What journalists want! An interview with a regional business editor

 Ladies and gentlemen, I am waging a war. A war against bad PR.

As you read this, at least four journalists in the UK will have been affected by an episode of bad PR. These episodes can affect the nervous system, forcing muscles in the arm to contract and slam down a phone in seconds. Brief moments of depression are often reported afterwards, where journalists wonder whether it is worth carrying on. Experts often prescribe caffeine straight afterwards to help persuade journalists not to slip too far into this state.

But you and I both know that is just a sticking plaster – one where the sticky stuff is wearing out.

Here are some graphic incidents of bad PR:

Phone call #1

PR person: “Hi I have this story for you, we’re a marketing agency representing a shoe factory in Midsummer and –“

Journalist: “We’re in Oxdown. That’s 80 miles away.”

PR: “Oh, er, sorry… bye” *click*

Phone call #2

Journalist: “This press release you have sent – says in your survey that 60 per cent of 30-year-olds have overdosed on Acme profiteroles and had hot flushes. Were any from our town? The data in it seems a bit general.”

PR person: “Oh, um, er, let me check. Bye” *click* - never rings back

Phone call #3

PR person: “Hi, were you interested in our lifesaving new product?”

Journalist: “Not sure mascara really saves lives. Thank you. Bye.” *click*

Although made “hilarious” for your reading pleasure, these are only slightly altered versions of the real thing – calls made daily from less-good PR folk who have sent out wrong, or frankly meaningless, messages to journalists.

I know, because I endured it as a reporter. As a PR man, it drags what I do into disrepute, or at best mediocrity.

One other person who has dealt with the same thing, and I concede has had much more years in the reporting hotseat, is business editor for the south Humber Bank, Dave Laister. Dave has a wealth of  “unique” reporting experiences. These include everything from being smuggled into a buy-out meeting, wearing a hi-vis 007 henchman overall and, 15 years ago, reporting on A-Level results… as he collected his.

But despite a colourful career, he maintains he is not an expert in business.

“I don’t have a single business qualification to my name – everything I know I have learned from interviews with business owners and their staff. Journalism was what I wanted to do. English was my strongest subject, and reporting was something I was passionate about.”

After five years on newsdesk, Dave felt the draw of the news patch and couldn’t resist taking up a new reporting role.

He took the helm of the business desk, and covers news as it happens across North Lincolnshire and North East Lincolnshire ­– including industrial towns such as Grimsby and Scunthorpe – and includes Immingham, the country’s largest commercial port.

So what makes good news for him?

First it’s not any of my side-splitting examples, above. “We do get PRs acting for companies desperately trying to get free advert in the paper, for something which does not serve the wellbeing of the area. We get PRs sending stuff through which isn’t for the patch, having clearly not looked into the background of where we are,” he said.

“Then there are the odd stories which can get picked up by the national press; surveys which actually have nothing to do with your paper’s town or city. However it’s not obvious one way or another if they are anything to do with your town or city. Not obvious that is, until you ring them. Then the person on the other end of the phone says they will check their details and ring you back. Needless to say they don’t.”

So, if you think you can somehow pull wool over the eyes of someone who checks his emails for breakfast, and has done for 15 years, think again.

So what does work for him? Here is the good news. As a business editor he tries to look at every press release and takes every phone call: “I’d rather get nine pointless phone calls than none at all,” he said. “I’m always looking for a positive story about the area – we’re not redtop hacks who are going to go rummaging through your litter bins. I get no enjoyment in writing a negative piece about the town.”

In fact, it almost makes me wonder what it would be like if a mediocre PR person did get hacked, Leveson inquiry style, by a red top hack.

I guess that’s what media hell will be like – mediocre PRs being hacked by disgraced dead journalists, who will then print erroneous stories about lifesaving Acme profiteroles – before realising they’ve been scooped by a torch-wielding imp. And this goes on, and on, and on. Forever.

I’ve resorted to a “life rant” – read the shocking reason why

As those who read my old blog will know, I like to write about things which address the major issues, and all the moral dilemmas and twisty-turny circumstances which lie behind them. I always see life rants as a bit of a cheat, really, when it comes to blogs. You know what I mean: “I went out last night and it really annoyed me how blah, blah-blah blah blah…”. Where’s the ivory tower narcissism in that?

But, honestly, today my thoughts and language have ended up being those “of the gutter”. And because of that, I see no reason why my blog shouldn’t be of a similar snarky nature.

The cause? Car salesmen. And it is not for the reason you might imagine.

The reason was not because some Del-Boy Arthur Daley 80s wide boy accosted me, then prised money I didn’t have out of my pockets – and then left me cluttering down the road in a banger, with a dribble of telltale diesel coming from the back of it.

The reason is actually the complete opposite. Today I visited five (count ‘em) – that’s FIVE – dealerships with several grand budgeted on a used motor. I was not approached on a single forecourt. I was peered at, smiled at and scowled at, but not once did anybody come up to me and ask if I would like any help.

Must be that I have one of those faces. Maybe being ginger – sorry, I mean strawberry blonde – carries with it an extra ferocity which I take for granted, but which generally makes people freeze with fear. Or maybe it was cold today, and nobody wants to go out in the cold. Except me, with short sleeves; which means it wasn’t that bad.

Thing is these guy were missing a trick. They had a duck in a barrel on a forecourt crying out to spend money on a car (please don’t add all these images up, it just doesn’t work).

In my time I’ve sold suitcases, for no commission, with more passion than these guys have. I actually had a hard case roll off a podium, smack me on the head and I still carried on trying to sell to my customer… until she quietly pointed out there was red on my forehead, and that I should go to hospital, really.

Now I’m not proposing some sort of bootcamp for sales people, where I hurl ignorant abuse at them, chuck large articles at their head and have them picked off by a sniper if they don’t say hello to a dummy customer in 10 seconds (unless by some chance you are from the telly, then maybe I am – call me!). What I’m saying is if someone is stood there trying to look at one of their cars, and the effect of cars is to illicit a look of cluelessness about their face, any salesperson looking on should saunter over and take me for the mug I am.

Now I’m not saying that this is all car salespeople – I’m sure many of them are great – but, and it is a big but, you can have the likes of Mary Portas do intensive work with the government and individual shops, but it is pointless if the people don’t walk the walk and sell afterwards.

There’s a reason I’m upset. I came to the area and covered it as a journalist for years, and watched the recession sink its claws in deep. And I know there are a lot of people who do try to sell in the area as part of their day job, and go home feeling like a failure because they haven’t had a bite. I know that feeling, so it makes it doubly frustrating if there are people; maybe people they work with; who can’t be bothered to venture into 16 degrees centigrade to get that sale.

So I’ll be heading out there again tomorrow, with a wad of virtual cash on my debit card trying to buy a car again. Look out for me if you’re a car salesperson. It’s hard to miss me. ­ I’m tall, “strawberry blonde”, and have a look of cluelessness on my face whenever I look at a car. Move in.