Saturday newspaper business in full swing now, and I like to flatter myself to think that I'm a 'key member' of the Saturday team on the paper. As Chief Revise Sub-Editor (how I love all those capitals), I have to rewrite headlines, have convoluted conversations with the news desk about the tone of what we call 'furniture' (that'll be headlines, subheads and standfirsts for those who care to make a distinction) – and remove extraneous brackets from long sentences.
Over the years, however, I have come to realise that my main function on a Saturday is very different. I am paid to be a human teleprinter. And I like it. Should Preston go a goal up, I yell - to no one in particular but knowing that Mark, the Chief Sub will hear it – that a team of north-western deadbeats have fluked a goal: in more reserved tones, I might mention that Oxford are two down after 20 minutes – that's guaranteed to make Roger, the Editor of Everything, glum.
At the tail end of last year we moved into a new building. The most important effect of that has been that I can now see the giant plasma screen on the Sports Desk, so it's a race between Sky on the telly and the wire services on my much smaller Apple screen to see who gets the scores up first. Obviously, this shouldn't be more important to me than the nuances of the day's exclusive front page story, but come 4.45pm, it's a tough call. I'll try to keep you posted ...
