Actually, the truth is that I was sick of the crap money and long hours. By the time I was about to hand my cards in, I was a Sub-Editor and was offered a promotion to Production Manager. Granted, this was for a small publishing company, but even then I knew it would provide contacts and experience to move up in the world: the guy who had vacated that role had done so to essentially take a dream job with a famous English sports team. But I'd decided at that point that I preferred being home for five in the evening every day, rather than seven some days and past midnight on others.
That said, the "arsehole" point stands when you check out a number of the prominent "columnists" that work for the leading UK tabloids. This is a position a journalist tends to rise to when it is proven their willingness to spout any old objectionable bollocks is matched only by how much of a fuckwit they are. Yet the rewards can be significant - take Richard Littlejohn, for example. A man who made a habit of spouting "you couldn't make it up!", only for it to be found out that he usually does. A man who shrugged off the murder of prostitutes by the serial killer Steven Wright because "none of them were going to cure cancer". He still calls women "birds" in the style of his beloved 70s TV shows, derides Health and Safety as meddling and is generally a total bellend.
Currently, he lives in gated community in Florida, paid for the huge sums of money he's paid by the Daily Mail. Thus, many look to follow in his steps. One such chancer is James Delingpole, who comes out with total arse discharge like this. I wouldn't recommend clicking that link if you get wound up too easily, and also because it probably helps him get paid. Needless to say, his views can perhaps be best summed up with this picture:
Men shouldn't play with dolls, it seems. And girls like pink. Let men be men, and let women get on with the important work of having babies and looking pretty. Evidence? Pah! He has anecdotal proof to back up his watertight assertions. The same way I can say my kid brother loved his My Little Pony dolls as a young lad. And he's not even gay, James! All the same, curse my parents for not smashing those dolls and insisting he play with a toy gun instead. It certainly explains why he's fucked up in life, being a respected teacher with a PhD and a stable relationship that's lasted over 10 years. But the bad news is, he's a teacher, so he can pass on his VILE POLITICALLY CORRECT views onto another generation. Oh, the horror.
See, I can do the whole "anecdotal evidence" thing too. Where's my column in a national newspaper?
Another reason Journalism wasn't the bag for me is my lack of patience with idiots - people like Sunny Jim, essentially. And my horrific spelling. Luckily, there are many other folk better than me for this. One such is this blogger here, who does a wonderful job of dismantling the article and the man himself. Even when he tries to be a smartarse on Twitter, she keeps her cool when I would have been banging on his door asking if he'd like to repeat himself to my face. Then to the pavement.
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