Hey, have you heard? Andrew Marr thinks we're all "socially inadequate, pimpled, single, slightly seedy, bald, cauliflower-nosed young men sitting in their mother's basements." Well, that's what he told the Cheltenham Literary Festival anyway. Personally, I think Andrew Marr's a boring, jug-eared wind-bag so desperate for a story that he'll even consider asking the (then) prime minister if he's popping 'happy' pills. (A rumour, incidentally, he seems to have picked up on a blog somewhere.)
But no matter. I'm not angry (or drunk for that matter, or in a basement - I don't have a basement. And neither does my mother). But don't you (that's you, dear blog-reader, fellow-blogger and social media expert) rather think the 'lady' doth protest too much? Blogs aren't newspapers, nor bloggers journalists. And no-one this side of the blogging fence seems to suggest otherwise, as far as I can tell. But my, don't the dear old members of the print and broadcast media - the 'so-called' professionals - seem to get their accredited, sub-edited knickers in a twist about the popularity of so-called 'citizen' journalism? Why, if I were other than a rational, level-headed parent-blogger I might suspect that they were all a tiny bit afraid of something. And if I were a journalist I might go stirring up trouble in the hope of landing myself a story.
I have a sister. (I know, I know.) And she works for a newspaper. But not as a journalist. I'll spare your gentle ears from some of her more forthright opinions on the members of the fourth estate; suffice to say she has firm views about what keeps the newspaper industry going. And it isn't journalism.
But Mr Marr, of course, receives his considerable salary not from the filthy lucre of the ad-man, but from the license-fee payer. Of which I'm one.
And is that any way to speak to your employer?