I do like this: anti-outrage blogging . I was thinking along similar lines the other day, as it’s getting harder and harder for me to find things to get OUTRAGED  over, or if I get angry it soon dissipates before I can get near a keyboard.
Maybe journalists act as an outrage sponge. We soak up other people’s outrage on their behalf and put it into a finely honed and balanced story  , a cathartic exercise which means we don’t have time for any outrage of our own.
A quick aside: this quite probably applies to the sub-editors responsible for headline writing in newspapers. I have a theory they don’t actually write the headlines, they simply kidnap stressed people from the street, poke them with sticks for a couple of hours before telling the person their cat’s been run over. At this point they pose the question: “What’s your opinion of the government’s proposal to raise taxes to improve school dinners?”
“Ahhhhhtheabsolutebastards… stealingourmoneytopayforungreatfulkidstoeatburgers. An absolute OUTRAGE.”
This then translates into a front page headline of: “Now your taxes pay for kids to eat burgers.” 
On the old blog, I’d rant until the keyboard collapsed and I fell to the ground in a foaming fit of apoplexy. Here I’m more likely to adopt a Gallic-style shrug and go and get a cup of coffee or, as is more likely, tea  . This past week I’ve not been getting outraged about lap-dancing clubs, Chelsea FC, bad TV, council tax going up, air tax and Iraq. Honestly, what can you do, apart from have a biscuit with your cuppa?
I’ve not gone completely soft though. I was sufficiently angered by one media outlet’s treatment of a paedophile story to shout in the direction of my nonplussed housemate fora good 90 seconds, and don’t get me started on the woman who couldn’t work out I wasn’t reversing on my street because I wanted to get into the parking spaced she’d stopped by in expectation of me reversing back all the way up the hill, despite the fact I was clearly indicating and gesticulating that I wanted to pull into the space, as well as the minimal distance she’d have to reverse before there was an actual passing point.
But even then I wasn’t outraged. Just rather annoyed.
 Copyright, Daily Mail.
 Well, it’s a nice theory. A sort of utilitarian journalistic utopia, if you will. But i fear it remains just that: a utopia.
 Everybody knows the word ‘Now’ is just shorthand for ‘just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse’.
 Although this is generally my default situation. Slow news day: have a cup of tea. Stressful news tea: have a cup of tea. Football reporting: have a cup of tea while I’m waiting to do interviews. Hostage situation: pop round a nearby house for a cuppa during a lull. Chemical fire: nip back to the office, which is only 5 minutes away, for a cup of tea. The reason I was so grumpy by the end the week of the beached ship was down to the fact it’s incredibly difficult to get a decent cup of tea on a cold beach in the middle on winter. Thank goodness for the Salvation Army, who came along to assist midway through the week.