking life so consumed with sleep that I can hardly walk and am as blind as someone with a scarf over their head. But drag myself out of the ghetto of south London I do and up to PMA HQ.

Today was really good! Andy started the day by telling us all about the new NTCJ qualification trail and what exams and extra bits and bobs we would need to do to pass. (Ooh, exams. I’m already excited.) And then we were left with a GLORIOUS slice of time to squander on resubmissions as much as our fuzzied little brains would allow.

We also had our one-to-one’s with Roberta and a news quiz with Keith - where I surpassed myself once again with une point.

Soooo, I'm off to read some newspapers to catch up then I guess! Clickety-click.

It’s day 4 on the PMA training course and already I find myself killing two birds with one stone. No- I’m not that stressed yet that I’m taking out my anger on innocent sparrows (we’ll see what next week brings-it might be 8 sparrows and an army tank).

Instead, I’ve decided to be productive and start writing my blog on the tube home. I say write- it’s more like scrawling down illegible memoirs to the rhythms of ‘The Next Station Is’ by Unidentified Voiceover (available to download, along with ’Dear Mrs Sharver’ by Patricia Hampton).

Back to today. Seventy five per cent of which seemed to revolve around a story about BA flights from France to New York. I couldn’t help but think it was a case of cheese dangled in front of mouse, as I decided the only pilot we’d touch on was the auto version.

The day ended with that proverbial question: how do you ask a question? We quickly learnt that the way things currently stood we’d be asking lemons if they were bananas. You get the gist. I’m sure our interviewing skills will improve, as well as overall knowledge of citrus fruits.

Anyway, I’m off for my 5 a day- that’s rewrites, of course…

Monday...thought for the PMA musical (think The Sound of Music)...
Red pen on stories and failed resubmissions,
Wandering aimlessly at exhibitions,
Teeline and coffee and colleagues who sing, these are a few of my favorite things!
When the clock strikes, after midnight, I put down my pad,
and I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad!
Note to self...get some sleep...

Everybody turned up in smart outfits for a mystery field trip today.

Another hectic morning (today writing real time news) was followed up by 20 minutes for lunch - and to prepare for a trip down to Kensington Olympia to report on a major educational technology fair…talk about putting the skills in practice.

Tasked to look for needles in the gigantic haystack that was the 2008 BETT fair, we took off....if nothing else, the experience taught us to be creative about our supposed publications…luck for those of us who reached the Microsoft stand before others - it didn’t take long for the techies to figure out there was something odd about a bunch of PMA-reporters, all equipped with suspiciously similar queries about IT spending…

Fridays are not what they used to be was the conclusion of the day as we headed out to rest our aching feet for a a few hours before the first Saturday at school

Right... we've fixed the blog. I've put up a new list on the board (next to a rather attractive picture of Jacqui Smith et al) and we're finally away. Just in time for the first day of online journalism.

What we learned today is that people don't read what you write. dsf h sdkfh shdkj f shdfkj skjdf hksf skjf kjsd fhksf ksdjhf kjs fkj skjdhfk ksdjf ksjhf kjs kjfhskj h. If you were scanning, then tune back in around here... and don't forget to hyperlink.

I have a feeling that the rather ubiquitous work load of our 'vocation' is acrimoniously apprehending our private vacation. Oh if I could see Roberta and her red pen now! (BIG WORDS!!!). To the weekend and a numberless, double figured amount of rewrites. Cheers (holding up fake Red Bull and coffee).

Today is almost over and I am getting that awful Sunday vertigo. It doesn't help that I took today off and therefore feel less prepared for tomorrow than ever. Especially for Keith's piercing eye and "If you arrive at noon" at 120wpm.

Luckily, Freaky Friday (with LiLo and Jamie Lee Curtis) is the best live action Disney film ever and might assuage the guilt and worry for a while longer. Then, panic.

Monday 22nd, tabloids have dubbed it the worst day of the year, so it’s already started on a good note.
We were lured into a false sense of security this morning and granted the gift of two hours to catch up with work – surprising – yes – are we going to question it – no. Now some may ask ‘gift’? But when you have multiplying resubmissions and the impending doom of more to come, you treasure every second that can be added to your minutes of sleep.
We may have got too comfortable after being allowed to work at home Sunday, and then this morning, but Patricia soon kicked us out of it with 120 words a minute Teeline. Wondering what happened to 90, 100 and 110? Then we took an embarrassing assessment of our grammar and spelling with Keith. Katie is still looking for proof that it’s liquify not liquefy, and I am no longer allowed to use pretentious language or waffle…farewell my extensive collection of vocabulary and hello to simple, clear words.

Well, we are now firmly into week three and the pressure’s really starting to build up! News re-subs, features, the ominously present teeeeee liiiinnnneee and continual lack of sleep (due to trying to complete all of the above) are turning me into a mushy pea eating, coke drinking fiend. And has anyone thought of media law yet??
Today, apart from our daily hour and a half scribble session with our friends Patricia and tee-line, we were able to pretty much do what we wanted... as in FEATURE WRITING!! This, as I found out, is not just an extended form of news writing but something altogether different entirely. It needs (and I quote from Roberta) ‘PIZZAZ’. Good word!!
Significant things that happened this week:
1) I received my first ‘news story style’ text message from someone in my class.
2) ‘Thank you for your’ and ‘one million pounds’ have become common greetings currency, much like 'hello’ or the secret handshake of the mafia.
3) THE MAGAZINE IS GOING TO PRESS IN THREE WEEKS!!!!! Aggh.

Argos must be wondering about the sharp increase in dictaphone sales this week (especially the cheaper models). We’re doing more features now and quite few of us have invested in gadgets to record our brilliant interviewing skills. The day was going well until Keith turned up with a pile of rejections for an earlier news writing exercise! Ah, live and learn…way to go til that 5-minute a piece target

‘A lot of people think, yeah, I’ll put up with news for two weeks, but what I’m really interested in is writing features’.

Sorry Roberta, but I’m one of those people. I‘ve found news so formulaic sometimes that I’ve been tempted to use a subliminal song lyric in a quotation, ‘Percy Price, managing director of Revlon said: “The moment I wake up, before I put on my makeup, I say a little prayer for the blue lipstick industry, which has been in slow decline over the past seven years.’

Features, then. I thought I was one of those ‘ideas’ people, that is, until Roberta asked us for one and then realised all I had was tumbleweed. Or rather a week story (ahem) about how days affect your mood.

It didn’t get much better when I thought I was onto a winner with ‘dog bark recognition’ and proclaimed it was invented by scientists in ‘Hungaria’. I blame lack of sleep, not geographical awareness, obviously.

The day ended with the furious writing of idealistic briefs (‘For this story I am going to talk to the prime minister, his mum, and a dog in Moscow) and I’m sure a high consumption of chocolate digestives.

Although, in light of my above statement of confidence in features writing, I doubt biscuits are all I’ll be eating.

End of week three. Why do I still get excited on Thursday night about the fact that Friday will soon be upon me? The weekend is here, think of all the things I could do! Yes, let's think. How about I get up at 7am and stand in the shower for ten minutes with my eyes sealed shut and my head on the tiles. Stumble into the bedroom to find anything left in my humble pile of clothing which could pass as washed and then make the trek across London to PMA. Spend a morning absorbing useful information followed by an afternoon trying fruitlessly to put it into effect. Now... I have a few options for Saturday night... Shorthand, re-subs or features, or maybe I'll mix it up a bit and get in all three. Finally, some media law for a little light bedtime reading, perhaps digested over a cheeky glass of merlot and then it's time to hit the pillow. I wonder what joys Sunday might hold?

This morning Andy told us he was our Dad. It came as a bit of a shock until he told us it was because if we didn’t apply for the internship with Lexus Nexis, he’d be having stern words. Lexus Nexis sounds intriguingly like a Bond villain, but sadly for us publishes "Taxation Today" and "Payroll Weekly". Apparently it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. This news did not have the uplifting effect intended

Luckily we were given quite an easy task to while away the rest of the day. Lucky, because otherwise we probably wouldn’t have known what to do with ourselves. I mean, it’s not like we’ve got gazillions of resubmissions, pages of teeline letters to messrs, Green, Brown, Jones, Day, Shava et al to learn as well as features projects coming out of our ears.

I am a joyful journalsist.

Yesterday was a bit of a gift. After the sheer hell of Sunday’s story-finding fest, Roberta talked us through what we were doing wrong. Overcomplicating everything, basically. We discovered that we all had a story. Only they were still buried in the mountains of research that we were stressing over.

We were also told to get over our collective phone-phobia and ring people to interview. So Monday afternoon saw us set up like a call centre: “Hello, I’m a journalist calling from Community Retailer …” But I think that we all made some kind of headway.

Just before we disappeared home for the evening, Katie, a former PMA student currently doing features at Retail Week, came to offer us advice. There was a general jaw-to-the-floor moment when she told us that they usually bashed out three news stories before 10.30am. Most of us had been struggling all weekend to write one!

"Blogging, What is this blogging? I'm far too busy to blog."

I'm not entirely sure if that's a quote from me or James (I'm not sure if James' would've been as polite). Time is of the essence with two weeks until print deadline and the first Community Retailer.

What this means is that I'm blogging at one in the morning instead of sleeping, eating absolute rubbish instead of cooking and worrying far too much about the affairs of a single gentleman. I will interview you Mr J*****, and I will find out what's been going on. You have been warned

Right, there should be at least some semblance of a sleep before waking up once more. Mrs Shava... if only I didn't have to dream of you.

January is over, not sure where it’s gone but we have 3 weeks to placement! Where many of us have the finishing line in sight, unfortunately we have mild obstacles like a magazine to get to print in two weeks, and exams that are off our radar. Deadlines are on top of us, we need to get the first copy of our features and news done so we have time to utilise our new fantastic subbing skills. The clock’s ticking. Today was the second day of subbing with Keith, the lovely man then gave us a gift of a few hours to catch up on work. Thank you Keith!

A few hours of people not answering our questions, not replying to our calls and realising our angle had no legs. Katie and I left on an exploration to Greenford, for an Ealing council meeting on small businesses for the magazine. Speaking to people that actually wanted to talk to us was a refreshing change – we might have a hope in getting this magazine out yet.

The tutors seem to have realised that if they don’t give us some time to work on the magazine, not only will it never happen, but there will probably also be a repeat of Jonestown in the Marsh Room.

So today started off with a (surprisingly productive) meeting about news and features for the magazine. It seems to be coming together, even if Jasper proves to push Alex over the edge.

All progress was tempered by the realisation that four makes-your-eyes-bleed subbing exercises plus a general feature are all due tomorrow. Badgers. Keith threw out my original feature idea, so I am scrabbling to get something done – something that doesn’t make me wilt inside like the regeneration feature did – by tomorrow. Unlikely.

Office miscreants have instituted a “swearbox”, which means we will now be charged for cuss words (up to £1). I am peeved. But at least it will encourage us to be more creative. If not, we can always get high off the mushy pea fumes and hope that helps.

Oh dear.

I was walking around the pound shop earlier this morning. It is perhaps the best place in the world for tat, and who doesn't love tat? The best bit was standing behind a perma-tanned 'yuufs' of about 15, mouthing off about not being able to buy party poppers because the little darlings were under 18.

What were they doing with party poppers? Perhaps they didn't read the word party. Is it even the school holidays? I am just contented that they made the most out of the sale at Elizabeth Duke. Argos and a pound shop, my morning was a welcome break from staring at grammatical errors.

I'm not sure which one upsets me more: chavs or the incorrect use of a possessive apostrophe. They do realise that the stereotype (Bovvvvered) is not a positive thing... right?

Everyone's started to go a bit mad. People are complaining about nothing in particular, and lack of sleep has provoked over-eager requests for speakers and a swear box (words so far include ****, Shava and general feature). You could say we can't see the wood for the trees, but then I'd have to shoot you.

The most outlandish request of all came from Keith, however, who expected us to count in broad daylight. The juxtaposition of this torment with amusing headlines thrust upon us such as 'Banana says sodomy charges are nonsense' added up to momentary hysteria (with reference to interviewing lemons in a previous blog, I can now confirm fruit interrogation is indeed alive and well).

The exit from headlines saw mixtures of regret, turmoil and a run to the nearest pub. I personally endured the daily London paper verses 'Lite' competition on the way to Morning Crescent, and fled home to my tub of nutella. The only thing keeping me sane...

3rd Feb, first Sunday at school…enough said.

But at least we didn’t need to turn up before 10. After crawling out of bed before dawn for four weeks already, this felt almost like a holiday. Well, I’m exaggerating of course but I’ve got to make do with what positive there is. Speaking of which, the thought we’re almost half way through now is amazing…in fact there’s just 17 more school mornings ahead of us, plus the two weeks of work experience. There, I can almost talk myself to believing I’ll be ok. Almost.

I think everyone has given up blogging, in favour of cheese strings and any form of caffeine product. The deadlines are hitting hard.

I fully intend to write a meaningful blog, with genuine content, when I am more awake than trying to spell cheese three times before getting it right. It’s just nice to write something that you don’t have to angle and back up with expert quotes. Neil Diamond said: “cheese strings are a great snack.” (that’s not true).

I think I’m a little delirious: too much cheese, red bull and no sleep at all is not good for uncovering government conspiracy. I might just start writing libels, just see what happens…now about that Alex Zane fellow…

jdfigdjjfjs pkmff. Just a quick example of the shorthand I transcribed from my last encounter with Patricia. "Teeline is easy." Oh really. Well I'm sorry I do not concur. In fact I find it slightly galling that the this was the first sentence we learnt in the accursed hieroglyph and in no way is it true. 6 weeks in and I still write faster in longhand.


Anyway never mind that nonsense, there's more important things to worry about. The external examiner from the ministry of truth is in today to assess how much work we haven't done. I confess I am a little worried about the fact that I haven't handed in my "Take your Mum To Camden Market" feature. I do have a good excuse for this. Its turgid. It's even more flaky than the "news" story I wrote on an Art exhibition which had neither a venue nor a date nor as far as I could see any artwork. But nevertheless I remain confident that all will go swimmingly. Please don't ask me what I'm basing that on.

Media Lawman, 'Sheriff' Adrian Macleod is in now to teach us how not to get sued. Hmmm better listen to this one.

Media law, while important, was not a priority yesterday given we go to press in two days. So Caroline and I wanged around Tooting today taking photos of unwilling locals and fruit (the fruit was pretty willing).
Now to laying up. It is hell. Roberta is panicking and I am head in hands. But we will style it out in the end, even if it means coups/stern words/locking tutors in their rooms/drinking in the office. By god, we will do it!

The first day of laying up using InDesign and I am truly spent. If I hear the words: "Go out there and find me a magazine that does that," one more time, I think I will hurl myself from the roof of the Crescent and blame it on the effects of the excessive amounts of chocolate I have shoved down my throat at PMA. Oh and let's not forget the diet coke. InDesign?? Talk to Frank... He truly can can help!

Hello again. How are you? Are you having a good week? Oh really, you went to the theatre? That’s wonderful!

Talking to oneself on a computer is always a good start.

It's 1900 hours on week five-and-two-fifths and to say stress levels have reached an all-time high is almost as much of an understatement as saying Mr Blobby had a rather large behind. Our magazine goes to press in two days and is pretty much consuming all sense of sanity in PMA towers.

Everyone is coping in different ways. Crying, laughing hysterically, drinking inordinate amounts of diet coke…. I, on the other hand, have buit up quite an alarming addition to mushy peas. Cold mushy peas at that. Roberta even commented the other day: “God Alice, you must be stressed, you’ve already eaten two cans.” This was at 8.30am.

But stress levels aside, we’re still alive. Teeline is still merrily rolling along, and a new game (that PMA likes to call ‘media law’) has been brought to the forefront. Available in full-colour in all good retail shops…..

7 Feb 2008

Hell … your name is inDesign. So, today our group (Marli, Hannah, James, Emma and me) got to experience the joy of all-singing, all-dancing Frank and his incredible layouts. I guess I’m one of those people who either takes to something and loves it, or struggles and HATES it. Obviously inDesign is necessary if you’re hoping to be a journalist, so I guess I’m just going to have to persevere.

This evening I went to interview the owner of Mirch Masala. The hospitality and copious amounts of free food made up for the fact that it was out in the sticks ... although having to smell gorgeous chicken tikka masala throughout a one and a half hour journey, minus a fork or spoon, was less than fun.

Tomorrow is features editing crunch-day, so I’m gonna get an early night. By the way, has anyone else noticed a shift in their definition of early, recently?

No rest for a PMA postgrad. It’s Sunday, 7am and I’m off to Brick Lane this morning to get our cover picture for Community Retailer. Four days till we go to print and time to blitz the photography!! While Alex (my fashionista bodyguard) and me go shopping – sorry take photographs, the rest of the Editors slave away hacking copy at PMA. Camden was a blaze last night and the horrific realisation that we’ve become journalists dawned on me. My first thoughts were, what photo ops can I get and what stories can come out of it? This will be my second stop before I settle at PMA for the rest of the day – and night. Our designs with dear Frank for the magazine must be amended because the cutting edge style is not appropriate for a B2B publication – we all thought it looked great! Even the professional! So today must be spent redesigning, finalising copy and re-doing the flat plan in time for Monday, when we have to do it all over again once it’s been vetted by the big wigs. Time is tight, nerves are frail, and that disclaimer saying we will lose nine pounds through stress is utter crap! My ass is bigger than ever before!

These days, the brief encounters I have with my duvet are worryingly infiltrated with dreams in teeline (I wouldn't have thought that was possible either until it actually happened).

I have started seeing the world through Community Retail tinted glasses. This is not good and I'll be very relieved to get back my normal 20-20 vision on Thursday. I hope I'm not speaking too soon but once the magazine is finished I think we'll all feel quite proud of ourselves. It has been quite a slog. Now I have to go. I've got 24 pages to sub-edit before 8.30 tomorrow morning...

Tuesday was the first production day for Community Retailer...blood, sweat and tears? Maybe not quite but it was it was a daunting realisation that a magazine would have to go to print in three days’ time. If nothing else, many of us had to learn the hard way that the devil is indeed in the detail….and in planning. Was that resolution not so great after all? Who the hell did the sub-edit for this, and what do you mean there’s no space for those photos that took hours of battling the crowds to get…But it was good to get to real work after Monday’s media law bore (sorry Adrian, it’s not your fault…;)

It’s Valentines' day – a time to be with loved ones. And yet here we are, holed-up in PMA towers, in what feels like some strange Community Retailer based limbo. Half the room, mostly designers and subs, are manically faffing with lay-outs. But, to a man, we are bracing ourselves for the inevitable moment when Keith bursts out of the Design Room, howling: “It’s a disaster!” and starts the panic afresh.
Roberta has already put her food down and said that we need two extra NIBs per column. Every piece of paper clutched in her hand is scribbled with red pen – not good.
Kept alive by Katie’s bumper pack of Quality Street and mugs of strong sugary tea, we’re pressing on till dawn!

Oh bollocks! Sorry Roberta, I meant 'foot'. Like Keith said: "Don't trust spellcheck."

There is something on my desktop called 'eggsurvey2007'.

Why. WHY. SOMEONE TELL ME WHY!

But enough about that. Through acute scientific calculations, I have come to the conclusion that too many things have happened this afternoon to fit into a coherent paragraph. Here's a not-so-calculated splurge:

- Katie: 'Cremated people scream'... Alex: 'Where's crisp street?'

- (looking for nibs) 'Hannah 'a man's been murdered'. J***s 'was he ethnic?' (someone else): 'Did he run a shop?'

- Roberta: 'An editor is a publisher in drag' (I'm not sure why I find this amusing, but I thought I'd better conserve it lest it gets lost forever)

- My stag/old woman/lift caption: "come here often?" "sorry, I don't go for old deers"

- James: 'I had my own driver in jersey'

-Alice: 'I quite fancy Boris Johnson' (to be fair, who doesn't)

A lot more things have happened, which are probably not publishable, then again this may just be a cover up for the fact that the day's been so long, I don't quite remember.

Oh wait. A 'secret' valentines card has been identified as a sentiment by PMA.

Marli: 'That just creeps me out'

This day, has definitely not been normal.

sorry, I forgot a personal favourite from Julia

Julia: 'Keith, I don't speak bollocks, can you help me?'

Does anyone else feel like they've just been let out of their cage? I don't know if I'm quite ready to function outside of the PMA circle. I don't think banging your head on the keyboard and howling "what the f**k am I doing" will elicit the same amout of sympathy as it does when you're at good ol' PMA. Everyone at Media Week is really nice, so don't wanna let them down by forgetting EVERYTHING. Hope you're enjoying your work experience, y'all! And good luck with those re-subs. Ju xxx

I'm not sure if this blog is borne out of confession, procrastination or the fact I'm just checking I'm still alive.

Either way, I'm not dead yet, I'm wasting time, and I'm pretty sure I've left one of Keith's resubs in Pret a Manger.

Which, if you think about it, is a blessing in disguise. Staff have a right to know about a hovercraft that saved a number of children and adults in an area which I have forgotten. Even if it was the wrong angle and didn't meet the brief.

I have an alternate theory, though.

What may possibly-but-probably-infact-definitely did OR did not happen, was this. I was eating lunch with Julia, when a woman at the next table praised her on her jewellery. The shock that a stranger in London would talk to another (bar asking what the time is and where the train terminates) made us momentarily forget our surroundings, and possibly time itself. Either way, she blatantly nicked hovercraft on the sly.

Or maybe it was in my red folder all along and I'm just writing this to get attention...

Oh. Dear.

Indeed, Emma. She looked like the kind to steal a nib. Am still stuck in the strange vortex that opened up immediately after the incident. I will see you all on Monday for news writing exam ... if I get out.