Its a Saturday, I’m at work (ugh!) and I know Twitter has taken over the sister’s and my life when I was chatting with her on Google Talk:
Me: “I’ve had a terrible day. This happened, that happened and then to top it off, this happened”
And since Twitter combined with overactive A/Cs that leave your fingers resembling icicles and writing deadlines has sapped my ability to blog for now, I’m going to be utterly lazy and just post my favorite bits and pieces culled from the Web.
Go into the average newspaper office and you’ll find the reporters staring at Sky News or the BBC or Al-Jazeera International.
But visit the studios of Sky News, the BBC or Al-Jazeera International, and you’ll discover that all the journalists there are reading newspapers. Its an odd form of osmosis which – being an old-fashioned reporter – I’m not very happy about. I still believe, along with an encouraging number of young Arab and Israeli reporters, that we’ve got to be out on the streets, just as I was when I started in journalism in the Blyth office of the Newcastle Evening Chronicle. So Fisk was prowling the streets of Cairo this week, hunting for Obama and Lady Hilary.
From the Guardian Blog: Is anything gained from reading aloud?
What all literary festivals are about, as well as meeting the authors and rummaging through the bookshops (and basking in the sun this year – hooray!) is being read to. Some people can’t hear the written word enough, perhaps because it invokes memories of our earliest literary experience, that of the parent reading to us at bedtime, filling our sleepy heads with Gothic castles and death-defying escapes and Moomins that then swirled about in there after the light went out. Others, though, resent it, possibly for much the same reason, that it seems to return you to a helpless, infantile state where you couldn’t just read books for yourself.