Sometimes writing is a lonely art, but if you include social aspects to it then you feel less isolated. A lot of my writing is the product of talking to people and being sociable. Then there are different kinds and styles that make the whole subject of writing so fascinating.
Often I don't think that we study a particular word enough and we lose sight of its real meaning. Take the word Journalist or Journalism. The essence of meaning of this word has to be "The keeper of a journal." In other words a diarist or somebody who records facts in written form. Today the word encompasses a whole host of things - writers of newspapers, magazines. social media or broadcasters of news, views and features on television and radio.
I hope that during lockdown I have been a journalist in the true sense of the word - reflecting and reporting on local matters and helping to inform and entertain my local community. Only you the reader can tell me whether I have achieved that.
I have received so many lovely messages of support for what I have been doing over the past three months. I can tell you that every one of them has been appreciated.
The next Hethersett Herald will be out on Sunday and I'm very pleased to say that it will include plenty of news of businesses opening up again. We will tell you what will be open and what won't.
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Over the past week I have been in contact with a friend I hadn't heard from for some considerable time (he said it was his fault, but I think it may well have been mine).
It all came about when I received a notice of a possibility of a reunion for those on the journalism course at Harlow College in 1970/1971 (Golden years of strikes, three day weeks and pub crawls to find establishments with working electricity - ah yes those were the days).
It seems ridiculous that half a century has gone by since those heady days of sex and drugs and rock n' roll (well rock n' roll anyway).
The response from people on that course for a reunion has been good and I decided to e-mail a few who I remembered, like the guy who insisted on reading the entire notes from Pink Floyd's Meddle album sleeve to everyone and, just when we thought he had finished, took out the LP and started to read the label as well. I pointed this out to him in my e-mail. Back came a reply "Hell I must have been annoying," he said. "Yes" was my only reply. For those who are confused, an LP was a Long Player made from vinyl with two sides that had to be physically turned over. They were played on a strange machine called a record player which then morphed into something called a stereo and the single groove on the LP was played by a stylus or needle biting into it! There has been a resurgence in these over the past few years from people who like the hiss and crackle when the surface gets worn or scratched.
But back to my mate. Let's call him Dave to spare his blushes (although his real name is Bob but keep that quiet). For some strange reason we hit it off at college despite the fact that early on he asked me if I could teach him the rules and how to play table tennis and then absolutely thrashed me. I believe he may have even been a Leicestershire county player!
Dave was quite a complex character. There was a tough side to him, but also a very sensitive and caring one. Dave loved writing poetry and, as I have just found out, was and is very good at it. I am just working my way through his poetry blog, details of which I will pass on if he gives his permission. Dave is also a top writer on boxing, a sport that has taken him all over the world.
I loved every minute of being at college - the friendships forged, the freedom of being away from home for the first time and of course planning for the world of work. I had to pretend to my mother that I was homesick when I wasn't. There were far too many parties to attend. Going to college or university is something that should be grasped with both hands. Both my sons left home to get degrees (one from Brighton and one from Leeds) and I know they valued the experience highly.
My journalism course was just nine months long - so I missed out on well over two years of a degree course. I later made up for this by getting a Master's degree at the University of East Anglia when I was working for Norfolk Constabulary.
But enough of me (although this is my own blog). Thought you might like to have a laugh and see what I looked like in 1970! Apologies for the quality of the photograph but it was copied from the course newspaper.