For columnists about to rock - We salute you

You’re the showman drawing the eyes, whipping up the crowd, and serving as the easy target for the disgruntled few armed with rotten fruit!

In my case, one out of three ain’t bad.

Of all the insults lobbed in my direction, my favourite came in my early days when a reader took the time to write to the paper and call me a ‘second rate journalist and a third-rate Hugh Grant lookalike’.

A bit harsh on Mr Grant, but these days, that reader’s critique borders on being a compliment.

With a foppish 90s fringe, loose tie and crisp white shirt combo there was a rakish look to the photo that accompanied my early columns. Easily mistaken for the Four Weddings and a Funeral star. Provided, of course, that you were looking at the paper through the smudged windscreen of a moving car… in a hailstorm.

Looks are important for the frontman of a rock ’n’ roll band. The same, sadly, applies to columnists.

There is a pecking order in journalism that often mirrors the pop industry.

Reporters can be likened to the unkept bassists, driving a steady background beat of news; sub-editors are the fiddly detail obsessed keyboard players, finessing the final product; photographers are the noisy drummers with whirling arms bashing out pictures; and editors are the behind-the- scenes deal-makers, the managers in mirrored shades chomping on a Havana.

And there, front and centre, hollering into the ether and deftly dodging the hurled pint pots of suspiciously warm liquid stand the columnists.

One of the lesser-known perks of the job is that columnists are issued with a personal make-up artist and a modest monthly haircut allowance. My make-up artist quit early doors. Something about ‘not being a miracle worker’.

We are the newspaper’s eye-candy. I’ve accepted that. Yes, I sometimes feel like a piece of meat, but I knew what I was getting into when I took this job. Other ‘frontmen’ of vital public organisations doubtless feel the same. The pressure to maintain those rock star looks under the critical gaze of the public can take its toll. Airline pilots have maintained their immaculate public image. Bus drivers, less so.

To that end, I noticed my teeth had begun breaking ranks. What was once a neat row of gnashers now resembles a sinking graveyard of toppling tombstones.

Methinks some dental intervention is needed. This media organisation expects the pearly whites of George Michael - not Shane MacGowan at the mic…