Poor old newspapers. So many things to print and so little space! Just think of all those letters brimming with constructive criticism that get sent in every week but that never see the light of day and languish unread in our bulging mail sacks.
Here on the blog we wouldn't want you to think that the Observer resists publishing critical letters because they cut too close to the bone. So here's one that will probably never make Sunday's print edition. Because it is too long, of course. And maybe a little harsh...
Dear Editor
The Observer on 13 Feb was poor. I see some of your writers are up for some sort of award: maybe Amy Raphael could be put up for 'most obnoxious economic exploitation of a 6 month old baby'. I don't know what was going on in your office when this one was commissioned, but shouldn't there be more of an angle than "I wonder how much I could get paid for this?" behind a front page story with photographs? No? Admit it: it was an embarrassment. Before you decide not to have any more kids, Amy, perhaps you should wait, oh, MORE THAN TEN MINUTES. This article lacked any insight, point or purpose, other than to show that Raphael is a) not afraid to exploit her daughter for financial gain and b) Amy Raphael is already drafting 'Why two children just feels right, by Amy Raphael', to appear in the Daily Mail in about a years time.
(Amy Raphael: The one and only) Building on that platform the whole issue was a stinker. The Food magazine was stuffed full of well connected posh people (Anakin Conran? Nephilim Dimbelby? Some woman wearing a monocle and a farmers' jacket? I can't keep track) who have opened organic mustard stalls in Port Isaac. It was rubbish, and you know it.
Still on food, what are you paying Slater for? Let us speak the truth: he burns everything. By now you're thinking I'm ranting (I am. I know it) but look at the pictures. Every week he sets fire to something and some poor sod has to take a photo. This has become like the Emperor's proverbial. I think Slater's recipes can be okay, but let's be frank here: burnt food tastes bad. Cavemen knew this. If you think otherwise: You. Are. Wrong. My hand to God, this week he's flogging burnt toast and carbonised unknown plants in a pot. Just look at it. Amazing.No-one could eat that.
Also in the magazine, there were some poor bewildered people with biblical names (Hephzibah? Really? Are you sure she isn't cactually alled Helen, but needs a lot of attention) all of them aged over 17, who no-one wanted to marry. I feel sorry for them. Maybe this is a problem the world should really wrestle with; maybe it is an emerging phenomenon that we should all rush to our friends who work in publishing with, and turn into a book for the Christmas market. I don't know, I don't drink in the right places. I have to say it's as boring as, well anything written by Phil Hogan, really, which is saying something. Have you forgotten that you are paying him? You should look into it and check with personnel, because he's still writing the same drivel he was fifty-seven years ago, way back when Katherine Flett's husband ran off with…no, I forget, or was that India Knight? Anyway, it seems that no-one has noticed that Hogan is still doing 'My kids are driving me up the wall' bit. This week he booked a big taxi for his kids. Edge of the seat stuff, I know. Hogan is the stereotypical 'boring mate' that all people have. Most middle class people's boring mates have done the decent thing, though, and moved to France, which I dread with Hogan, because of the inevitable 'My kids have learnt French in a week and I can't even order organic mustard'; type columns, books and tv shows that will follow. Apart from anything else, please, in the name of God and the greatest tradition and spirit of the Observer: isn't it about time his kids had a column? Each? It could be about their various triumphs over having a knob-head dad wh can;t learn French, and they could write 100 words each (I think there's about seventeen of them) and you could call it…er…'Hogan's Heroes'! Result!
Going back to Flett, despite her ability to get the detail in Nathan Barley, and despite not having her ear to the ground in TV land (er…isn't that a bit of a depressing admission? Doesn't it make you want to ask her what she thinks she's getting paid for?), why doesn't she think Nathan Barley is any good? Maybe it's because Chris Morris just wants you to stop talking about the same thirty people who drink in the same four places. Maybe he's suggesting that the same surnames keep cropping up in the media, and that it isn't such a good thing. Maybe you shouldn't think a bit more deeply about what the 'Weekend on Sunday' might actually be, and that it might be a bit closer to home than you think.
Face facts: The Observer is bad and it isn't getting better. I'm not even going to touch on Old Man Ingrams, the oldest, wisest, dullest, least insightful, most tedious bore to ever be given the chance to share it with the nation. Here's a free idea: tell him he can't mention the boring frigging 'Eye' and the Church of England for six months and see what happens. The best thing about Cherie Blair is that she induces apoplexy in these old grummets.
You might dispute any of this (except Slater: he's burning things and you keep publishing the proof. Go on: deny it) but it's meant well: the main newspaper isn't bad. Rawnsley, Riddell etc are fine. It's your features pages that need burning down and starting again. Begin with a surname census: have they actually earned their place on the paper? Are they there on merit? What is Victoria Coren on about? Why should I care? What is the problem with Jay-bleeding-Rayner? Actually, does Amy Raphael have a parent I should have heard of? While I'm on, does the youngest Raphael (for now) have a contract for 1200 words on 'Why I always wanted a sister to play with?' Shouldn't Jay Rayner get out of London more? Victor Lewis-Smith in the Guardian is a shame, an embarrassment, a pun-driven crime against the English language, but at least someone puts him on a train once in awhile.
Your paper isn't as good as it should be. The writing is frequently lazy, opportunistic and solipsistic. Get better. Try harder.
Name and address supplied
