first person


StartingOut


It’s inevitable you’ll upset someone eventually – and it may not be who you expect, says Mark Bridge


J


im Rockford, the fictional private detective played on TV by James Garner in the 1970s, made a big


impact on me as a child. He lived in a static mobile home – what an intriguing notion for a youngster – and solved mysteries. ‘Cold cases’ mainly, because he didn’t like upsetting the police. A sensible maxim, I thought. Perhaps one day I’d have a similar job, solving mysteries and not upsetting people. I was similarly intrigued by


investigative journalist Roger Cook, who gained a reputation for being threatened when he confronted alleged law-breakers with his evidence. I could see the merit in what he did; I just didn’t want to be kicked downstairs myself – even if it did make great TV and radio. Maybe when I grew up I could combine Cook’s tenacity with Rockford’s luck.


Oh, and press photographer Victor


Blackman’s talent for putting himself in the right place at the right time. I started stuffing my camera into the pocket of my anorak whenever I went out because I fancied myself as a newspaper photographer too. However, that’s not how things


worked out. Uncertainty about career choices and the pressing need to get a job led to me becoming a telephone engineer. Following in my father’s footsteps but sadly lacking his ability, I was fascinated by the technology but struggled to solder a wire without burning my fingertips. A timely transfer to the customer service department taught me some useful people skills and avoided permanent scarring.


18 | theJournalist This was followed by the birth of the


UK’s mobile communications industry and my move into managing a mobile phone shop. I proved particularly adept at spotting problems in processes, which meant I was offered a new role rewriting the retail operations manual. The company’s head of marketing then stole me for his department and encouraged me to write newsletters … which led to much more writing. In fact, I was writing pretty much everything the company needed until the day it restructured and I was made redundant. In those last few days of


employment, a prescient colleague asked if I’d thought about freelance copywriting. I hadn’t but – well – it sounded as though this would be the obvious next step. A domain name later and I was a self-


employed copywriter, writing about pretty much anything for anyone who’d pay. An instruction leaflet. A sales letter. A recruitment ad. A web page. A newspaper advertising feature. Ooh ... newspapers. Whatever happened to my dream of being a problem- solving photojournalist? So I contacted a local magazine and started writing magazine articles alongside my copywriting. A few weeks of unpaid work led to commissions. I suppose it was inevitable that I’d


upset someone eventually. I just wasn’t expecting it to be a chap with whom I’d parted on friendly terms. I’d spoken to him for an advertising


feature – the least offensive type of interview ever. We’d chatted over a cup of coffee. I’d asked him a few questions about his business; he’d talked about


“ ”


what he did and how it had changed over the years. We laughed about how much safer his line of work had become since he was an apprentice. Finally, I took a few photos and promised to send him my draft article before publication, just in case I’d made any mistakes. It’s not something I’d do for every interview but it seemed sensible when dealing with one of my client’s advertisers. The next day my previously friendly


A string of emails ended with a description of my work as excremental, although his language was rather more direct


interviewee left me a voicemail message. “If you print that, I’ll bloody sue you.” I could tell it wasn’t a joke. He’d reinforced his call with a string of email messages that ended with a description of my work as being excremental, although his language was rather more direct. I took a deep breath and dialled his number. How on earth did I manage to cause so much displeasure? Shows how little trust some people


have in journalists, I suppose. When I called him back, we chatted amiably again. Turned out he was most worried that a joke he’d told would reflect badly on his business. I’d thought it made him sound more approachable. And that’s when I decided it was time to join the National Union of Journalists ... and time to get some kind of liability insurance, too. Personal injury cover could wait. After all, I’m no Roger Cook. Not yet.


Mark Bridge is a freelance copywriter, journalist, photographer and podcaster,


@markbridge


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