 |
 |
A
clearer view
8.
30: I arrive at work and enter the hubbub
of the clearing studio of the University of North London, fully
trained and eager to start. Many of the tutors have arrived before
me and are sitting at their desks with pencils in front of them,
ready to begin. As a student recruiter I liaise between the admin
department and the academics themselves - a diplomat between very
different worlds. It's odd being asked questions by people who
teach: how do I do this? What does that mean? When can we go home?
|
|
Snap
at the chance
It's
a gruelling question: "Why do you want to be a journalist?"
Tongue-tied, I mutter something about exercising my verbal flair,
being at the cutting edge of culture, meeting that man on the
Clapham omnibus. But I said that in my application form. The
interviewer eyes me coldly: he wants more. The dream of being
a media guru, unravelling the latest government initiative with
a shrewd clip, slips away. I will do just about anything, Sir,
if only you will give me a chance, Sir, give me that job, the
training, the first step - I want to say. He wants blood.
|
