I reported on active IRA cells, murdered soldiers, an assassination attempt on the former governor of Gibraltar, and on a childcare scandal which saw the laws changed in Parliament.
I always worked Christmas Day, and I had things well organised. I used to phone the police media chap and ask him to find me a family who’d been burgled, whose Christmas had been ruined.
It always worked; I led with that story for a couple of hours, and invariably some toy shop owner would come to the rescue, giving me another story to take me up until lunchtime, when the bulletins ended.
Then I’d get two days off in lieu for enjoying myself. Back to the newsroom though; when I started there were no computers.
I learned to type one-fingered on an old Remington.
It’s amazing how quickly you learn when someone’s screaming at you. There were always arguments. I learnt in an aggressive, politically incorrect environment, and I’m glad I did.
We could call each other all the names under the sun all morning, then, after the main news at one o clock, we’d go to the pub and have a good yarn. I loved that; all the arguments were about getting the best story, and presenting it in the best way to our very large audience.