Low life
Pay through the nose
Jeffrey Bernard
'remain as unmoved as Mount Rush- more when I hear of hundreds of journal- ists being sacked by Mr Murdoch or whoever. Most of these people are paid anything between £15,000 and £20,000 a year to write on average 250 words a week and are given an office in which to make free telephone calls and instant coffee. They should find it very bracing to come outside into cooler climes. Last week the Sunday Telegraph magazine, edited by the man who asked Graham Greene twice to rewrite a piece, invited me to be on a panel of judges to taste mineral waters flat and fizzy. The tasting took place at the RAC Club. Not only did they not pay, I wasn't even offered my taxi fares there and back and worst of all we were not even given a courtesy drink after the ghastly tasting was over. There's a lack of style about that. But it gets worse. I was commissioned to do some work for the Sunday Express maga- zine, quite a lot, got two different briefs for the job, chose the wrong one but have not yet got one single penny fee. I'm not quite sure how two gnomes like Ron Hall and the perfectly formed Pauline Peters can justify such meanness with their prop- rietors' money. At least Mr Shah's paper is written by machines and not people, or so I assume by its appalling content — although I gather the delectable Joanna Lumley has contributed a piece — but I once heard someone say, while poncing a drink in Scribes Club, that they wrote for the Sun. I didn't think anyone wrote for the Sun although I am aware of the fact that a lot of people are paid very well by the Sun. For what exactly we shall probably never know.
Every once in a while, lunatic under- graduates write to me to ask how they can get into journalism. The answer to that is that I do not know the answer to that. I suppose you have to be good at making instant coffee and have a good telephone manner. Now, is all this envy sour grapes and bitterness on my part? Not really. It's a sort of utter contempt for people who can't sleep without a hundred cushions. It isn't just editors but also governments who almost persecute the self-employed. But then if you haven't got a staff job you have only yourself to blame. It probably means that you are unreliable and so permanently pissed that you have only managed to write 500 columns over the past ten years. I am, of course, going round the bend. But then the Sporting Life have not paid me since 12 December. Think about it. Three and a half months. Staff writers would organise a general strike if they had to go that long without their wages.
So you want to get into journalism. Firstly, you must come to terms with the fact that there is no communication in the world of communication. (I have been waiting six days for a telephone call from Tatler.) Secondly, if you are a staff person, you must be able to appear to be working very hard while doing nothing. I once worked on a building site for three months and carried a piece of wood about all day. The foreman thought I was up to some complicated bit of carpentry. Idiot. Third- ly, hold your tongue. I quite like telling twits that they're twits, but it doesn't help if you want to get what's laughingly called on. Never screw the editor's secretary. I did once and she had a nervous breakdown and told all. Learn to live on your expenses and bank your pay. If an assignment comes up go sick. Drink your lunches. Stand self-righteously in the picket line if some- one says boo.
It is terrible to think that my dear old friend Elizabeth Smart got me my first job at this lark. We got drunk together one lunchtime and she took me back to her office at Queen and said to the editor, `Give him a job.' He did. Until then I was a reasonably happy, sane stage-hand.
God forgive you and rest in peace, Elizabeth. And if anybody writes to me to tell me that you only get out of life what you put into it I might just kill them.
PS. I've just received a letter from the Telegraph magazine offering me some money and I on my part have had to apologise for screaming at the editor's secretary on the telephone.
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