I’ve spoken to a few student journalists, and work experience boys and girls at the Mercury, about the job and I say the same thing every time. I tell them that the way we communicate is changing, and Twitter and Facebook and the multitudes of other social networking sites and blogging and YouTube are altering the way we interact, distribute and access information… but the only thing which can turn these into effective tools is good old-fashioned journalism.

It is even more important on sites like Twitter, where the lack of word space calls for the ability to write clearly and concisely.

What kind of animal would steal photos of bicycles

If you click on the link, you find that it was the bikes that were stolen, and not photographs of them as the post suggests.

A recent story about a gun being found near a children’s playground is an example of how the internet has helped to keep us keep up to date with what’s going on in the city.

A contact of mine, Albert Berer, who runs the community watchdog website St Peters Neighbourhood Monitoring, posted this on Twitter:

Albert's Twitter post

I called him and we spoke for about 15 minutes – he told me about the ‘where, when, who, what and how’ which gave me enough information to approach the police and ask about the incident – without Albert’s post, I don’t think the cops would have notified anyone about the incident.

I ventured out to the scene, spoke to some terrified parents and worried residents and before I knew it we had a front page story.

The internet is a very useful tool, but it needs people like Albert to continue the traditional role of caring and keeping an eye out for his community, and it needs reporters to be able to turn that information in relevant, interesting and informative news.

* I’ve never used a typewriter for the purposes of journalism, I’m simply trying to say ‘a long time ago’…

Former education reporter Ian Wishart

The Leicester Mercury continues its search for a new education reporter.

The gaping hole left by former schools reporter Ian Wishart remains empty after more than a month - and is unlikely to filled by an internal applicant.

Not because the current crop of reporters feel intimidated by the thought of filling Ian’s large educational shoes – not at all. It’s because no one wants the horrific, Herculean task of dealing with Leicestershire’s educating elite, or head teachers as they’re otherwise known.

They are notoriously the most difficult people to get hold of, and if they don’t feel like speaking to you – they will simply won’t.

This was tough lesson learnt by two of the Mercury’s district reporters – Loughborough’s Dan Martin and Hinckley’s Shirley Elsby – who spend most of Wednesday calling schools in the county to see what heads thought of one of the biggest potential changes to the English schooling system in recent times.

Those who can't...

Every school in the country will have the chance to opt out of local authority control if they wish, and become an academy.

After ringing 70 – yes that’s seven-zero – schools, they successfully spoke to just four heads about the pro and cons of academy schools. Needless to say the article never made it to print.

Newsdesk wanted a story about head teachers’ reactions, instead they had to go for a story about the county education chief, Ivan Ould, pleading with schools to trust in the wisdom of the Government.

But teacher know best, and if schools don’t want to speak to us then who are we to argue.

A mother and her children, from Burnside Road, Saffron Lane, were woken in the early hours of Thursday morning after their home became “heavily involved in fire”.

It took four firefighters in breathing gear to get the family to safety and put the blaze out.

They managed to escape the burning house, but their pets – a dog, parrot and gerbil – were trapped inside.

A 16-year-old member of the family was distraught to learn her puppy was still roaming around the family home, while flames engulfed every room, and began calling for the young pooch.

As she stood in the street watching her home burn, he appeared in a first floor bedroom window. The youngster whistled and the terrified pup hurled himself out of the open window, landing in her arms.

The parrot and gerbil were also rescued. Phew.

This is amazing story – remarkably no one was hurt – and the family were more than happy to speak to me, especially the daughter, who begged her mum to be in the paper with her puppy.

So the day after the fire I visited the street.

However, the opportunity to get something positive from an incredibly bad situation was ruined by the family’s social worker – who realised that the story would appear in the Mercury and feature a family he was supposed to be ‘looking after’.

As I tried to speak to the family, and others in the street, he followed me everywhere I went and every time I opened my mouth to speak – even to neighbours – he would pipe up, ‘advising’ people not to talk to me.

The fact that a family in his care could have died because their home was decimated by fire was obviously too much for him – and the last thing he wanted was to have it pubicized in the paper.

I don’t know what he said to the mum as he took her to one side and whispered in her ear, but he managed to convince her that a lovely story about a family saving their much-loved pets against all the odds was a horrific idea.

He wouldn’t let me pass my phone number to the family either, snatching the card from my hand as I passed it over.

The same thing happened with the neighbours, and soon no one wanted to know me – with the exception of the 16-year-old daughter, who was still uber-keen to get in the paper.

I was only there to offer the family the chance to tell their story, and like always if somebody doesn’t want to say anything they are left alone.

The fact that they were really keen at the beginning, and only changed their minds after being taken to one side, made it a very frustrating situation. Not only that, but he simply does not have the right to interfere.

It could be argued that he’s going against the European Convention on Human Rights - article 10: The Freedom of Expression:

“Everyone has the right of freedom of expression. This right shall include freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas without inference by public authority and regardless of frontiers.”

But that’s for the knowledgeable people in fancy wigs to say, not me.

A brief 20 second appearance on East Midlands Today this evening will hopefully have cemented my presence as a powerhouse of local media… or not.

I was being interviewed about my favourite subject… *potholes, and the success of our Pothole Hotline – a phone number people can ring to report damaged roads near their homes.

And they spelt it right

Quite strange that the BBC would use the Mercury in such a way though. Traditionally, news organisations compete for readership/viewers etc, and don’t feature each other.

But it was nice to see other journalists do their thing as well… and it was great to see their startled faces when I explained that we have to write three lead stories a day, as well as dozens of nibs and fillers.

“Wow! That’s proper journalism.” said my interviewer Nina – a compliment indeed.

Hopefully it won’t be long before my Rupert Murdoch-style assault on the Leicestershire news scene begins to bear fruit.

*Potholes are not my favourite subject.

A press release was uploaded to the police website at 9.50pm on Friday night to say a 34-year-old man had been arrested in connection with a woman’s murder. 

I rang the police control room today (Saturday) to ask if he had been charged yet – because if he had, it would mean he would be appearing in court this morning and I didn’t want to miss it. 

Don't waste our time asking about murder - this number is for serious incidents only

I rang all the 2’s and asked the call handling team leader (TL) if I could speak to which ever press officer was on duty this weekend. 

The conversation went something like this: 

PW: “Hi, my name is Pete, I’m ringing from the Leicester Mercury. Can I speak to the on-call press officer please?” 

TL: “Sorry, there isn’t one.” 

PW “I know there is, there’s always someone on at the weekends.” 

TL: “Okay, there might be, but I don’t know who it is.” 

PW:  “How do you not know, who do you call if something happens or something needs to go on the website?”

TL: “Look I told you, I can’t contact her.” 

PW: “So you do know who it is then?” 

TL: “I won’t be calling the on-call press officer because they’re only for serious incidents.” 

PW: “Is a murder not a serious incident?” 

TL: “…” 

PW: “Under what circumstances are you allowed to contact whoever’s on duty this weekend?” 

TL: “If you wait until Monday, someone will be in the press office and you can talk to them then.” 

The conversation carried on like this for another minute or so -  getting more and more frustrating – until there was nothing left to do but ask for the call handler’s name and hang up. 

How much more serious than the murder of a human being does a situation have to be for the press office to gallantly spring into action – I hope the real police take it more seriously than their communications counterparts. 

This is a very poor system of communication that the police have adopted, and it doesn’t seem to benefit anyone – especially us.

Grania with her mum and dad at the finish

Congratulations to my achy girlfriend who completed the world’s first ever Kilomathon in superdooper time today.

More than 5,700 people ran, jogged, walked, crawled and cried their way through a 26km race from Nottingham to Derby this morning.

The Kilomathon is the 26km version of its bigger brother the 26mile marathon – and attracted a variety of running talent from all over the country, including professionals, amateurs and first timers.

It was the first race of its kind anywhere apparently, and Grania finished the cold, blustery course in 2h 21mins – coming an impressive 1,665th – as I watched from behind the barriers with thousands of other spectators and a dribbling nose.

I’d also like to give special mention to a chap in his 50s – called Lee – who was walking alone, and still at least 4km from the finish line, as Grania and I headed back to the M1 on our way home.

I didn’t see anyone behind him apart from a few race stewards cleaning up the debris left by 5,699 other runners – go Lee!

For more photos of the event click here…

A small part of the £1,000,000 haul seized by Spinney Hills police

I would like to thank the members of Leicestershire Police who not only made my job easy today but also quite enjoyable.

On Wednesday, officers raided a cannabis factory and spent most of this morning (Thursday) removing tens-of-thousands of pounds worth of cultivating equipment and about £1 million worth of weed.

I arrived at the disused building – a former Dunlop factory, in Evington Valley Road – to find about 20 policemen and women bustling in and out like a team of law enforcing worker ants.

The steady stream of officers were bringing out scores of fertiliser bags, heating lamps and more than 500 metres of electrical wiring from the second floor of the building and throwing them into two massive skips.

Within minutes of arriving I was talking to the sergeant in charge and was offered a tour of the factory almost immediately.

Bagged up and ready for the incinerator

Sgt Sanjay Chauhan showed me the living quarters where three men they had arrested the night before. He pointed out where a team of officers had used a battering ram – known as a red key – to smash their way through the re-enforced doors.

He told me how much cannabis had been found and its possible street value – I hadn’t even asked anything yet.

He showed me the 100 metre long room which had been used to grow the plants and where the green-fingered criminals had set up surveillance cameras to spot intruders.

It was so refreshing to talk to someone who was open and honest about what they did.

It was also pretty cool to see more than £1 million worth of cannabis too.

A little known fact is that most local authority workers are taught to mirror their reaction to reporters on The Scream man

I went to the Highfields Community Centre last night to report on a Spinney Hills community meeting, and during the various presentations several residents raised their concerns about issues such as parking and litter – nothing new there.

Usually I would note down what is said and talk to the relevant people after the meeting, and as usual the residents involved were more than happy to talk

However, on this occasion, trying to get the council officers to say anything other than “speak to the press office” was a Herculean task.

When I asked one guy about a series of new recycling bins in St Peters, and why he had chosen those specific areas to place them, his pupils dilated and his hands began to fidget violently as he scanned the room looking for the nearest exit.

When his female colleague approached, who I assume was his superior, he said: “Don’t worry I didn’t give him a quote, he’s from the Mercury.”  It was half tongue in cheek and said with some gaiety, but there was a considerable sense of trepidation as he tried to convince the woman he hadn’t given away any vital secrets about the clandestine world of recycling management.

He then looked at me and said: “I’m not allowed to talk to you, I’d get in a lot of trouble.” He apologised, I accepted and we parted company.

What felt like three hours later – after listening to a jargon filled presentation about youth services which left everyone in the room none the wiser as to what services were available for youngsters – I tried to talk to a woman who had just expressed her concerns about parking near the Afro Caribbean Centre where she worked.

Just moments before, she had become very animated when objecting to the removal of parking spaces in the area and demanded answers from a fearful looking council officer – who didn’t actually have anything to do with parking. When he failed to stand up to her interrogation, she huffed, slumped back into her seat and informed the officer that “this isn’t over.”

I thought I would approach the lady regarding her comments.

However, her vociferous attitude faded immediately as I told her I was from the Leicester Mercury.

“I can’t talk to you, you’ll get me sacked,” she said, as she physically recoiled and turned her back to me

“That reporter from the Mercury wants me to say something about the parking,” she told her friend before I explained that she wouldn’t be sacked for talking to me – I just wanted to know about the extent of the problem.

“No way, I’m not saying anything, you’ll have to talk to the press office, you’ll get me sacked,” she repeated.

Very frustrating.

Carl Gunns putting some hopefuls throught their paces

Boxing coach and promoter Carl Gunns has organised a fund-raising day for the family of Mark Elkington, a teacher and friend of Carls who was killed in a motorcycle accident before Christmas last year leaving behind pregnant girlfriend Sam.

The event will take place at the Birstall Social Club, on Sunday, May 16, and feature exhibition bouts from local amateurs, professionals, world champions and… me.

Carl has agreed to test my pugilistic prowess against Golden Gloves champion Omar Kalik, and in return I’ll ask people to sponsor me to get my ass kicked.

In much the same way that I agreed to perform stand-up at the Leicester Comedy Festival… I have agreed to train, fight, lose and then write about my boxing experience in the Leicester Mercury.

I don’t really know much about boxing, I don’t know what a Golden Gloves champion is and I’m pretty sure this is a stupid idea.

Although, having been bought up on the mean streets of Stoneygate, I would often find myself faced with difficult ‘kill or be killed’ situations – especially during piano lessons or when confronting the housekeeper.

Maybe this hard-knock upbringing is what I need to get me through three, one-minute rounds with Omar.

So Carl and his trusty crew of trainers have been putting me through my paces and carving an indestructible, lean, mean, ducking, weaving, Marques of Queensberry rules obeying, rabbit punching, fighting machine.

Boys, girls, reporters... Carl will train anyone

Well sort of… I’ve had three sessions at Carl’s gym, in Birstall, so far and I think I’ve just about mastered putting those strappy things around my hands to stop me hurting them when I punch things.

Muhammad Ali once said: “I’m so fast that last night I turned off the light switch in my hotel room and was in bed before the room was dark.”

I’m going to give that a go tonight and see what happens… hopefully I’ll trip over in the dark break my arm and miss out on being humiliated by a ‘proper’ boxer.

This one is courtesy of Leicester City Council – Positively homeless