Faster, faster, slaves! Staff feel lash at the new non-stop Express
The therapist shifted in his armchair and steepled his fingers. “Josh,” he began, “tell me about this dream that’s bothering you.”
Josh stiffened, clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Do you find it difficult to talk about?” the therapist said kindly.
“It’s a work dream.”
“About your job? You’re a journalist, is that right?”
“Yes. I write for the Daily Express.”
“And this dream, do you have it often?”
“Most nights.”
“And it’s disturbing?”
“Very. It’s like living in Bedlam.”
“So what happens in your dream, Josh?”
Josh took a deep breath. “Always the same things, sometimes in a different order.”
The therapist waited.
“It takes place in the newsroom and the editor is on his way to conference. He passes the area where they are writing the online stuff and everyone is bashing away on their keyboards and they’re all looking anxious.”
“Are you there?”
“Yes, but I’m working on the print edition.”
“Anyone else?”
“The boss is there, the CEO. He’s reclining in an executive chair and wearing a toga.”
“A toga? Like in ancient Rome?”
“Yes, and there’s a man beside him with a big drum and he’s beating out a rhythm, boom-boom, boom-boom. As the editor passes, he says, ‘Morning Jim,’ but the CEO ignores him, just turns to the man with the drum and says in a Scottish accent, ‘Battle speed!’”
The psychologist reached for his Moleskine notebook. With his Montblanc pen, he wrote: “Anxious and somewhat eccentric.”
“What do you think it means, Josh? What’s the significance of the drums?”
“That’s easy. They’re trying to make us go faster, work harder. The company sacked 400 journalists not long ago. Now they’ve got rid of everyone on the Sunday Express – everyone! – and they want the rest of us to work across seven days to bring it out without any dedicated staff. We can’t work any harder. The journalists on the website are knocking out up to three 400-word articles in a morning. Even with help from AI, that’s a strain.”
“Steady now, Josh. It’s important you don’t get over-anxious. When you say they got rid of everyone on the Sunday Express, does that include the editor?”
“Yes, David Wooding. Good bloke, excellent journalist and well liked by his staff. But he’s working his notice. He’s part of the dream, actually.”
“Go on.”
“Well, in the dream, there’s a revolving door and people keep coming in, smiling, happy, but then the door keeps revolving and chucks them out again.”
“Who are they, Josh?”
“All the editors they’ve fired – Lloyd Embley, Alison Phillips, Gary Jones and now Dave Wooding.”
“I see. Why did they fire them?”
“Nobody’s saying but the word at the watercooler is that they cost a lot of money and they resisted the boss’s grand vision.”
“Which is?”
“Well, it’s madness. He wants to get rid of the papers altogether and become a digital-only news outlet. Trouble is, the papers still make more money than the websites and the digital stuff is only fit for the Thomas Crapper. It’s often made-up bollocks, lifted from other publications and put out without any checks being done.”
“Do you mean in the dream, or in real life?”
“I’m having trouble telling the difference.”
The therapist writes again in his notebook: “Delusional.”
“Anything more you remember about the dream?”
Josh hesitates. “You won’t believe me.”
“Just tell your story, Josh.”
“Well, okay. Just as the editor is reaching the conference room, a cruel smile crosses the face of the CEO and he calls out, ‘Attack speed!’ The journalists work even harder.
“Once he’s inside the editor notices that there are only two of them to discuss the day’s news and the news editor mentions the latest circulation figures. ‘We’re down again, below 132,000 now. Sixteen per cent drop year on year.’
“’Think positive,’ says the editor. ‘With that number of readers we could fill West Ham’s stadium twice over, every single day. Besides, there are two sides to the profit equation. Don’t forget costs. With every passing day we are bringing down our costs, making the group more financially sound.’
“They are interrupted by the CEO calling for ‘Ramming speed’. One of the sub-editors, a sensitive sort, cries out ‘No, no’ and leaps up from his computer.
“He’s clearly having a nervous breakdown and bursts in to collapse whimpering at the editor’s feet. He is pursued by a man with a cat o’ nine tails who lashes his back.”
The therapist jotted another note: “East Ham, one stop short of Barking.”
“Then Dave Wooding joins them,” said Josh. “He apologises for being late and says he was doing the crossword. The editor is angry but Dave explains, ‘I wasn’t solving it, I was compiling it. Well, who else is going to do it?’”
The therapist reached beneath his desk and pressed a concealed button. Two men in white coats hurried in and began to truss Josh in a straitjacket.
“Why are you doing this?” he pleaded.
“Josh,” said the therapist, “you know that old joke that dull people pin to the wall of their office? – ‘You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps'."
Josh nodded.
“Well, there’s more than a grain of truth to it.”
*****
Someone sent me a petition to sign the other day, one of those on the UK Parliament website.
This one was calling for a General Election because “the current Labour Government have gone back on the promises they laid out in the lead up to the last election”.
When I received it, already 300,000 had signed. By the time I went to bed it was more than 700,000. As I write, it has passed 2,000,000 and the number of signatories is rising at the rate of almost 56,000 an hour.
It requires 10,000 signatures to oblige the Government to respond; 100,000 to be considered for debate in Parliament.
All of which is entirely insignificant – Keir Starmer will do his statutory duty and then ignore it. Because with a majority of 163, he can.
He might face some ridicule and embarrassment at Prime Minister’s Questions, for Kemi Badenoch is sure to mine this seam of political gold for as long as she can. He might even reflect on why so many voters feel betrayed by him and his Government.
But he is a man on a mission and he’s not going to let democracy stand in his way.
This is what is troubling me. Starmer and his Chancellor lied and lied and lied to the people. If they had told the truth it is highly unlikely they would have been elected with anything like the landslide they achieved. Perhaps not at all.
It is an old political truism that Oppositions don’t win elections, Governments lose them. And the Tories, after 14 hapless, inept and, yes, somewhat unlucky years, did not deserve to stay in power.
We voted to dump them, as Starmer hoped we would, without really knowing what he had in store for us. Now we do, and more than 2,000,000 people would like to turn the clock back.
So here’s an idea: Why don’t we force those who wish to govern us to come clean with an open, transparent, precise and detailed list of manifesto pledges, which they are legally bound to carry out?
The Institute for Government says: “A government has no statutory obligation to fulfil its manifesto commitments.” Isn’t it time we changed that?
There could be an extra-parliamentary body that acts as referee and blows the whistle when it sees foul play. I know this is more complicated than it sounds but our political system was developed with gentlemanly Edwardian values at its heart.
It’s not working and I’m sick of it.
*****
“You never see owls being amorous in the rain. It’s too wet to woo.” – Max Bygraves
RICHARD DISMORE
26 November 2024
