Beware being friends with a journalist

Being friends with a journalist means you are always at risk of being roped into a story they are working on. For a story I did on middle income earners last year, I interviewed my pals Chris, Gus and Deb - the story led to Chris being 'spotted' to present a TV show earlier this year. My stories have also starred my brother in law Martin (liver transplant recipient), my mother and aunt (who let me fry in a swimming pool when I was younger in a story about sunburn), my nana (a story about trains). I got Susie Poole a gig writing about her favourite year, introduced Natalie and Monique to our features section who have since had things published, and many craft pals have starred in the paper too, including Martha who made the front page skybox with a pair of her screen-printed undies.

But the piece de resistance comes tomorrow. Hapless, affable, lovable Neil is doing Movember this year, and did it last year to raise money for prostate cancer research, awareness and support. He has to grow a moustache over the month of November to raise the cash. A great cause and quite a sacrfice for his poor girlfriend Becc. So what have we done to celebrate his good efforts? Drawn a Senor Biggles moustache on him today on page three for thousands upon thousands of people to see, and tomorrow he gets much much worse treatment... stay tuned.

As I near my third trimester ...

... the prospect of actually having to give birth has started to dawn on me. I still can't get my head around that this thumping, kicking boy will one day be an actual thumping, kicking boy running around independently of me, but it's getting there. A Wellingtonista was telling me about her friends going over their birth plan at the weekend and doing practice runs to the hospital. We have a long way to go before we talk birth plans and all that. In fact, I only recently found out there was such a thing.

But if I were to write one now, here's how it would go:

1. Feel a few pesky twinges while sleeping in of a morning or in the bath, or lying somewhere comfortable like my couch.
2. The few pesky twinges called contractions quickly come closer together without me raising a sweat.
3. Midwife is called, calm and collected parents-to-be drive to hospital. Surprisingly, it's free parking day at the hospital, and look - there's a park right outside the front door!
4. Get into delivery suite and voila, gloriously handsome baby pops out. Mother wonders what all the fuss is about, while everyone stands around completely entranced with what a good-looking baby Tiny has turned out to be. Father doesn't faint from sight of blood. In fact, can be heard saying "where's the blood?"
5. Tiny goes to sleep and stays asleep all through the night, and only wakes to be fed or to give extremely cute smiles to his adoring parents and legions of fans who have gathered outside the hospital bearing frankincense, gold and myrrh.
6. Grows up to save the world from climate change, solves the problem of poor drinking water in third-world countries, cures cancer, fixes things up between the Palestinians and Israelis, convinces al-Qaeda/US military/suicide bombers/assorted loonies to stop killing people, and generally makes the world a better place.

Not unrealistic, surely?

Me, Hayley and Michael. Just one big happy article

I have become 'famous people profile' girl at work, which is actually quite good because I'm getting more confident about writing them and injecting some of my own impressions and personality into my stories. This weekend's newspaper contains not one, not two, but three profiles written by moi - including one on the fabulous Michael Palin (we're like *fingers crossed* now) that will run in The Press as well. And then yesterday I was handed Hayley Westenra's autobiography to read and interview her about. I don't know anything about her, except she seems awfully good. I'm sure anyone who has had The Datsuns to their 18th birthday party can't be all 'nice'. Surely there's some naughty side to her noone's found yet.

And then there's all the feedback from you lot and the Wellingtonistas suggesting people for our One of Us column. I've got a few in the bag to interview in the coming weeks which should keep us stocked up. The days are busy.

Meanwhile Tiny just gets a little less tiny and the kicking gets a little more visible. I was at a law seminar yesterday where he was acting up - I looked down at my belly and could see movement through my top. Crazy.

This makes me more proud to be a New Zealander than a wee shiny cup

On Sunday when the All Blacks were unceremoniously thrown out of the rugby World Cup I felt quite sorry for the players, who are no doubt feeling totally humiliated by the whole thing. They've looked so sheepish and frightened in all the media reports so far, I guess they had the pressure of an entire nation on them to win win win. When they lost, I thought that NZers in their 1000s would be lining up to give them a good kicking. And some apparently are. I hear that on talkback radio there's some fairly vitriolic criticism of the All Blacks.

But this has restored my hope for NZ kind.

We need warm bodies

It's not often I use my blog for furthering my career, but if my boss were to peer over my shoulder at this moment, he'd see I'm going to write a post about getting your ideas for stories that we can fill our glorious newspaper with.

I write primarily for the Long Weekend and Indulgence sections of said glorious newspaper which come out on a Saturday, and we have regular coloumns we need to fill. One of those is called One of Us, and it's a brief but entertaining look at someone doing something kooky, or has kooky stuff about them, or is a kooky person living in a kooky place. You get the idea. In the past I've done stories on Julian Raphael - community musician who runs the whopping Wellington Community Choir; Heather Barnes - Craftwerk inventor; and my good pal Gus Firestone - artist who is trying to get an international art movement off the ground from his Brooklyn flat. They're the kind of people who don't ft into our other sections - entertainment, arts, home, travel etc, but deserve some column inches. And preferably from Wellington, the lower North Island, or the upper South Island which is our coverage area.

So if you know someone who makes strange model rabbits out of chicken bones or has a small business polishing bondage equipment or is running a campaign to ban the colour turquoise or something, let me know. It doesn't have to be anything weird - could be a person who looks after stray seabirds, or who hand-makes all their own clothes from scratch, or is just someone you could imagine starting a conversation with "I know this guy who ...". Would be *super* if you actually knew the person and could give me contacts rather than "I know this guy, don't know his name ..." etc which makes us journos sad.

It's been a good week

Oh my, what a week. I feel like I've recovered my feature writer mojo in a series of quickly belted out little gems about a winemaker and a bro'Town personality, and the coming together of a lot of interviews and research into a beautiful piece of work on nuns. The nun story is the best piece of work I've done this year I reckon, something I've been wanting to do for a long time but had assignments to do instead. There's been controversy about the whole pregnant/drinking thing, and something to look forward to in the shape of interviewing Mr Palin. I also got some lovely smocks in the mail from Melissa to accommodate Tiny and this weekend I'm heading down to Christchurch with Sweeney for some time with the grandparents. I'm most of the way through the snowman on Sween's christmas stocking which is the most tricky adn yet boring part of the pattern, and I've felt more motivated and worked harder this week than I have for months. Hurrah! Here's hoping it lasts a little longer ...

Holy schizzlebags!

I've just been given an assignment to interview Michael Palin next week!

*high pitched girly squeal*

I LOVE him. He's my favourite Python, I love his shows, I have his books (or had them, before shifting house many times) and I think he's just a bag of neato-ness. I've been given his new book to read before the interview which I hope will survive this weekend away with Sweeney at his grandparents house, and am just all round pretty damn excited. Of course, I won't get to meet the man in the flesh, I have to phone London. But who cares! This rocks!

To drink or not to drink?

It occasionally happens, that because you are a journalist and you know people who are journalists, you get asked for contacts or to comment on a story. Last week that happened to me, when my old pal Julie who now works for the Herald on Sunday asked me to comment on a story about drinking while pregnant, as she didn't know any other pregnant women. I said yes, and answered her questions by email. The story is centred on a pregnant woman ordering a light beer in an Auckland bar, and being told off by the barman. I was asked what I thought of that, and if I had had a tipple or two while pregnant.

Here's the whole story, but in a nutshell, this is what I said:

Pregnant women who spoke to the Herald on Sunday were divided on the issue.
Journalist Kimberley Rothwell, 34, said morning sickness meant alcohol was the
last thing on her mind for the first three months. Now, at 22 weeks, she has an
occasional glass of white wine.
"I know women who have had the odd drink
during pregnancy and have had perfectly healthy babies, so I'm not going to
freak out about a splash of wine here and there."
"I would be angry if a bar
worker told me I couldn't have a light beer. It's none of his business."

I can count on one hand the half glasses of wine I've had, with meals, in the last few months. They have always been a little celebration for me - a kir at Logan Brown, a splash in Noosa, a dribble with fish and chips on moving out of Moffitt Street. I've never been a big drinker - possibly haven't been drunk in years - the last time I was tipsy was at the Qantas Awards the week before I found out I was pregnant, and was told not to worry about all the champagne, oysters, mussels and other dangerous goodies I quaffed that night.

And yet, I'm "disgusting" and "idiotic" according to a letter writer to the Herald, which my friend Julie forwarded me this morning. The writer says that if women can't control themselves for nine months they have to ask themselves what kind of mothers they will be, and that women claiming the right to choose if they drink or not is "bullshit".

I think the letter writer has a point, and I've often thought things like 'I don't need that piece of blue cheese, and if it's a risk of listeria I'll stay away from it'. But what are the risks here? This is from Babycenter.com:

Drinking endangers your growing baby in a number of ways: It increases the
risk of miscarriage and stillbirth. As little as one drink a day can
increase
the odds for low birth weight and raise your child's risk for
problems with learning, speech, attention span, language, and hyperactivity.
And
some research has shown that expectant moms who have as little as one
drink per
week are more likely than nondrinkers to have children who later
exhibit
aggressive and delinquent behavior.

Ok, but I'm not talking about a drink a day, or a week. I'm not even talking about a drink a fortnight. And how big are these risks? One in ten? One in a hundred? The letter writer says that drinking while pregnant should be illegal, that women should provide as pure an environment for their unborn children as possible. So should wearing high heels while pregnant be illegal, because you may fall and miscarry? Should driving or being near roads be illegal? Should smoking while pregnant be illegal? Should not eating properly during pregnancy be illegal? Should pregnant women forfeit rights to their own bodies, and stay locked up away from any risks in the name of a pure environment? If anything, I should be hauled over the coals for the amount of sugar I've been consuming, not alcohol.

And in the end, isn't it me as the child's parent who has to bear the consequences of anything that happens to my child?

I'm going to be a great mother - my kid's going to be a great kid, and will have the most important things of all; love, love, and love. Cheers to that.

PS I would be really interested to hear what others think on this subject - feel free to comment ...

At last, someone tells it like it is ...

I read this article on The Age site this morning, and almost let out a whoop ...