The Death of a Weekly Newspaper, through a Cadet Journalist’s Fingers. Part 4

I woke about 5.30am, and the car was surrounded by police.  We'd done something horrible, somewhere in the memory gaps of last night's bender.  But what?  We weren't animals, we were good men, if reckless.  There was no way we'd done what they were here to haul us into the merciless maw of the judicial …

The Death of a Weekly Newspaper, through a Cadet Journalist’s Fingers. Part 3

The alarm sent painful shudders through my cold afflicted limbs at 7am Thursday morning.  I'd noticed a tickle in that spot where my nasal passage and throat join up, the afternoon before.  And after a terrible night's sleep which went like this: doonah on the bed with the windows open (too hot); naked under a …

The Death of a Weekly Newspaper, through a Cadet Journalist’s Fingers. Part 2

I'd forgotten to mention on the news list I would start sending my stories through imminently, as I usually would with the exception of briefs, to be allocated downpagers (small, non-pic stories I'd do when I felt like it) and pic stories I'd not tightened up yet.  So I sent an email to all concerned …

The Death of a Weekly Newspaper, through a Cadet Journalist’s Fingers. Part 1

'So,' he said, gulping down his second drink as I nursed mine.  'Are we staying or are we going?' There was so much to his simple question: going meant driving back north to Fingal Head, my home, having a couple of quiet beers and perhaps surfing in the early morning, before I had to work …

FOTSun 3

I didn't hear a peep in reply from my comrades who, in my Red Bull testosterone heightened state, I in reference to thought "Bastards!".  Because I was convinced they were still sleeping.  Of course they weren't but ignorance is . . . irrational aggression?  Anyway, I made one last attempt at rousing them by sending …

FOTSun 2

So I'm lying there with two inches of foam beneath my arse, not nearly drunk enough on the Thursday night before a day off and weekend of musical madness, trying not to think about women.  The three cans of Red Bull I'd drunk during the six hour drive to Port Macquarie started to play on …

FOTSun 1

When he appeared clad 'round the head with a fresh bandage I knew it was time for bed.  I was trying to enjoy an anti-social break from the festival while smoking a cigarette, listening to The Doors and charging my phone.  I personally had seen the line to get back in after going to the …