I must be dreaming

I’m sure most broadcast journalists have had a similar dream: you arrive late at work one day only to be told you’re reading the news in the next few minutes. There are no computers, scripts, or printers, and you end up reading whatever happens to be close to hand, which is usually a telephone directory.

Last night, I had the other journalism dream: I come into work arrived with a host of great stories and after pitching each one, the editor says: “How is that relevant to our listeners in x,” which is usually the furthest and most obscure point from the epicentre of the story and so each story is rejected. I’m then handed a series of more “newsworthy” stories, all of which are ridiculously complicated or nearly impossible to tackle, and nobody will speak to me on any of them.

I woke up in a cold sweat this morning and my immediate thought was: “Shit, we have no news.” Then I remembered that I don’t work in that field any more, and went back to sleep. It’s still pretty vivid though; almost as the vivid dream I had last week where Kate Nash died and I spent the entire dream comparing the coverage on Sky and BBC.

In my defence, I’ve not been feeling that brilliant of late and I think this is affecting my subconscious. 

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