Pondering musicality

It was only a matter of time before I decided that it was going to happen. Inspired by the wonderful musicians I met at Whitley Bay this year, I was finally motivated to do what I'd been put off doing for a long time: learn an instrument. And my choice? Of course - it has to be the trumpet.

Taking this up has lead me to ponder my musicality, and whether it is inherent to all of us. When I was dancing around at Whitley Bay with Bridget, it felt instinctive to me when each break would happen and we woukd momentarily stop and start to the beat.

Jazz music speaks to me like nothing else does. I sit listening to it for hours a day. I can hear each note of so many songs right now, the collective improvisation and sheer drive of it all. I can never get bored of it because each time I listen to the same song it sounds different. It's quite hard to explain but it just seems to stick in my head so much more than any other type of music does.

I hope that one day I will be able to jam to my favourite records, but that time will be many years away. For now, I'm just going to learn for fun - and hope I can feed this desire for the hot rhythm that is eating away at me!

My newfound music idols!

Day in the life of a journo: Playing news crews with the big guys

Well yesterday was a memorable day in my journalism career so far. Two days earlier, we had received an email from the print tutor Tim, who were announcing an "exciting opportunity at RAF Waddington". My journo senses twitched slightly. He was secretive on what was happening exactly, but promised it would be worth our while if we attended.

"Stick me down for this Tim", was my immediate reply. Once again the advantage of having blackberries was apparent to me. I wandered next door and spoke to two other tutors who were just as unsure about what was going on about me. All they knew was that it was something big. And I knew it was all I'd ever wanted to cover as a journalism student.

About an hour later I got a reply from my original email, giving me some more information about what was happening:

"The Deputy Prime Minister, the Rt Hon Nick Clegg MP, will visit RAF Waddington, near Lincoln, on Thursday 3rd November 2011, to welcome home and congratulate UK Armed Forces personnel who have successfully completed the UK Air Component's mission in Libya, under the auspices of United Nations Security Council Resolution 1973.

The event will be attended by personnel from the RAF, Royal Navy and Army, who have recently returned from flying or supporting missions as part of international efforts in Libya. Your organisation is invited as there will be military assets from your region, here at the facility.

The Deputy Prime Minister will be available for interview".

My mouth dropped slightly. Nick Clegg? Really? My week was getting more hectic - first preparation with the Westborough Baptist Church and now Nick Clegg. Without hesitation I confirmed my place on the trip and set about researching questions.

I was up until 11pm that night researching questions and then I collapsed onto my bed in a heap! The alarm at 6:45 came too quickly the next day. I literally jumped out of bed and got in to the shower - I think I was ready by 8:20 (after tying Jamie Freshwater's tie for him)

So off we went to the airbase. After being escorted to the car park, the first person to say hello to us was from Sky News, and then the rest of the vans rolled in. AFP, BBC National, ITV, Lincs FM, BBC Lincolnshire, The Sun - they were all there. I was petrified, really petrified. This was it - no calls from the newsroom to fluffy cat charities for soft news (as is usually the case for our newsdays), this was the real deal with the big players in the media business...and we were amongst it all.

It was initially quite a bizarre experience. We hung around in the aircraft hangar with the camera crews, then at the exact minute predicted in strode Nick Clegg. Straight over to the podium, delivered his speech and then off to meet troops. It was ridiculously choreographed down to the exact amount of minutes he had to spend with each crew. There was no flinching, the man knew what he was doing and he exerted confidence. He evidently had a good team of advisers.

Everywhere he went inside the hanger the media circus followed him. We were all briefed beforehand "Do not engage with DPM while he is talking to troops, this is his time". So whenever he went from one crew to the next, the cameras circling and photographers all went with him. Eventually he came to the assembled media for his press questioning. He had exactly 18 minutes to talk, which descended into a sort of free for all with various press shouting out questions to him. I was ducked down out of range of the television cameras, until my feet ached too much so I got on my knees onto the concrete runway.

Ow - take it from me, it hurt. Next time I go to an event like this I'm taking knee pads - not only was I kneeling on this, I had my arm raised above my head with the AFP microphone and my microphone in one hand, my Marantz in the other. My heart was racing - a foot away from me was the 2nd most powerful man in the UK, it was quite strange seeing him in the flesh. The other press asked their questions and I bit my lip - eventually I just shouted out mine. He turned, looked down at me (since I was waist level for him) and answered it! I've never felt so nervous, but ultimately proud about questioning a politicial heavyweight before.

The press conference was over after that, I turned to Emma and I couldn't stop grinning. I was there, doing what the national news crews do every day - and I loved it! When can I do it again?

Day in the life of a journo: Meeting the Westborough Baptist Church

The phone was in silent mode, I had my three peice suit on, the posters behind me had gone from the bedroom walls and I was sweating slightly into my shirt. I was ready for their call.

I think it's safe to say that this was the most daunting interview I had ever faced. I'd seen the documentary that Louis Theroux did - "The Most Hated Family In America" it proudly proclaimed. The documentary was an overnight success, bringing them a tonne of publicity. They had a Supreme Court judgement in their favour of freedom of expression, and even President Bush changed the law against them protesting so close to funerals. To say I was nervous was an understatement.

So the call came in, my back stiffened and I pressed answer call. Sat on the screen opposite me somewhere a few thousand miles away was their media spokesperson Steve Drain. He smiled and we launched in to our interview.

My impressions of him (as a representative of the group were this). Utter bemusement. Honestly, if I did not know what he stood for in life, I could have been chatting to anybody on the street. He struck me as a remarkably intelligent man, indeed he did confuse me at one point with a reply to one of my questions. Like all members, he believed that we would all perish in hell for not turning to God.

"Every day we get death threats, our church has been bombed, our church has been set on fire. People have used their powers to take our jobs, to take our children away from us. I've had people come up to me and threaten to assault me with a 2 X 4 iron bar".

It was an utterly bizarre situation, because if I didn't know he was a member of the WBC he could have been anyone. I told him about my time in the USA, about my record collection and in turn he talked about his appreciation for British rock. He asked me about Jacqui Smith, and how she banned him from entering the UK - and all the time I didn't detect any hint in his voice that he was insincere about what he was talking about.

Steve used to do philosophy at university so his arguments were airtight in his own way. I think the main thing that struck me was that he was so nice. Don't get me wrong, I could never sympathise with their own views - but I thought (and I told him) "I expected you to be this monster. Everybody knows the views that you hold, but I didn't expect you to be so polite and courteous towards me". I did ask him "Why haven't you told me I'm going to hell yet?" His reply was "Because you've been respectful in the way you approached me, but you should always know that there's an implication in everything I'm saying to you there".

It's left me with a feeling that perhaps good and evil isn't necesarily evident. Here was a man who admitted to having thousands of people following him on twitter "just to send him abuse", yet he told me what a polite and respectful man I was, and how much he loves our music scene.

The saying "never judge a book by it's cover" comes to mind here...