Our cub reporter Bert. A gift to pcbycp courtesy of Nick’s 66 mil.

At last in deference to the energy policy leadership vacuum, (this weeks feature article) some encouraging news from the media front. There aint gonna be no rule. That’s it folks, there aint gonna be no rules restricting ownership of media entities. You can have all you want, and more. And that’s just what we at pcbycp want to hear.

Our cub reporter getting to know miss Coltart in the typing pool at pcbycp

We know that we have established a niche in publshing, and thanks to the intercession of Nick Xenephon, there’s some federal funding for small media providers. We have an established readership of six. Our time has come. Up to 66.6 million is on offer to establish allowances to train journalists and cub reporters. We went to the zoo in search of cub reporters and were advised to attend the next meeting of the Parkville district scouting association, only to be told that we needed a police check to verify our bona-fides. This meant we had to provide testimonials. As we only had two each, we deferred our search for a cub reporter, and settled for just a plain old reporter.

And you’ll be delighted to hear, we found one.

Down at the Waterside Hotel. Bert, as he calls himself, one of the last of the old breed journalists was on hand to greet us. Bert, dispatched when the Truth closed down is now an orphan of journalisms early days. Bert was delighted to hear that the old style reporting was being actively encouraged. He was suprised when we told him that ‘Truth’ was gone from the public scene, and before asking the price of a cigarette, mourned the loss of days spent covering the last days of Billy Snedden.

Bert in happier days.

When journalism was “Truth”

Still, he expressed his enthusiasm in no uncertain terms, stating that there needs to be new life put into journalism. The police rounds, the tip off, on the turf, and the race to find the latest scoop were regaled to us. Berts eyes glazed over with pure nostalgia; “and they used to employ carrier pidgeons to get the leaks out before budget papers were released, and you’ve got no idea what used to go on in the glory days of six oclock closing’. Sadly, we had to interrupt his reverie, when we informed him that ‘ol style journalism’ was dead. Replaced by reality television and info-tainment. Bert was confused, till we rationalised his dillemma. ‘You’ve gotta understand Bert, it’s like this, you know when the adverts were just the fluff around the features. Well nowadays its just adverts. There is no investigative journalism, just adverts and product endorsement from the owners. And on the ABC it’s just Qand A’. He cried, looking up to us; ‘Who are they? These owners you speak of? Fairfax, Issacson, Packer’

WE tried not to laugh; “Nah mate, its all Murdoch”?

“So Keith is alive”, he queried,

“Nup, it’s his son”.

Bert ghasped, ashen faced he cried over his Craven A. Empathy overtook us, “Bit hard for you Bert. It’s a bit Darth Vader for you. Rupert is sole ruler of ALL media’.

Bert piped up; “But he’ll never own the wireless”.

“Nup Bert, he owns that too”.

Bert was flummoxed. ‘Well then I spose at least you’ve got the ABC’?

We laughed.. ‘Oh.. I get it’ Bert sighed; “so Rupert’s got that too?

Happier days at pcbycp

‘Yep’, we replied; “all owned by Rupert”

A quiet historical narrative ensued. At the end of it Bert soliliquised

“We used to be family in them ol days. And now the family is gorne. No family, but you tell me now I’ve got a brother. And you told me before I was ‘journalism’s orphan’?

‘Yes you have Bert. We all have.

Welcome to your family Bert.

We call him Rupert.

He’s your Big Brother.

Bert, before despair and alcohol set in.

We all call him Big Brother’.