Wednesday, February 23, 2011

A Note From the Editor

There has been such a volume of letters, gym conversation and by way of passing from guys recently that It seems everyone under the age of 18 would sell parts of their bodies to have my job.


Two things.While I do spend a lot of time driving the kind of cars you and your friends only dream about, I spend even more of it explaining to people how it is that I made it look so much better than the flavorless opposition I seem to have attracted from within the industry .It's not all sunny days, believe me.
Secondly, It doesn't matter if you have nine illegitimate children or sleep with your sister, but you must be able to spell. Sadly, most people who write to us can't. Without wanting to be racist, a grasp of the local dialect comes in handy, too. I know they let you learn all sorts of exotic languages these days, but english is the universal tongue, accept it as such and you'll find life is much easier when searching for ANY job.




When you finally extricate yourself from education, your best bet is to try for a job on a local newspaper. The time you spend on a local rag will give you a grasp of wedding fashion, pony clubs, vegetable contests and - most important of all - the ability to tell a story.


Those who float, like cream, to the top of this profession are wordsmiths - people who can turn their hands as easily to a Lamborghini as to a parish council meeting. A well known Editor, for instance, drives a BMW he's had for more than 11 years. In the editorial game for more than 10 years, and still knows less about cars than Jocob Zuma knows about public speaking. But the man can write. It doesn't matter if you can tell a Lantra from a Corolla,or if you can reel off every Ferrari's 0-60 time from memory. If you can't write, you can't come in.

Turbo

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