Al’ grumper that I am, aye wie an eye for a showbiz gaffe, Sunday had me sizzlin’.
The second week of Dancing on Ice with the ever-fragrant Holly Willoughby, having stepped up to the plate as host after a spell off our screens since the Phillip Schofield This Morning debacle. Amid the speculation of whether she’s getting on with Pip’s replacement, Stephen Mulhern, came the ultimate shocker.
While she was introducing a skate based on the fantasy horror Beetlejuice, he pranked her with a sudden scream and… oh, my Lord. Did holy Holly let fly the F-word? Or even the f***er word? I near cowked on my cocoa.
Deffo, she did. Watched several times and I’m convinced of it, even though she protests her innocence. Suffice to say, it was a treat of a performance way above most we see on this dire show.
However, to be fair, I understand the peer quine’s embarrassment. Many moons ago, as a young trainee, Mo was the first female to join the subs’ desk at the EE, after requesting – nay, demanding – the position because it hadn’t been done before, and I was a rampant, Germaine Greer-following feminist.
The sub-editors are the ones who perfect (haha) the writers’ copy – check it for grammar, spelling and length, rewrite when necessary (or not), and headline.
Unknown to me, the guys – who were pretty shocked at the prospect of my enlistment – were issued with a severe warning by the editor. Only too aware of their interchange during high-pressure times close to deadline, he declared there should be no swearing while I was on the desk.
You can imagine how that went down like a lead balloon and smoothed my path to my new chair. I was actually dreading the move. Compared to the hallyrackit reporters, the subs all looked so serious, competent and efficient.
I turned out to be the world’s worst sub
In fact, I loved it from day one, mainly because these fast, excellent wordsmiths with a love of news and its presentation were also brilliant comedians, always a pithy word or phrase for every story they handled. Often, I was in tears of laughter. Like when one sub protested about the huge, one-line headline he was ordered to write for a report about a talent contest in a village up the coast. Then he came up with: “Opportunity Portknockie!” Genius.
Sadly, in spite of their inspirational influence and instruction, I turned out to be the world’s worst sub. Too careless, too panicky, headlines too long and, above all, too slow. If and when I was given a last-minute story to sub right on deadline, I froze.
To my horror, I still mind going home to see a huge queue ootside the newsagent across the road. A’body waitin’ for the Late Final, apparently affa late. I kint exactly fa was responsible.
So, it wisnae a’ that long into my time as a junior sub that I had a really, really bad day. When one of my headings “bust” because it was way too long, I suddenly bellowed oot this enormous: “Oh, sh**e!”
My shocked fellow subs exploded with laughter. I was the one to break the sweary ban. From then on, the air was – as it should always have been – creatively blue.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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