Blow-by-blow account

There I was, taking the opportunity to ping out a mss to a rather encouraging ebook publisher, when I looked at the date. Now October 16 may not mean much to you, but the phrase, The Great Storm, should.

I was a subeditor in Cambridge at the time, the morning after the storm hit. The one Michael Fish stuffed up? Now you remember. I'd been out with the other subs the night before and had the worst hangover of my life, and then the bastards made me splash sub. I had to collate ALL the news stories that were pouring in from all over the UK. The only bigger chaos than the landscape of southern Britain was in my brain. I made it through, but it's all a bit of a blur.

So, I did what mad writers do. Made a book out of it, combining all the newsroom stuff with a mishmash of my personal existence. I don't know why, but this book turned into a RANT. The most cathartic thing I've ever produced. It's also the first time I've ever typed f*** so many times.

Journos. You know what they're like.



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