I have to say one of the best newspaper adverts for some time is that Gladiator-esque ‘battle’ between the sexes that ends up with one side reading their ‘You Magazine’; the other their ‘Live’.

For while what’s left of my best liberal intentions might struggle with the general thrust of ‘The Mail On Sunday’, in our household we ‘get’ You and Live. It’s why The Daily Mail has more chance than most of us…

Anyway, the point is that I quite like all the gadgety features that ‘Live’ delivers. Not from a geeky-type, trainspotter kind of angle; rather these days for what it might do for me – or, hopefully, us – as digital journalists.

I’m not sure whether there’s a link, but P41 of this Sunday’s edition proved very much a case in point as Rob Waugh cast his eye over two little gadgets as part of his ‘Live For Tech’ section.

The first is about Intel’s new little baby, the Atom processor. I’m not going to do the numbers that come attached – just the words. The fact that it is ‘set to turn the computer in your man bag into the PC in your pocket…’  

And here’s the killer line. “The low-cost/low-power-usage Atom series is intended to see service not only in the next generation of small lap-tops, but also in an entirely new class of gadget: mobile internet devices…’

The MID.

Cue a nice glossy pic of the Lenovo IdeaPad U8.  Again, read the words. ‘The web, full-fat and fast, in your pocket…’

I’m not pretending for a moment to be any kind of marketing expert. Will the MID prove to be neither one thing nor the other; will it fall between two stools, being neither a UMPC or a PDA..?

Oh, come on… An ultra-mobile PC or a Personal Digital Assistant. Apparently. 

I’ve no idea. But someone at Lenovo – and perhaps they’ve looked at the Apple iPhone and decided that it’s web-browser capability is the stand-out feature there – has clearly decided that getting the Net into the palm of your hand is where we’re all head…

That to go back to our cheesy ad slogan… while it’s not in our kids genes with a ‘g’ to read a newspaper what will be in their jeans with a ‘j’ will be a MID…

OK, slung beneath ‘The Mighy Atom’ is a stick to beat your Wi-Fi with – in this case Vodafone’s new super-powered 3G modem.

“The HSDPA modem is a thumb-sized stick that plugs into the USB port of your laptop. If you’re in an HSPDA area (ie, a major city) is offers a 7Mb internet connection. That’s faster than many wired connections…

‘… And with a price of £39 up front plus £15 a month, I could envisage using one of these all the time…’

Here at MFW, we already do. Or rather when we’re sat in the Press box of football grounds up and down the country, we do. The chances of Loddon ever becoming in an HSDPA area are nil. But then I’m wired in at home.

Our Vodafone sticks are last year’s model; they come as part of the boys’ ‘starter packs’; I don’t think any of us run at 7Mb yet. And looking at the costings, I need to get back to Vodafone and do a deal…

Put the two together – a MID and a super-fast 3G modem that’s no more than a thumb-sized addition to your nearest laptop – and what are we seeing? That the delivery of news on a digital-only platform is becoming faster, cheaper and simpler with every passing month.

For that 3G modem is print press, delivery van and paper boy all rolled into one. That’s what we have got to keep reminding ourselves – it’s not a geeky gadget, it’s a survival strategy. It’s a way out of the mess we’re in.

And it’s getting faster, cheaper and simpler.

So ask yourself the next question – if I’m a newspaper exec looking at the latest figures from my production and distribution departments, could I say that it is getting faster, cheaper and simpler? What is the price of diesel doing to my bottom line? Can’t we get these kids to pedal their bikes any faster?

There’s our future; there’s our hope. Sat there on P41 of ‘Live’. Cut it out, stick it on the fridge door and cling onto it…   



If only because I laid my Google revenue cards on the table early on… 

…this was interesting, Jeff Jarvis of Buzzmachine and Guardian column fame doing the same… and, in paricular, what Google did for him last year.

For those of you who are hard of linking, the two paragraphs to put side-by-side are, first the MFW ‘experience’… 

“Take, for example, our Google AdSense numbers since March ‘07.

“406,002 impressions, 846 clicks…. $223. So I did Google a disservice at JEECamp. Apologies. When I said $180 for 400,000 page impressions I was $40 out and 6,000 page impressions under. We made £110 in a year…”

To be then followed by the Buzzmachine one…

“Last year,, which has been in business, loosely speaking, since 2001, made $9,315 (£4,655) from two blog ad networks, $1,866 from ads on my RSS feeds, and $2,674 from Google ads, for a total of $13,855. Though I’ve written many a blog post and column lamenting that there aren’t better, richer ad networks to support grassroots media, when I add that up, I’d say it’s not too shabby…

I, however, would describe our own Google ads income as shabby. If not particularly shabby. Or, indeed, utterly shabby. I might also describe it as someone having a laugh…

And let’s make several things clear; we’re not running like-for-like – it’s a horribly inexact science; the comparisons don’t stand up; we didn’t, for example, run AdSense for a full calendar year; if we had, who knows? We could have cracked the $300 mark…

But what I would be intrigued to know is just how hard our Jeff had to work to earn that $2,674…

Given that Buzzmachine has ‘loosely speaking’  been in business since 2001, he’s clearly had to work his ‘brand’ for at least five years (2001-2006) before earning a thousand quid off Google in Year Six…

I earned my princely sum off 400,000 page impressions – and all on the back of busting my b*lls twice a day to deliver two, great 1,000-word ‘sticky’ reads to the waiting Norwich City masses who, come January’s transfer window month, were 33,000 monthly uniques strong.

Plus we had coulmnists, characters and all sorts. We worked – indeed, still work – our collective n*ts off draging football punters to that site with a quality journalistic product that, we hoped, would offer enough context, comment and quotes that it would not only drag eyeballs there, it would keep eyeballs there.

And, touch wood, it appears to work. That’s back to my 436-second average visit time for the month of January. Seven minutes every time they visit.

Because it’s a passionate niche. Just as the future of news is.

What would be very interesting to discover is just what numbers generates in terms of uniques, page impressions and average visit times to pop a cheque for £1,300 from Google into Jeff’s hands at the end of the year….

I’ve no idea. I read it most days. As, I suspect, many a media-luvvie does.

And because it is, more often than not, a well-informed and engaging read, my eye-balls stay fixed. And if, for argument’s sake, me and Jeff run at roughly similar numbers per month – my versus his – then fair enough, he cracked the Google nut more than I did.

Maybe – he says, looking for his excuses – Jeff is actually mining a richer niche seam; that the ads that appear on his site are far more click-appealing than those that ever appeared on ours; that maybe ‘football’ and ‘Norwich’ never quite made sense as ads.

And maybe it’s just a case of being patient – that come Year Six, 2012, I too could be pulling £1,000 a year back off them. In the unlikely event I was still pinning many of my hopes on Google by then…

Don’t know.

Fotunately, we didn’t put all our eggs in Google’s basket – and, nor, of course did Jeff. He’s got two blog ad network tickets working his brand; covering his ass to the tune of £4,500 a year.

Me? I’ve got Kev acting as MFW’s tail-end Charlie – trying to pick off every local advertiser we can find; as well as those national ones that like the cut of our demographics. Three cheers for the British Army… newly-signed up for a year-long banner ad deal on all three sites.

It’s still a tough nut to crack. Very tough in these credit crunch times. But they’re out there; all starting to think what they would do next if they didn’t have a local evening paper to advertise in… And if I can pull, say, £2,000 per month off the Norwich site in Pay-Per-Month advertising, that’s not too shabby either.

Particularly, if we can then find further revenue streams to add to our income bow.

Because that’s the real point. For all we do, for all the hours we write and for all the pavements we pound, the jury is still out as to whether advertising of any sort will – on its own – be enough to save our bacon.

And that applies to all of us. From The Guardian, The Daily Telegraph, The New York Times down… is there enough value in what we ‘sell’ in terms of advertising space to guarantee our survival?


Just ask our Jeff. Without a column or two up his sleeve, a consultancy here and there and a teaching gig at CUNY, could he survive on $13,855 a year. Just over six grand…?


Exactly. No.



I had a meeting with the banks last week. Or rather, a bank.

And for now, no names. That’s part of the deal. Because that’s another trick that we all need to remember out here in the digital wastelands; that as journalists with a global publishing platform sat on top of our kitchen table, we have a rare opportunity to promote, not just ourselves, but those who help us on our way.

Those who ‘get’ it. So if a bank agrees to do X and Y for a little, local plumbing firm, then the likelihood is that only his very nearest and dearest will ever be any the wiser.

Someone looks us after me right bank-wise, and I’ll sing like a bird.

Cos we can. And it’s important to remember to keep asking yourself those questions – if left to fend for ourselves, what can we do? What value can we bring back? What else have we got in our locker? And that’s one – the power to promote, to recognise, to reward.

Might only need to be a passing mention; but anything that helps, you do. Right now, there’s not too much time for journalistic niceties; until we find our feet in this new world, just do what it takes.

Anyway, from my point of view, last week’s meeting was the best yet. There wasn’t a triangle in sight; we didn’t draw eachother diagrams; we just talked about life. As he leads it in this new, digital world of ours.

And it was fascinating.

Because, here I was trying to be the digital missionary; to sell – in no particular order – my soul, my wares and my vision to a late forty-something commercial manager of a High St bank, and he got ‘it’. Almost without too much prompting from me.

This man was ‘middle England’ – as much as that term ever exists. He sat on his village’s parish council; he had two grown-up daughters neither of whom read the Bury Free Press where they lived; one had a four-year grandchild who complained that grand-dad’s lap-top was too slow to play her favourite CBBs games…

Penny after penny dropped as he ran through how we, ‘the media’, actually physically interacted with the way that he and his family led their every-day lives.

Or rather, we didn’t increasingly.

There’s no longer a newsagents in the village; to get his Sunday papers he now has to drive three miles. Last weekend, for the first time in his late-fortysomething life, he got up on a Sunday morning and didn’t feel like getting into a car to go and pick up The Sunday Times. So he read the bits he wanted on-line.

Not the same, he admitted. But he still found the same news he always did.

A West Ham fan, he aggregates. He has a ‘NewsNow’ feed set-up on his PC at work and ‘when he gets a mo…’ he has a look to see what’s the latest news from the Hammers; doesn’t have to trawl around a host of sites looking; he lets News Now do the hard work for him; scrapes it all into one feed and presents it to him for ‘when he gets a mo…’

Doesn’t always bother with the latest from the Newham Recorder… finds it tends to be a week old…

They had friends who were selling a house; ‘My wife and I said to them: ‘Don’t just put it in the paper, make sure it’s online…

‘We’re not looking to move, but I know the wife when she gets a mo, likes to look at the property websites to see the price of homes in the village…’

This is how middle England are re-organising their lives; and all too often without us.

If you are not there when we want it – and where we want it – well, we can’t be bothered with you any more…

Don’t tell me when to watch Doctor Who, I’ll watch it on iPlayer ‘when I get a mo…

Don’t expect me to waste 20 minutes every day going out to buy a local evening paper, I’ll look at it online ‘when I get a mo…

Or rather, I won’t. I’ll get the NewsNow search spiders to crawl across the newsagents’ counter 24/7 and see what they can find for me; they can scrape around all day long, I’ve got better things to do… put the news that I want, in the place I want it, for ‘when I get a mo… 

For if any of us are ever going to survive in this new world, we have to understand – and quickly – how far the tables have turned; how wholly irrelevant we can so easily be to these peoples’ lives.

And this man was 48-years-old. Middle aged and middle England to a ‘T’.

Now think how much any of us mean to a 28-year-old who’s not…


It was one of those pub stories that you never quite believed; half of me suspected that it was one of those tall tales that would be told to cub reporters, as a matter of course.

But anyway, when I first started my wood-staining career on the illustrious organ called the Wiltshire Gazette & Herald the story was that when it came to installing a sparkling new press beneath the Evening Adver’ building in Swindon Old Town, someone was despatched to Germany to bag themselves the business print press-wise.

The joke was that when it finally arrived it emerged that this new press ran – with typical German efficiency – only in a straight line; it didn’t do corners. Which was a bit of a problem – given that the old Adver’ building was of an L-shape design…

Some 20 years on and the interesting point is that print press was a couple of floors beneath us on the editorial floor; every Thursday lunchtime, we’d wander down – through the ad sales dept – and see the first edition, Devizes if memory serves, roll off said bent press. To be followed, in no particular order, by the editions for Calne, Malmesbury, Chippenham, North Wilts and Marlborough.

It was very much a ‘face-to-face’ process. You spoke to the printers; talked all things Swindon Town. Then came the delivery vans and their drivers before disappearing off into the four corners of Wiltshire where they would come ‘face-to-face’ with the newsagents.

Who would then either pass on the mighty sword of truth that was the Gazette to either their customers in the shop or the paper boys and girls charged with it’s safe delivery. Face to face to face to face to face…

It was a thought that popped into my head as I waded through Chapter 6 of Mr Shirky’s new tome, ‘Here Comes Everybody: Collective Action And Institutional Challenges’.

In it, he talks of the way that the new social tools at our disposal enpowered the Catholic laity to rise up, in effect, and challenge the existing order as the Voice Of The Faithful took to the web in their bitter spat with Cardinal Bernard F Law. To prove that it wasn’t just the Catholic voices that were being heard, the Episcopalian Church in Virginia then took it upon themselves to ‘de-locate’ to Nigeria where they found an Anglican bishop far more to their conservative liking.

In so doing, “they are challenging geography as an organizing principle for the church”.

Of course, the church isn’t the only organisation that, since time immemorial, has been organized on geographical lines. So, too, was the Wiltshire Gazette & Herald as we, as a group, went about our face-to-face business.

“In a world where group action means gathering face-to-face, people who need to act as a group should, ideally, be physically near one another.

“Now that we have ridiculously easy group forming, however, that stricture is relaxed and the result is that organizations that assume geography as a core organizing principle – even ones that have been operating that way for centuries – are now facing challenges to that previously bed-rock principle.”

I’m more than happy to give Shirky the benefit of the doubt given that his uncle lived and breathed the Richmond Daily News, but editor and priest, parish and circulation patch, laity and Gazette readers – they are all interchangeable. The message is still the same – just as the Virginians can worship in Nigeria, so the good people of Malmesbury can catch up with their friends on FaceBook, sell their kids’ toys on eBay, buy their next house on RightMove.

Neither the local church nor the local newsagents is the centre of their world any more. is an interesting one – a million-odd users every month and growing, it even made it to a speech by Tory leader David Cameron the other month:

But there was a time when maternal guidance would be handed out on the Woman’s Page in the local evening paper; thousands of Swindon kids were probably weaned on the advice dished out by Shirley Mathias; you’d buy your second hat cot in the ‘For Sale’ classifieds; there’d be a quarter-page ad for Mothercare next to Shirley’s tales from the family front-line.

Now, it’s all there on – mums united across the nation, smashing through one provincial newspaper parish after another as the web destroys geography as an ‘organising principle’.

Read Cameron’s speech again to the Conservative Councillors Conference in Warwickshire in February and it’s clever stuff; intuitive almost – and one or two lines might make for uncomfortable reading for local newspaper editors if local government information is, like MumsNet, about to drop its geographical constraints under any in-coming Tory Government.

“At the moment, local government bodies must provide the public with information about the services they provide, what goes on in council meetings and how councillors have voted on specific issues.

“Sure enough – you all do this. But the information isn’t published in a standardised way. Some councils use adverts in newspapers…”

Come the Revolution, brothers and sisters…

“We will turn that approach on its head. We will require local authorities to publish this information – about the services they provide, council meetings and how councillors vote – online and in a standardised format.

“That way, it can be collected and used by the public and third party groups. And this move will be accompanied by relaxing controls which force councils to pay to publish statutory notices. That way, we will actually reduce local government costs.”

And take money out of who’s hands… Oops. But that’s for another time.

The point is the ‘standardised format’; the ‘one size fits all’ approach that that entails; that there will be this nationwide network of local government information we will all be able to plug into and ‘scrape’ from – our newly-built aggregator tools at the ready. The invitation to help ourselves is clear enough.

“By standardising this data, it can be used by anyone’s website, anytime, anyplace to flag up the services you are putting on and get that information to the people who most need it…”

And will they do it through the existing patch-work quilt of papers and parishes? Or will they look to forge new alliances and new relationships, out there on the web where the eye-balls are?

“… A young parent looking for local crèche facilities. This information revolution will allow websites like to flag up what is available, where and at what time and save people the bother of trawling individual websites…”

Like, you fear, that of the Wiltshire Gazette & Herald.

You know when a digital revolution is afoot when your 76-year-old mother beats you to a new innovation – namely watching a show on iPlayer.

My Mrs has; I haven’t. Too much time slaved to a hot lap-top – ahh, I could watch on there…

Anyway, my mother, 76 if she’s a day, has watched Songs Of Praise or whatever on the PC in the corner of her Cringleford kitchen. My cousin talked her through it, apparently.

So, there’s something afoot here. As the audience figures would suggest. And as my mother has now found out, she can watch her favourite TV programmes when she wants, not when Auntie tells her to.

And now comes this…

Fascinating. Cos that took me straight back to this; the conversation me and Sao  Paulo were having the other day…

Cos clearly we now have another subject to discuss. If I watch BBC News24 off a Wii console do I need a TV licence?

Go to Sao Paulo’s response to the original response…

By law battery operated television receiving equipment is supposed to be exempt although the BBC TV Licence salespeople will say different!

And, indeed, the original debate on the Tomski blog…

Because, to my mind, accessing BBCNews24 via the nearest available Wii merely complicates matters still further; when is a screen just a screen? And when does that screen become a TV, when it has a Wii plugged in?

Does my eight-year-old boy, fresh from whooping my ass again at tennis, now need a TV licence becuase he’s got a piece of pluggable, electronic equipment that is capable of broadcasting a live, BBC service?

And if I were the BBC, the thought might just start occuring to me that iPlayer, for all its magic audience numbers, may be a very dark genie that they have just unleashed from the digital bottle.

Because the next generation of TV licence payers – currently sat playing on their Wii consoles and answering their iPhones in student bed-sits up and down the land – will probably never own a TV in the sense that us 40-somethings see one.

And with the bloody-mindedness that comes with youth, they will probably tell the man with the detector van exactly that – that I own a Wii, a lap-top and a mobile phone. And, no, I’m not paying a TV licence fee.

To borrow badly from The Smiths, that little thought would – if not, ought to – prompt panic on the streets of Wood Lane…

Apologies, I’m sure both of you have seen this before. And know, for yourselves, how many nails it hits firmly on the head.

My attention was – I will admit – first drawn to the post by the sum the lad was paid for simply the domain name, . $750,000. For a name. No content, no business model, no launch plan. Just the name. I report.

It was fascinating – particularly for someone who ten days earlier had paid £16 plus VAT for and had a vague notion of where we might find content, what a theoretical business model might look like – water lilies, long tails, etc – and via Paul’s kids might, possibly, have a potential launch model.

But as you read on through Kyle’s brilliant posting, so it heads ever nearer to the very heart of what we are all trying to figure – where’s the value? For if there is no value in anything we, as journalists do, where on earth is anyone going to find a business model that rests on something of no value?

Read through Kyle’s post and see how the wild haggis reached through to the front page of a CNN site. Unedited. Unfiltered.

I can’t for the life of me say I’m an ardent devotee of – and, after all, it is still in its ‘beta’ phase. The bit where we all do trial and error.

And I just wonder whether they’ve tried unfiltered and unedited and realised that, maybe, they’ve made an error. For if my eyes don’t deceive me, they’ve tweaked the site – perhaps not; perhaps the ‘Newsiest Now’ function was there when Kyle posted. It is difficult to be sure from the freeze frame of his wild haggis shot.

But, either way, there now on the top of is the ‘Newsiest Now’ pictures of the day. What’s this?, is the question they themselves offer.

So what’s Newsiest Now?

“The “newsiest” iReports are sorted in lists at the top of each section on the homepage and in other places around the site. Newsiest is a calculation that combines freshness, popularity, activity and ratings. The idea behind newsiest is that all the contributions the community of users make to the site – stories, comments, ratings, pageviews – and what CNN producers pick for their own stories could add up to tell us something new about what people think is newsworthy…

Which is fascinating – bearing in mind that iReport is ‘Unedited. Unfiltered. News.’

Because, for me, there are certain words that leap out of what ‘Newsiest’ is, that tend to suggest otherwise. Certainly when it comes to the first two strings of iReport’s bow. That, lo and behold, it is edited; it is filtered.

The ‘newsiest’ iReports are “sorted in lists”.

Newsiest is a “calculation”.

Based on “freshness, popularity, activity and ratings” – it would be nice to think that truth, veracity and honesty might figure somewhere in the calculation, but one step at a time, I guess…

And then this: “The idea behind newsiest is that all the contributions the community of users make to the site – stories, comments, ratings, pageviews – and what CNN producers pick for their own stories could add up to tell us something new about what people think is newsworthy…

OK, so which “people” are now thinking an iReport contribution as “newsworthy” – the contributors of all that unedited or unfiltered ‘I-reported’ material or “what CNN producers pick for their own stories”?

Because in CNN’s own words to qualify for the ‘Newsiest Now’ – and that’s the big, fat strip at the top of their home page; the one that once boasted a picture of aftermath of the wild haggis hunt – there is sorting going on, there’s calculations being made and there’s producers picking…

Sort. Calculation. Pick.

Almost, it seems, a case of iReport, but – actually – weDecide.

For those are the words that an editor uses. Sort, calculation and pick.

As he or she is handed the unenviable task of filtering all the daily wheat from the UGC chaff; from spotting the wild haggis hunt in amidst the genuine and shocking footage from an Olympic torch protest.

In a way, all credit to CNN. Because they are actually doing us all a favour by putting the ‘value’ back in. 

Because someone has to ‘sort, calculate and pick’ from all the explosion of information out there; someone has to make sense of it all; to find a tune within that wall of noise – to sort the wind section from the brass, to calculate the best piece for them all to play and then pick the best soloists to go up front.

Someone, in short, has to conduct the orchestra. And that role has value. And that role belongs to a journalist. And, ideally, always will.



In many ways, all that we’ve been wittering on about over the first three weeks of OutWithABang’s digital life is this need to start again; to wipe the slate clean; to find ourselves the nearest piece of blank paper and get scribbling.

How would we start afresh? Would we really confine ourselves to little pockets of influence and circulation here and here? Would we really thrust our product into the hands of a dozing teenager at 6am every morning and once again at 4pm every afternoon? Would we, above all, still expect everyone to actually pay for what we deliver to their very door?

There is a revolution afoot. One that, in every probability, has only just begun. Or rather, in every probability, one that has only just begun to impact on the way that us smug, 40-somethings conduct our daily lives.

The more and more you watch the kids interact – be it within their own social groups or, from our perspective, with the world of news that we inhabit – the more you suspect that the revolution has already happened ‘down below…’; that genetically they are already ‘wired’ differently; that to revisit our cheesy ad slogan, it’s already not in their genes to read a newsapaper, what’s in their jeans is a mobile phone…

I live next door to a newsagents. And I work from home. You don’t see kids leaving that shop with a newspaper tucked under their arm; if you do, it’s a bundle of them and they’re off to deliver them to the 70-somethings that know no different.

And if we start to buy into this idea that – as far as whole generation is concerned; and every generation, thereafter – the revolution in news has already been and gone, we have to go back to the very start again when it comes to teaching these kids journalism.

It’s a blank sheet of paper.

But, for me, it’s more than that. It’s not about us teaching them; we were fast asleep ‘on our watch’ as the Web came and, in many ways, went. It’s far, far more a case of them teaching us what we’ve missed.

If you start from scratch, would you teach them short-hand? Why if we can foresee a world where, in the interests of an open and democratic society, events in both the local magistrates court and the local council chamber will be webcast to the world?

Who needs 100 wpm, if you can aggregate and scrape?

Our interviews will be digitally recorded and, if we offer ‘source’ material as part of this ‘open’ relationship with our customer base, those same interviews can then be digitally broadcast; that you can now listen to the interview yourself and see which way the words were ‘spun’.

Subbing? Legals, for sure. We don’t cut on the web. A widow is someone whose husband has died. No more.

Literals? I pop back into the CMS and change. Page make-up? That’s built into the CMS…

Ad make-up? Now you’re talking… Ad selling? Definitely. What ‘worked’ for 400 years in terms of newspapers, giving the eyeballs something else to spot whilst you were glued to that ‘good read’ – local branding, building awareness. Local advertising saved us once and, in part, they will save us again.

You teach advertising – as in the selling of, making of, retention of, invoicing of and chasing of. You don’t do character-counts in headlines. Nor, I suspect, do you do short-hand.

By all means teach good, old-fashioned investigative journalism – but look at it in a new light. Look at it as part of your ad-selling skills; forging relationships, developing contacts from whom you can either prise a banner ad or a story. Not only that, but you can then go back a month later and prise another banner ad or another story out of that same well-worked contact.

That’s the biggest lesson of all out there… one none of us have grasped. How do you make money?

That’s what, I think, we’re going to have to get them, the kids, to show us. We don’t know.

Get this web thing to work. We can’t.

And, in many ways, that’s why me, Neil, Ian and the boys want to arm the next generation of J-School kids with a MyLocalWriter url – and all with one simple instruction: ‘Show us how it works…’ You ‘get’ it, we don’t.

Give them a ‘kit’ to play with; get them to get the pieces to fit. Cos we can’t. We can’t.

They can.

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