The Next Day

I’m trying to avoid the mainstream media at the moment because I’m middle aged now and I don’t want to fuck with my blood pressure. Not in the mood with all the crap I just know is going to be on there about why Labour lost. But I’m in a political debates group and there’s a few Tories in there and one just came in sharing a troll post titled “How to Lose Elections and Alienate People” which got my blood boiling because I know this is what’s going down right now. Stuff about “radical policies” and how we need to keep quiet about blatant racism. But what really got to me was the line about Labour supporters “refusing to listen to alternative perspectives”. What they call an alternative perspective has been the mainstream since 1979. We’re sick of it because it’s making us sick – literally. The cheek of it coming online telling us we should “listen” to the crap that’s been shoved down our throats for the majority of our lives. Patronising nonsense. Blocking the twat and getting back in my bubble until the nausea subsides.

Election Night

Wish there was somewhere else I could have watched the election than the BBC. Worst bit of the night (aside from the exit poll, obviously) was watching Andrew Neil sneer when a Labour politician had the nerve to suggest the extreme right-wing media in the UK had some part to play in the Tory victory. Because that’s the reason why I find it so hard to imagine a future in which England isn’t totally fucked. Not just the fascist rags, all the talking heads on the BBC and no doubt over the next few days writing for smug centre-right publications like the New Statesman and The Guardian suggesting the problem with Labour is they’re too idealistic. That they would win elections if they wouldn’t be so damn principled. Refusing to challenge the lies because once people swallow those lies and start parroting them back to us the fact they’re lies is unimportant because now it’s the wisdom of the people. Corbyn is a racist terrorist sympathiser, Johnson is a man of the people and 1+1=3 and we just have to deal with that. Fuck that shit.

Now

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.