How do you get a newspaper column? Wine helped for me
It has been a privilege and a pleasure to document the last 15 years of my life in The Independent on Sunday. And it’s all been true… almost
Your support helps us to tell the story
This election is still a dead heat, according to most polls. In a fight with such wafer-thin margins, we need reporters on the ground talking to the people Trump and Harris are courting. Your support allows us to keep sending journalists to the story.
The Independent is trusted by 27 million Americans from across the entire political spectrum every month. Unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock you out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. But quality journalism must still be paid for.
Help us keep bring these critical stories to light. Your support makes all the difference.
I can’t believe that this is my last column. I started writing in this slot in 2001, just as Trigger Happy TV was all over your screens. Oh, how things have changed in 15 years. I’m about to start filming some… Trigger Happy TV. Ah well, “plus ça change” and all that.
“How did you get a newspaper column?” is a question I am often asked by people who assume I’m illiterate.
Well, I’d just started writing a column for the London Evening Standard, having sent one in on spec. A TV critic on that paper was obsessed with slagging me off. So, I started writing facetiously about how their cruel criticism was destroying my life. I got a sniffy letter from the editor telling me this was not good form. I asked why it was OK for the critic to have a go at me in the paper but not for me to reply. I got an even sniffier reply informing me that I was new to the “business” and would soon learn why.
“F*** this” I thought and I resigned in the first of many, many unwise career moves.
The next day I got a call from a Simon Kelner, who wanted to interview me for GQ. He wondered whether I could meet him at Le Gavroche, a ludicrously posh French restaurant in London. This was quite awkward, as I’d just filmed a stunt there where I’d tried to force my way inside dressed as the actual Michelin Man while dispensing gold stars to the staff. As so often in my life, I hoped that they wouldn’t recognise me.
Once in the reception I was looked up and down by a distinctly unimpressed maître d’. “You ’ave no jacket… no tie… monsieur?” I admitted that this was indeed the case. “I will attempt to find something… in your size.” He indicated with his eyebrows this would be a formidable task, eventually returning with a blazer last sported by Ronnie Corbett and a Michelin-food-stained tie. I squeezed into the outfit and awaited Mr Kelner.
It turned out that he was the editor of The Independent moonlighting for GQ in exchange for free food. I managed to get away with pretending to know this but then got a bit tipsy and might have been vaguely offensive to Michel Roux. It was something about needing a kebab when I’d finished.
It can’t have been that bad; Mr Kelner hired me to write for The Indy on Sunday where I have never been told what I can or can’t write. I have only ever missed two columns in the last 15 years and this was due to me being stranded on a desert island.
I have managed to file from the Syrian Desert, North Korea, Chernobyl, the Congo, Antarctica, the Beijing Olympics, my Iranian ski holiday, the Empty Quarter, a prison in Mexico. Once I even managed to get online in the Cotswolds to file.…
It has been a privilege and a pleasure to document these curious 15 years of my life. It has been a beacon of stability in a distinctly unstable life. I shall miss it more than you could ever know. Thank you for reading me. It’s all been true… almost.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments