It is 4am when my alarm goes off. This is hideous. Four in the morning is a time when no one should
ever be awake, and yet off I go, in my suit, through the eerie streets of London, down to a deserted
Westminster. Even the birds are still asleep.
I’m heading to the Sky offices, where I’ll be shadowing Sky’s Political Correspondent, Sophy Ridge,
who has responded to my demanding/badgering emails by inviting me into the office, rather than
by telling me to piss off and leave her alone. Persistence clearly pays.
Sophy works the 5am shift and is all alone in a giant newsroom full of empty desks and flashing
screens when I arrive. This is the Westminster office, base camp for many of the correspondents,
although the programme is mainly broadcast from East London. I am given the task of scanning
the morning papers for any unnoticed news stories, and although In the end it seems that Sky has
already noticed all the stories of the day, at least I get to read the morning papers over my morning
toast.
At 6am, the ‘Sunrise’ morning news show comes on air and goes live to their Political Correspondent
in Westminster for the latest. Sophy has written out her story and now delivers it from behind the
studio’s newsdesk. I suddenly notice that I’m in the background of the shot, and try to look casual-
but-important.
As the morning wears on, the office starts to fill up a bit. No major stories break and so I don’t get to
see reporters rushing around making important phone calls and having witty high-speed arguments
a la Aaron Sorkin’s Newsroom, but the everyday bustle is enough to keep me entertained. A minister
has given an interview – but where has the footage gone? How should a poll question be phrased for
maximum impact without being overly biased? How important is the latest bout of violence in the
Middle East? And what kinds of amusing names can you have written on your Starbucks cup?
The correspondents also have to keep the Sky website updated with news and analysis, so Sophy
suggests I come up with some ideas for articles that she could write. I have a think and pitch some
to her – she’s enthusiastic about them all, which is gratifying, but she may well be humouring me.
In any case, it’s fun to have something to do which seems vaguely useful and which doesn’t fall into
one of the pitfalls of shadowing: either you’ll come too far out of the shadows and get in the way, or
you’ll stick to the shadows and never see a thing.
Then we go to Parliament, and in the company of a political correspondent I get to see far more
than you do on your average school trip. We stride through the corridors of Westminster, visiting
the MPs’ bars, the newspapers’ offices, the press gallery of the Commons chamber, and at one point
ending up on the roof (with a close-up view of Big Ben). These halls of power feel like hallowed
ground, upon which I must walk reverently. Naturally I must also snap as many photos as possible on
my phone.
Sophy gets permission to take me the ‘lobby briefing’, where the Prime Minister’s spokesman briefs
the press. In a small and fusty room full of chairs and sofas, journalists gather with their notepads
and voice recorders. The spokesman (Steve Field) arrives, and from this point no one can leave the
room or make contact with the outside world; nobody gets a head start on the story.
And so the battle begins. The reporters try to extract something quotable from the spokesman,
while he doggedly sticks to what he wants to say and holds his ground. In one particularly great
exchange, almost every journalist in the room asks him whether the PM thinks that a policeman
accused of involvement in the Hillsborough cover-up should be stripped of his knighthood: they
cite the Fred Goodwin case and try to establish how the procedure works, but all they get is ‘that is
a matter for the Forfeiture Committee.’ It’s such a parody of political question-dodging that I have
to try very hard not to giggle. He does, however, say something very quotable about the security of
diplomats in the Middle East, and so once the doors are open we dash out and call the newsdesk.
Back in the office I eavesdrop, read articles online, and look over people’s shoulders to see what
they’re up to. These are areas in which I already excel so I’m happy enough to showcase my skills in
this capacity.
Lunchtime arrives, which is great, because I’ve been ready for lunch for about three hours (I feel
jetlagged). We go out for lunch with Deputy Political Editor Joey Jones and Business Correspondent
Alistair Bunkall! This is very exciting. Going out for a gossipy pub lunch with a bunch of journalists
is an unexpected bonus. And the gossip is great (if only I could keep track of all the names
mentioned…). There’s talk of affairs and confrontations and unwanted advances – the world of
politics and journalism seems very tight-knit and scandalous indeed. I listen intently, wide-eyed over
my orange juice. We do try our best, but we just don’t get this calibre of intrigue at Cherwell.
Then the conversation turns to talk of journalism as a career, which is ideal, because (no prizes for
noticing) I am pretty keen on this profession. These three are far more positive about the future
of the press than most journalists I have met, who have been talking doom-and-gloom about the
industry for a while now. I gather the following: postgrad courses in journalism can be useful; you
absolutely have to master the Twittersphere as a wannabe journalist; even if you graduate without
much experience, there’s still time to try; and if you’re good, there’s no reason you shouldn’t
succeed. All very cheerful and comforting.
It feels strange to finish work in the early afternoon when the office is busy and London is still
bustling with people on their lunch breaks, but I’m very satisfied with my day at work. Maybe I’ve
been seduced by the feeling of being right at the centre of everything, but I just can’t imagine ever
getting bored of this world.
It is 4am when my alarm goes off. This is hideous. Four in the morning is a time when no one should ever be awake, and yet off I go, in my suit, through the eerie streets of London, down to a deserted Westminster.Even the birds are still asleep.
I’m heading to the Sky offices, where I’ll be shadowing Sky’s Political Correspondent, Sophy Ridge, who has responded to my demanding/badgering emails by inviting me into the office, rather than by telling me to piss off and leave her alone. Persistence clearly pays off. Sophy works the 5am shift and is all alone in a giant newsroom full of empty desks and flashing screens when I arrive. This is the Westminster office, base camp for many of the correspondents, although the programme is mainly broadcast from East London. I am given the task of scanning the morning papers for any unnoticed news stories, and although In the end it seems that Sky has already noticed all the stories of the day, at least I get to read the morning papers over my toast.
At 6am, the ‘Sunrise’ morning news show comes on air and goes live to their Political Correspondent in Westminster for the latest. Sophy has written out her story and now delivers it from behind the studio’s newsdesk. I suddenly notice that I’m in the background of the shot, and try to look casual-but-important. As the morning wears on, the office starts to fill up a bit. No major stories break and so I don’t get to see reporters rushing around making important phone calls and having witty high-speed arguments a la Aaron Sorkin’s Newsroom, but the everyday bustle is enough to keep me entertained. A minister has given an interview – but where has the footage gone? How should a poll question be phrased for maximum impact without being overly biased? How important is the latest bout of violence in the Middle East? And what kinds of amusing names can you have written on your Starbucks cup?
The correspondents also have to keep the Sky website updated with news and analysis, so Sophy suggests I come up with some ideas for articles that she could write. I have a think and pitch some to her – she’s enthusiastic about them all, which is gratifying, but she may well be humouring me. In any case, it’s fun to have something to do which seems vaguely useful and which doesn’t fall into one of the pitfalls of shadowing: either you’ll come too far out of the shadows and get in the way, or you’ll stick to the shadows and never see a thing.
Next, we go to Parliament, and in the company of a political correspondent I get to see far morethan you do on your average school trip. We stride through the corridors of Westminster, visiting the MPs’ bars, the newspapers’ offices, the press gallery of the Commons chamber, and at one point end up on the roof (with a close-up view of Big Ben). These halls of power feel like hallowed ground, upon which I must walk reverently. Naturally I must also snap as many photos as possible on my phone.
Sophy gets permission to take me the ‘lobby briefing’, where the Prime Minister’s spokesman briefs the press. In a small and fusty room full of chairs and sofas, journalists gather with their notepads and voice recorders. The spokesman (Steve Field) arrives, and from this point no one can leave the room or make contact with the outside world; nobody gets a head start on the story. And so the battle begins. The reporters try to extract something quotable from the spokesman,while he doggedly sticks to what he wants to say and holds his ground. In one particularly great exchange, almost every journalist in the room asks him whether the PM thinks that a policeman accused of involvement in the Hillsborough cover-up should be stripped of his knighthood: they cite the Fred Goodwin case and try to establish how the procedure works, but all they get is ‘that is a matter for the Forfeiture Committee.’ It’s such a parody of political question-dodging that I have to try very hard not to giggle. He does, however, say something very quotable about the security of diplomats in the Middle East, and so once the doors are open we dash out and call the newsdesk.
Back in the office I eavesdrop, read articles online, and look over people’s shoulders to see what they’re up to. These are areas in which I already excel so I’m happy enough to showcase my skills inthis capacity. Lunchtime arrives, which is great, because I’ve been ready for lunch for about three hours (I feel jetlagged). We go out for lunch with Deputy Political Editor Joey Jones and Business Correspondent Alistair Bunkall! This is very exciting. Going out for a gossipy pub lunch with a bunch of journalists is an unexpected bonus. And the gossip is great (if only I could keep track of all the names mentioned…). There’s talk of affairs and confrontations and unwanted advances – the world of politics and journalism seems very tight-knit and scandalous indeed. I listen intently, wide-eyed over my orange juice.
We do try our best, but we just don’t get this calibre of intrigue at Cherwell. Then the conversation turns to talk of journalism as a career, which is ideal, because (no prizes for noticing) I am pretty keen on this profession. These three are far more positive about the future of the press than most journalists I have met, who have been talking doom-and-gloom about theindustry for a while now. I gather the following: postgrad courses in journalism can be useful; you absolutely have to master the Twittersphere as a wannabe journalist; even if you graduate without much experience, there’s still time to try; and if you’re good, there’s no reason you shouldn’t succeed. All very cheerful and comforting. It feels strange to finish work in the early afternoon when the office is busy and London is still bustling with people on their lunch breaks, but I’m very satisfied with my day at work. Maybe I’ve been seduced by the feeling of being right at the centre of everything, but I just can’t imagine ever getting bored of this world.
