The XY chromosome: the editor

God this is going to be a FIT edition. You can just tell, there’s so much energy in this room (admittedly most of it’s coming from me, but no matter), that with some fucking dedication and teamwork we’re going to make some magic. It’s all about that whiteboard, page, tick, page, tick, and I get just slightly excited with every 100% that goes up. Sure a story will fall through, always does, but there’ll be a backup, if there’s news we’ll find it, track it down like bloodhounds and then in beautiful black and white we’ll share it with the world. Or campus, whoever. It’s all about staying positive, we take a hit we pick ourselves up again, roll with the punches and if you can’t take the pressure you’re in the wrong office. This is what we do, why we’re the best, why I haven’t slept in 48 hours and probably won’t for at least 12 more.

The paper is King. If there’s work to be done then there will be no showers, there will be no ‘going home’ (unless of course we’ve run out of computers, in which case skidazz, space and oxygen are at a premium, and we know how the senior members feel about any superfluous presence), Vanbrugh vending machines will keep body and soul together a bit longer and you can kiss that essay deadline goodbye. There’s Gallery if you’re good, but you’d better be prepared to come crawling back at 2am, sweaty and still slightly (or very) pissed to finish that lay-up in time for the higher powers to check it in the morning. Yes, they’ll change every last detail, but they know better, and you know they’ll remember that commitment come society elections in the autumn. You may think your degree’s important, but you’ll feel differently once you’ve seen your name in print at the top of a double-page spread.

It’s the experience that counts, pay your dues and it will pay dividends. Proofing may be a chore but infinitely preferable to that sinking feeling we all recognise when on Tuesday, flicking through someone spots a ‘there’ where there should have been ‘their’, a fault in the by-line which renders what would have been perfection irrevocably flawed. You may think you need to go home at 2am to be up for your 9.15, but on reflection (and the uninhibited consumption of Red Bull), you may conclude otherwise. Nothing but the best will do darlings, and though I love you all you know I love the paper just a bit more. We like a bit of drama about the place, nothing like some healthy competition, but you’d better toughen that skin if you want to make it up the ladder. Chat is fun but success is funner, so unless you can do both at the same time keep schtum, we have Spotify to provide the soundtrack. Enough, this is far too much energy inefficiently spent. I’ve got a newspaper to make, over and out.

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