I never wanted to work in the music industry. When I was a teenager and a couple of friends mentioned I should think about getting paid to write about music I dismissed it out of hand. I wasn’t even making any judgements about the type of environment that music magazines grew out of, I just knew it wasn’t my environment, most likely would never be my environment. Okay, a lot of that feeling was probably down to teenage self-loathing, but in retrospect there was a dash of realism in there too. By the time I got to uni and actually started getting my stuff in print (unpaid, of course) it was something I thought about quite a bit, with a little more confidence, and I came to pretty much the same conclusions. I liked writing about music, but it was a hobby. There was no way it would pay enough (though I’d seen reason to doubt that), but more importantly once I’d spoken to a few PRs I realised the obligation to be nice about stuff all the time would wear thin really quickly. And I was under no illusion that journalism was a whole lot different from PR. All part of the same machine, all paid for out of the same money. Even when I came down to Brighton to study journalism I didn’t figure I’d be making any money from music journalism. Anything but music journalism. But here I am. Because I never could quite figure out what my day job should be when people ask what I do that’s all I have. I was right about there not being a lot of money in it, and dismayed to report my attitude is still tainted by a smidgeon of that godawful self-loathing.