Guest Blogger - Tiffany Farrington: How To Lose A Job In PR

Tiffany Farrington, founder of the innovative Social Diary and PR industry stalwart, wrote a blog post recently on losing a job in PR.

So many people I know want to work in PR - and anyone who works in the industry will tell you just how much hard work is involved. Here are some pointers from Tiff to ensure that once you are in the industry, you stay there...

(Tiffany is pictured here at the 2009 Social DAIRY Christmas party, dressed as a carton of Social Dairy milk. Of course! Tiff's parties, held each year for the media and associated industries, are LEGENDARY - hands down the best in the country!)

How to Lose a Job in PR

Everyone talks about how tricky it can be to get a job in PR and the various ways to get your foot in the door, but perhaps we should have just as much discussion on how to keep the job once you actually get it. So you've gone to Uni, studied PR, done some work experience, completed an internship, and scored a job - what do you do to ensure you don't lose it? As I've blogged before, there is NO crime in making a mistake - we are all human, and it's how you handle that mistake that proves your worth. Being shown the door is usually not due to mistakes, but rather deep-rooted character traits. I chatted with a group of Sydney's top PRs to find out exactly what the fireable offences were...

Lies & Cover-ups
Who could forget the pearler about the PR gal who doctored an email to a client and got caught? See my previous blog, PR F@#k Ups. Lies & cover ups of this kind are the very worst, so it's ALWAYS best to 'fess up rather than cover up.

One PR states "One of my Senior Account Managers was in effect useless, but constantly blamed me or the client for not getting results. After questioning her for months, sitting in meetings where I knew she was lying, we finally got an email saying our services were not going to be renewed - with the finger firmly pointing at her. When confronted she just looked at me blankly and said the client was a punish and she didn't want to work on it anyway - and so it was best the agency didn't have them on board anymore! She is hardly in a position to decide what's best for my agency. Needless to say...Sayonara."

Theft
For one top PR, a theft was accidentally stumbled upon after a media sendout of luxe grog was one case short. Two weeks later, a friend of the boss came in the office, saw the grog in question and said "Wow, you've got those, I went to a party recently and she had them too!" Apparently young...let's call her Shazza Sticky-Fingers had taken it upon herself to relieve the office of the case for a party she was having at home. And of course, they had taken delivery of the only batch of the product available in the whole country. All eyes then darted to young Shazza, who nervously pretended to receive a phone call and quickly left the room...only to return to hear the boss say, "Shazza, in my office. Now." And to make matters worse for herself? Her response to being fired was "Well I'm not happy here anyway". There is nothing more class-less that being ungracious in the face of the firing squad when you have been so spectacularly sprung. See ya Shaz!

Partying too hard
One PR friend says: "We flew a junior to Melbourne to work on a music gig and she decided to carry on all night long, ringing with a bollocks story the next morning about missing her flight. Pics immediately surfaced of her on Facebook as well as in Sydney Confidential of her partying hard, clearly off chops. BUSTED."

Another company tells of a 9am new business meeting the morning after a huge media launch. An employee, let's call her Sleepy Sheila, rocked up to the office at 8:50am in the same clothes from the day before, smelling like vom and begging for chewing gum. After frantically trying to get it together, the meeting commenced. The witness says: "Within 20 minutes, her eyes started dropping and her elbow slouched onto the table as she desperately tried to keep her head upright. Within another 10 minutes, Sleepy was officially snoozing. It took another 15 minutes for the team director to realise, and luckily at this point the client had failed to notice. One team member nudged Sleepy and another started coughing loudly but nothing worked. Eventually the client noticed and asked the director to wake the girl. Sleepy promptly found herself unemployed...and most likely returned to the woods to join the other 6 dwarves."

To read the rest of this scarily accurate piece, go here:

http://socialdiaryaustralia.blogspot.com/2010/11/how-to-lose-job-in-pr.html

And to follow Tiffany on Twitter, go here: http://twitter.com/tiffsocialdiary

Guest blogger: Dan Gilmore. “Who do you prefer: He-Man or McGuyver?”

Dan Gilmore is a old work pal of mine and has started blogging. So I asked him to feature as guest blogger here... and convinced him to write his own bio:

"Dan is a creative chap, which means his thoughts are usually far, far away from the things that other grown-ups fret about. He runs the website of a children's hospital charity in Brisbane, annoys his housemate with banjo music, and rocks a stylish cowboy hat. Dan Does NaNoWriMo is his first attempt at a serialised dating memoir."

Here is a piece entitled "Speed Dating", by Dan does NaNoWriMo

“Who do you prefer: He-Man or McGuyver?”

Of the people sitting around the table, four noses crinkle, one mouth laughs, and one face asks “Who's He-Man?”. I've just admitted my plans for tonight involve a speed-dating event. Now we're workshopping conversation starters.

Geoff's nose had crinkled but then he laughed. “That's the kind of question only you could get away with, Dan.”

Louise, one of our other sub-editors, declares: “You can't ask that – it's too obvious!”

Nate Devenish chips in. “Man, if you get some chick that says she loves He-Man, you gotta get her home. It means she's into naked chests and furry underpants. That's a licence to do every-fucking-thing.”

Louise isn't even sitting next to Nate and I can see her try to scootch every atom of her body away from him without looking like she's trying to escape him.

“Hey Lou, who do you prefer then? He-Man vs McGuyver?” I ask.

“...He-Man.” Her cheeks flush with a dirty embarrassment. Nate doesn't even slow down to smirk about his rumoured triumph with Lou. He's the kind of guy who sees any conquest as a victory - he probably smirked while I was watching Lou's reaction. A voice in the back of my head speaks with Nate's voice: “I bet he blows his load too quickly in bed too, man!”. A voice in the front of my mind speaks with my voice and suggests it's time to see a psychiatrist.

Anyway, the real Nate just jumped on the conversation. “See, what you wanna do is imply you got this amazing control over your dick. It's all about your confidence, man. Doesn't matter if they're good looking or not – fuck, they can't all be pretty runs on your way to a century, right?”

The rest of the table ignores Nate or awkwardly reach for their beers. I'm nervous and desperate for advice. Gotta keep this conversation alive.

To continue reading, go to: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/notes/dan-does-nanowrimo/speed-dating/120495468014027

And to follow more of Dan's musings on dating, go here and click 'like':

http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/pages/Dan-does-NaNoWriMo/168840766474942

Guest blogger: Jessica Ainscough. Q&A with Annalise Braakensiek.

Jessica Ainscough is an old work buddy of mine and an inspiration. Read her bio, in her own words, to see why...

"I began my writing career as the editorial assistant and social reporter for Nine to Five and City Weekly magazines in Sydney. After a couple of years there I landed a job at Dolly, helping to solve puberty blues one teen at a time. All that changed when I was diagnosed with a very rare, very aggressive cancer called Epithelioid Sarcoma. I quit my job and moved back to my hometown, the beautiful Sunshine Coast. I swapped back-to-back parties for rest and relaxation and ditched a diet that consisted mostly of champagne, canapés and late night Macca’s to become a carrot juice-guzzling, lentil-loving vegan. I now spend my time juicing, meditating, practicing Bikram yoga and learning everything I can about healing."

Here we feature another guest blog from the talented writer:

Q&A with Annalise Braakensiek – model, actress, entrepreneur and creator of the organic catering company, Love Lunch

Blonde hair, killer body, pretty face – it's pretty easy to write Annalise Braakensiek off as just another hot Aussie model. However, take one look at her long list of eclectic credentials and your opinion of her swiftly changes. Annalise may be best known here in Oz for her work as a model, actress and television personality, but what many of you may not know about her is that she is also a keen vegetarian chef, the designer of an eco-friendly range of lingerie and a tireless advocate for animal rights. High on her list of achievements is the 2008 launch of Love Lunch, her organic, meat-free catering company that focuses on delivering delicious and healthy lunches.

What does "wellness" mean to you?
Eating a balanced organic meat free diet, exercising, laughing and sleeping lots and drinking plenty of purified water.

What sparked your interest in healthy food?
I was fortunate enough to have been brought up on a biodynamic farm, so I have never known any other way. It's wonderful to be able to share that with others... to provide people with healthy, delicious food.

To read the rest of this piece, go here: http://thewellnesswarrior.blogspot.com/2010/11/q-with-annalise-braakensiek-model.html

Guest blogger: Tiffany Farrington. Confessions of a Doorbitch

Tiffany Farrington is once again guest blogger, with another hilariously accurate post.

Have a read; if you work in the world of PR, every word will ring true:

Confessions Of A Doorbitch.

So I blog about parties and what happens at them, but what about what happens right outside the door? The things I've witnessed and the stories I've heard over the years from doorstaff are often funnier than the gossip bubbling inside. My all time fave would have to be the loud lass who swore black and blue that she knew Tiffany "really, really well". I must admit I let her babble on a fair bit before I eventually let her know that I was in fact, Tiffany...

A lot can be learned about the skills required to handle yourself if you're ever in one of these jobs, or more importantly if you're a punter and dealing with someone who has the authority to make or break your night. Below are some anecdotes, tips & tricks from both sides of the rope.

I remember hearing sage advice when I was an underager and lining up to get into clubs like Sugareef, Kinselas and The Freezer. I was advised to "f#$% them with your eyes" which looking back is hilarious seeing as we were all 15 and virginal. God only knows what kind of goofy looks we were giving the door guys, could you just die? Funnily enough a lot of the guys working the door in the early 90's are still there now so perhaps I should ask. ;)

My sister Fleur was the ultimate doorbitch, having worked on the velvet rope of the famous Atlantic Bar in London in the early 1990's. Every celebrity worth their column inches frequented the hotspot, from Prince to The Spice Girls and everyone in between. Fleur's job was to separate the riff from the raff so to speak, and the irony that a 21 yr old Aussie girl clad in Sportsgirl was the ultimate authority was not lost on her. She certainly saw some funny things in her time there, from Bjork & Goldie shagging in the staff toilets, to Jason Patric being turfed out for pinching ladies on the butt and Naomi Campbell turning her nose up at Louis Roderer Champagne. As one does.

Why a bitch?
Have you ever wondered why they morph from a doorgirl to a doorbitch? Most of them apparently don't start off with attitude - it's something that is acquired after long nights of endless desperados and douchebags, blistering cold, drunks and worse - so perhaps the humble doorbitch should be respected rather than reviled. In Fleur's first 2 weeks on the door she was actually way more nervous than the punters on the other side of the rope, letting anyone and everyone in, absolutely terrified of saying no. "You would be amazed at how this can affect the atmosphere & vibe of the club, and you learn this pretty quickly" Fleur says. Her tip? The doorbitch moniker is supposed to be tongue-in-cheek. Don't be a bitch, just tough but fair.

Who to choose?
Fleur was instructed to let girls in who were dressed to kill, and to only let guys in if they were cashed up. She was obviously able to recognise a fabulously dressed girl but how to tell with the guys? By their watch & their shoes. Fleur became an expert at discerning between a Casio and a Cartier, a Dunhill brogue and a Kumf. The theory here is that the more gorgeous women inside, the more the rich men will pull out their cash and Platinums left right & centre to buy them drinks - also adding to the decadent atmosphere of the bar.

Um, sorry, who are you?
Once a short, grey, balding man came up to the door and looked at Fleur, who delivered her standard line which was "Good evening Sir, do you have a reservation or are you on the guest list?" He said nothing, just simply stared. Thinking he hadn't heard her she repeated the question. He continued to say nothing, but just looked at her quizzically. Becoming frustrated, she couldn't help repeating her line with a tone dripping in sarcasm, "I SAID. Do you have a reservation. Or Are. You On. THE GUEST LIST??!" Suddenly her boss appeared, pushed her aside, lifted up the rope and said "This way, Mr De Niro. Fleur, in my office NOW." Unfortunately Fleur also failed to recognise Bill Murray. Twice. She still swears to this day they were just grumpy old men.

Do you know who I am?
We all say this as a joke, but yes, people actually say this for real...more often than you would even imagine. Once the lead singer of Pulp, Jarvis Cocker, was trying to get into Atlantic (his eyeballs rolling into the back of his head) after last drinks were called, and Fleur was obviously unable to let him in. Screaming blue murder, he said: "Do you know who I am?? I'm going to get you fired!" to which she calmly replied "I know who you are, but do you know who I am? I'm the girl who's still not going to let you in." Nice.

Dealing with douchebags
Fleur once had an argument with the friend of a guy she wasn't letting in because he was inebriated. (Actually I think most of us have been in this situation with security: "I swear he's not drunk!") but on this occasion Fleur won the argument when the wasted guy pulled his willy out and started peeing at her feet. The friend, duly humiliated, took the drunk by the arm and quickly left. My sister has unfortunately been flashed a number of times but always handles herself beautifully, my favourite being when she used to work at the Four In Hand in Paddington. Some guy ordered a beer, and when she turned back around to serve it to him she saw that he had flopped his willy out onto the bar. Without skipping a beat, she responded "Sorry, we don't accept small change here." Needless to say his entire group of mates roared hysterically as he turned beetroot red and popped his wang back where it belonged. The golden rule here? The best way to beat a douchebag is to embarass him in front of his mates, a lesson from my sister that I proudly upheld during my bartending years.

Know when to give up
Some people are relentless in their pursuit to get in, when really they should recognise that it just aint gonna happen. When they were over capacity Fleur would tell people to go home, that they weren't coming in tonight - and then would watch them wait for hours and hours in minus 10 degrees, in the pouring rain, absolutely miserable, freezing and drenched. She stopped feeling sorry for them because well...you've gotta be kidding. Remember whatever bar you're at, chances are there's another bar around the corner - try your luck another night!

My claim to fame
My fave door moment happened when I was at New York Fashion Week in 2006. I was dying to go to Bungalow 8 as I'd heard so much about it, but a NY photographer friend of mine said "Like, there's absolutely NO way you'll get in there". I was like, "well why don't we just give it a shot - I'm in New York!" He argued but I won, and when we arrived at Bungalow 8 sure enough there was a queue of 150 people snaking down the street. I even ran into Josh Goot heading the opposite way who told me "We can't get in, we're leaving." For some reason nothing would dissuade me, I think I was just on such a high being back in my favourite city. So I walked straight up to the door and literally said "Hi! We're from Australia, can we come in?" Seriously, that was my line. The burly doorman, a huge 8ft tall African American named 'Disco', eyed me up and down (and no my boobs weren't out, it was February and I was in a Michelin-man style puffa jacket and beanie), looked at my friends, then casually lifted the rope to let us in. Just like that. We quickly walked in, and I turned to see my pessimistic New Yorker friend frozen to the spot with a gaping jaw. Quoting Elle from Legally Blonde I simply said, "Like that was hard?" and disppeared inside...I may have even clicked my fingers for dramatic effect. Come on, you would have too ;)

Tips for being a doorbitch
-Know what your celebrity guests & media look like
-Know what the famous Sydney gatecrashers look like! They get around...
-Build a rapport with regulars
-Get to know who the owner's friends are
-Dress appropriately. You can hardly turn unstylish people away when you look like you've just gotten out of bed
-Don't just say "no" and give no reason. 'Over capacity' and 'private party' are better, and kinder, lines
-Don't be a bitch - just tough in a nice way

Tips for dealing with a doorbitch
-Be polite. The fastest way to be turned away is to be rude
-Make a few jokes and build a rapport with the doorbitch. Even if you don't get in the first time, the next time she/he may remember you and let you in!
-Don't turn up wasted. It's illegal for clubs to let you in if you're inebriated and they can be heavily fined
-Don't think that they won't notice you're wasted. Just think of how smashed your friends seem after a few drinks when you're stone cold sober!
-Don't argue. They have the ultimate power and it NEVER helps the matter, especially in Winter when they've been freezing on the door for 8 hours
-You'll always have more luck getting in with girls than with guys. Guys should split up and enter with 2 girls each.
-No really usually does mean NO. Recognise when to cut your losses and move on to the bar next door
-Quite simply: call ahead and get your names on the door
-When in doubt just say you're from Australia, it's worked for me countless times all around the world. 25 years on from Crocodile Dundee and they STILL love us. Thanks Paul! :)

Read Tiffany's first guest blog here: http://josiesjuice.blogspot.com/2010/08/guest-blogger-tiffany-farrington.html

And follow Tiffany on Twitter here: http://twitter.com/tiffsocialdiary

Oprah is coming to Australia.... in case you haven't heard! Part one on this $ bonanza. Guest blogger: Ed Gibbs

So, you've probably heard by now that Oprah, the Big O, O-ski, The Winster is heading Down Under. I LOVE that Tourism Australia has been plotting this for a whole year (had they told Demi Moore? Well, she would've announced it - in a skimpy bikini - via Twitpic).

I also adore her audience's reaction; positively losing their 'nana with excitement. I often watch those Oprah gift-giving shows just to watch people cry tears over a state-of-the-art mixer. But this, well this is entirely different. Three hundred of her nearest and dearest leaving on a jet plane with John Travolta, qualified Qantas pilot and Oprah's bestie.

I've read two pieces on the upcoming Oprah shebang in the last 24 hours which I really enjoyed, and I'd like to share them with you.

One is from my good bud Ed Gibbs. Ed is a film, music and travel journalist, based in Sydney and has edited several film/music-related magazines, regularly hosts major film events (for the innovative Popcorn Taxi), is often asked to vent his spleen on live radio, and worked on "The Latest and Greatest" movie show for the Showtime TV network. He also contributes to a wide variety of international publications, including Empire, Rolling Stone, Men's Style, GQ, Time Out London/ Worldwide and The Sun-Herald/ Sunday Age, among many others. He regularly blogs on all things film, TV, music and travel on http://www.plasticsouls.blogspot.com/ and I highly recommend you follow him, and follow his Tweets on http://twitter.com/EdGibbs.

Hoges, Where the Bloody 'ell are Ya?

THE OPRAH WINFREY MACHINE IS COMING TO OZ. That's what was gleefully announced today in Sydney by a small group of local government ministers who may -- or may not -- be avid viewers of the daytime show.

What's more, we'll be helping to bring her over (thanks to government funding) and -- naturally -- it's in the best interests of the nation that we do. An embattled NSW Premier even got to pat her team on the back for not letting the secret out of the bag early. Finally, we sighed, a state government managing to get something right.

Ms Winfrey (pictured, above with some audience members and a very happy Tourism Australia rep) isn't coming purely for the star-fawning pleasures of party junkies, of course. Nor for the purpose of boosting her own ratings -- which hardly need our help. No, what the mighty O will bring to these far and distant shores goes far and beyond any guest gawping that would make even the brashest of nations quietly wince into their cornflakes the following day.

Ms Winfrey's TV extravaganza -- with 300 of her most devoted daytime fans and their captain John Travolta in tow, for a week-long Oz fest in December which culminates at the Opera House -- will, tourism chiefs hope, throw a spotlight on Oz the likes of which has never been seen before. Ever.

Continue reading here:

http://plasticsouls.blogspot.com/2010/09/hoges-where-bloody-ell-are-ya.html

Read part two of my fave pieces on Oprah's big Aussie junket in next blog post.

(Photo courtesy LA Times).

Guest blogger Sarah Wilson: "This Week I Don’t Buy Style."

Sarah Wilson is an Australian media personality and journalist with an integrated voice across television, radio, magazines, newspapers and online. She’s the former editor of Cosmopolitan magazine and host of MasterChef Australia, the highest rating show in Australian TV history. She’s now the host and program developer for the country’s newest channel Lifestyle YOU, and is Sunday Life magazine’s weekly columnist, writing about how to have a better life.

Sarah is an adept social commentator, following a career that’s spanned politics, health advocacy, restaurant reviewing, opinion writing and trend forecasting. Her area of expertise is the “new wellness” and how to make life a bit sweeter.

I read her latest column in today's edition of Sunday Life magazine, called "My case against shopping" and it spoke to me. Don't buy anything for a whole month? I like it. Have a read here, read the rest on her site, and follow her on http://www.sarahwilson.com.au/. You can also follow her on Twitter: http://twitter.com/_sarahwilson_


This Week I Don’t Buy Style

Bless me father, for it has been nine weeks since my last resentful, unsatisfying and agitated jaunt to the gaudily adorned shrine that is my local shopping mall. Indeed, it’s been nine weeks since I’ve bought anything, apart from food, petrol and cotton buds.

While I’m confessing, I should point out this is not unusual for me. A while back I wrote in this magazine about going for 279 days without shopping for clothing. Not even knickers. I did a four-month stint more recently. I know this because my accountant called to tell me, somewhat perplexed. “So what do you actually wear?”

It’s not that I set out to make a point (although I do have a robust anti-consumerist streak). It’s more that as weekends roll around I “give myself permission” not to spend my Saturday looking for the perfect flat-heeled patent leather riding boot, propelled by the insane idea that said boots will lend gravitas to my identity. I give myself a leave pass from getting bogged down in making yet another bloody decision…under the high-pressure gaze of a commission-based sales assistant.

Which brings me to the contentious tenet of this week’s exploration: when you don’t shop, you have better style. Every no-shopping stint I invariably reach a point where I get bored of wearing the same grey marle poo-catchers and All Saints deconstructed hoodie every day. I start to whine that I have nothing to wear. The momentum To Shop builds. And then… I get a grip. Do I really need to make a trek to the mall? I mean, I have a double sliding-doored wardrobe of stuff I haven’t worn in years. And I’ve not chucked it out precisely because I envisaged one day I’d find a creative way to wear it.

And so I plunge, in and around to that awkward, Bermuda Triangle section in the middle of a sliding-doored wardrobe and drag out clothes I haven’t worn since lay-by was still a done thing. It’s always a rewarding experience – with fresh eyes that old tartan skirt or Thai silk matinee jacket looks new and exciting. I immediately see creative ways to wear them. I accessorise like Trinny and Susannah. I clash prints and mismatch textures. In effect, this necessitated plunge into the annals gets me stylin’.

Read the rest of this excellent piece here: http://www.sarahwilson.com.au/2010/09/sunday-life-my-case-against-shopping/#more-1214

Thanks to Sarah for permission to reproduce this excerpt. Photos courtesy: http://www.sarahwilson.com.au/

Guest blogger: Roderick Eime

Guest blogger and adventure cruiser, Roderick Eime, offers us this introduction to the growing phenomenon of ‘expedition and adventure cruising’.

In case you’ve been living under a stone this last year or so, you may have missed the fact that cruising – in big ships and small – is on a rocket at the moment.

One of the reasons that we Australians are seeing a surge in cruise activity is that Americans withdrew almost unilaterally from the travel landscape after the GFC. Some are creeping back, picking up huge discounts, but most stay close to home. Remember that only around one in five Americans own a passport.

Consequently cruise lines are moving their spare floating inventory to our waters to capture our undiminished lust for travel. P&O, Royal Caribbean, Princess and now Cunard have announced expansion to their Australasian programs.

Personally, I’m less of a fan of the big ship experience than the small ship one. Small vessels, sometimes called expedition or adventure ships, are the sort that head off to remote islands and exotic locations where there is often no tourism infrastructure at all. Places like Papua New Guinea, remote Fiji, Vanuatu and the Solomons are easy for us to get to but still deliver true ‘wild adventure’.

There are four Australian cruise companies that quickly come to mind as market leaders in this field: Orion, Coral Princess, North Star and Captain Cook. Each have their own particular brand and style that has helped them develop their own loyal following.

Orion Expeditions is, in my mind, something of a crossover, product. It has all the big ship trimmings, but still ventures into ‘uncharted’ waters. It probably has the best ocean-going capability of the segment which allows them to make the voyage to deep Antarctica each year.

Coral Princess were the first to initiate true small ship boutique cruises in this country with overnight cruises on the Great Barrier Reef back in the early eighties. Now their three vessels venture throughout our regional waters to PNG, Vanuatu, New Zealand and the Kimberley.

North Star Cruises operate the gorgeous True North, a compact 36- passenger luxury motor yacht that operates our waters on similar itineraries. It often carries a helicopter and is possibly the most experienced operator in our hugely popular Kimberley region.

Captain Cook Cruises appeal to the 4-star market, offering a more affordable product without the marble bathrooms and gold plated taps. Their Murray River cruise is a leader as is their Fiji sailings, especially the annual ‘Dateline’ adventure that pushes out into the more remote islands.

Still reading? Well why not pop over to the Adventure Cruise Guide (http://adventurecruiseguide.com/) to see whether you are really an adventure cruiser?

Roderick Eime reports regularly on adventure and expedition cruising for consumer and trade media. Read his reports in Cruise Passenger magazine, Cruise Weekly, Escape and Ocean Magazine.

Guest blogger: Andrew Mercado

Andrew Mercado is the foremost authority on all that is good (or bad) on Aussie TV. He appears every Wednesday on Channel 9's Kerri-Anne and every Monday and Friday at 7.25pm on The Playlist on Foxtel's Showcase.

Andrew's first job in TV was as location manager on Paradise Beach (remember that show?) followed by publicist for Pacific Drive (another Aussie 'classic'). Next came Channel [V] where he started as publicist and was then asked on-air to review movies, followed by a stint on sister channel Music Max.

I met Andrew some years ago when the book he wrote on every Australian-made television serial drama (called 'Super Aussie Soaps') was released. He showed me around the Foxtel studios and for a real TV nerd like me, it was a massive thrill.

He gives his views on all that's worth watching - or avoiding - on telly on his site Mercado TV and I highly recommend you subscribe to it: http://mercadotv.com.au/ and follow him on Twitter: http://twitter.com/mercadoTVau

Here is his first guest blog for Josie's Juice.

Cop Flops
Aussie cop TV shows are going down, down, down. Last week Seven’s City Homicide hit a new low with just 747.000 viewers while Ten’s Rush had only 668,000 viewers as it went head to head with Nine’s new Cops L.A.C starring Gary Sweet.

Our newest Aussie cop show premiered with 1.1 million viewers but watch it sink like a stone over the next few weeks because it truly is terrible. “There’s More to Gary Sweet/Kate Ritchie/Denise Roberts/Roy Billing Than You Know” scream the taglines on expensive newspaper ads and bus posters everywhere but guess what folks – there’s nothing more to know about any of these great actors as they are wasted in a boring cheap cliched disaster.

You can always rely on Nine to scrape rock bottom in a year when Aussie drama is at an all-time high. Tangle, Packed To The Rafters, Spirited and Offspring are all must-see dramas while Undebelly: A Tale of Two Cities was patchy but scored big time in the ratings while Sea Patrol also held solid in its fourth season.

The problem is there are too many shows doing the same thing and the audience is tiring fast. That’s why Rescue: Special Opps a show that started off well with cinematic sequences, is now losing credibility and audience with just 835,000 punters this week. Seven has a truckload of City Homicide eps to put to air and Nine have agreed to another series of Rescue – wonder how long they’ll both last in prime time though, with figures like that? Could be we’ll see first run episodes being burnt off over the non-ratings period this summer.

For God’s sake, if ANYBODY decides to do another Australian police/rescue/hero show could they please put an original or quirky spin on it? Look at how Offspring sets some (but not all) of its action in a hospital but you never think of it as a medical drama. It may only be getting 1.1 million viewers a week but that’s a great result for such a niche show and the ratings have stayed solid since its premiere. Plus, everyone is talking about how cool it is which is more than you can say for Cops L.A.C…

Tune into http://mercadotv.com.au/ for more.

GUEST BLOGGER: Laury Louise Jeanneret

Laury Louise Jeanneret is a talented, UK-based writer who has started her own blog http://aroomofonesown-llj.blogspot.com/

This is part two of her interesting take on Katie Price (aka Jordan) and the late Jade Goody. Read on:


It is our hunger for the media circus that created ‘Jordan’. And who says that you have to have talent to have money. What about the royal family? What about the vacuous offspring of countless rock stars that do nothing but trade on their parents’ fame. Do we resent their fame and wealth? Do they constantly get demonised by the tabloids? Do they get accused of being bad parents?

Madonna has made a vocation of prancing around onstage in a leotard, of actually simulating masturbation, and charging a cover price for it, yet she is heralded as a feminist icon. People actually revere her, universities teach ‘Madonna’ modules as part of degree courses. What exactly is the difference? Or is it that Madonna’s behaviour is condoned because she is deemed ‘worthy’ of her success. She is seen as a businesswoman; a marketing machine; she is talented.

The difference really between Madonna and Katie Price is that Madonna is a mistress of metamorphosis; she changes her persona with every new album cover. She can play the role of ball-breaker; siren; little girl lost or demure earth mother equally well. She plays the game, Katie Price, on the other hand, has no such airs and graces.

Despite the designer clothes, Katie is still just a working class girl from Brighton. She has no affected accent, or pretences of being anything other than she is. She even looks the same as every other girl from Brighton; the fake tan, French manicure and hair extensions, only in Katie’s case the designer labels are real, unlike her southern sisters, her Gucci always has two ‘cs’.

But of course it is this very coarseness that we revile about Katie. We tut when we see her spilling out of bars, we hate to hear her dreadful southern accent, and her love of commercialism is just all too crude for us. You see, we only like to see a working class girl-made good if she becomes middle class. If she does all she can to distance herself from the cheapness of her background. If she learns to speak nicely, and behave well. Then we will call her ‘inspirational’.

But if, like Katie Price, you refuse to leave behind the essence of where you’re from, if you still speak the same, and act the same, only with money in your pocket, then you become an object of derision. Then people will say that you are cheap, that you are tawdry and crass, and you are selling yourself to the highest bidder, whilst seemingly ignoring the fact that we are all selling ourselves in one way or another. We sell our time, our skills, our dreams, to ungrateful employers that often don’t even know our names. We spend our days toiling for people that mostly don’t care a jot about our lives, or our families, and for a far cheaper sum than Katie Price does.

And on to Jade Goody. The girl from Bermondsey who shot to fame as a Big Brother contestant, mainly we liked to laugh at Jade because she was ‘stupid’, she thought ‘pistachio’ was a painter and ‘East Angular’ was abroad. And that was okay. Because it is still okay in Britain to laugh at the working classes, Matt Lucas and David Walliams have made a fortune doing it. And we, as consumers of popular culture, sit by smirking, seemingly ignorant of the fact that there is something quite Victorian about two former public school boys mocking the white, underprivileged classes. Would we all think it was so hilarious if Vicky Pollard was black?

Jade was a peculiar phenomenon and nothing played out so poignantly as her very public death from cervical cancer. What struck me most about what transpired in Britain’s media during those weeks in March 2009 was not that Jade was dying in the public eye, but rather that her doing so incited such indignance among the middle class left. Only last week I got into a debate with someone about this when they labelled Jade's very public death as ‘tasteless’. Well, guess what, there is no ‘taste’ in death.

Death is messy, raw and inconvenient. No one though, seemed to mind when John Diamond documented his own demise from cancer in his memoir, which was serialised in The Times. That was okay, of course, because Diamond was a respected broadcaster and columnist. He was literate, educated and articulate. His musings on his own struggle with terminal illness was considered ‘brave’. He did it, as one person said to me, with 'more class'. And there we have it: it comes down to class. Even in death, the likes of Jade Goody should know their place.

Because no one wanted to hear, much less see, the struggles of a dying 27-year-old mother-of-two from inner-city London. Jade Goody was not educated or articulate; she was in death as she had been in life, loud, uncompromising, breathtakingly raw. She shared her pain, every single inch of it, with the public that had followed her, by the same medium that made her famous – reality TV.

And maybe her depiction of a life cut tragically short was not beautiful prose serialised in a broadsheet, maybe it was colour photos in OK! and a 24/7 camera crew, but it was no less real for that, no less poignant, in fact maybe it was more so. Maybe it brought home to us, in all its unflinching gruesomeness, the tragedy of this young mum who refused to go gentle into that good night.

And yet her making money from her death was considered in some circles, ‘obscene’, labelled grotesque, ghoulish, again, an example of everything that is wrong in a society obsessed with commercialism, where everything, even death, is for sale. Never mind that because of Jade Goody and the publicity surrounding her death, an extra 400,000 women were tested for cervical cancer, a staggering number that almost certainly saved lives.

Jade Goody didn’t allow the cameras to keep rolling out of ego; anyone who saw the moment her hair starting falling out in clumps after chemotherapy, all played out on camera, could see that there was a young woman who was at times extremely uncomfortable with the presence of a camera lens in her most vulnerable moments.

She did it, because like countless working class women before her, she needed to provide for the two young children who were soon to be left motherless, and she knew she had very little time in which to do it, so she worked her arse off. She worked until she could not work anymore to ensure that her little boys did not have to grow up in the type of Dickensian poverty she did.

She worked to secure their future, a private education, and the type of opportunities that no one ever provided for her. She worked, because at that point, she knew it was a matter of weeks until she’d never be able to do anything for her children again, so she made sure she did all she could, while she could.

And that is what I find so hard to accept about this constant sneering criticism about Jade Goody, because here was a girl that grew up in the most appalling poverty. That cared for her disabled, crack-addict mother from the age of five, whose heroin-addict father used to hide guns under her cot and finally met his maker with a needle in his arm in the toilet of a KFC.

And yet there was outrage that someone like Jade could find fame and wealth. She was vilified for her lack of talent and stupidity, and yet no one seemed outraged that the education system in a so-called developed country had failed someone so badly. A failure resulting in the type of unworldly ignorance that ultimately led to her death as she ignored the warning letters about her abnormal smear test results.

Instead of being angry at the system that had let this young girl down so badly, the public turned its anger onto Jade. As is so often the case with tales of abuse and neglect, it was the victim who got blamed, rather than the heartless perpetrator that had made her what she was. In this case, we all had something to learn from Jade Goody, and yet instead of feeling the sting of shame for laughing at someone who had been hadicapped by hardship, we just laughed harder.

The public lapped it up when they saw Jade strip on national TV, they jeered at the banners screaming ‘kill the pig’ when she was evicted from the Big Brother house, they fell about laughing at her continual malapropisms – when she thought Rio de Janeiro was a footballer and Portugal was in Spain. Oh, how they laughed.

And yet, when this same young woman showed extraordinarily bravery in the face of adversity, when she found the words to articulate how she felt about leaving behind her sons with such heartbreaking clarity, many of the same people that had created the media phenomenon that was Jade Goody preferred to look away.

It is one thing to laugh at a naked working class girl on a reality show, but quite another to watch her death played out on camera, and at that point, far too many people just wished Jade would go away and die quietly, cleanly, somewhere where they didn’t have to see it.

But, let’s get one thing straight here. Jade Goody was girl from Bermondsey who suffered a life of poverty, dysfunction and neglect. Big Brother changed all that. It gave her a route out of what would surely have been a far more miserable existence.

She got drunk and made herself look silly on live TV, but she did nothing that I haven’t seen countless undergraduates do a thousand times in halls of residence up and down the country. The only difference being that all Jade’s antics were on camera. Does that make it worse? Is it okay to get drunk and have casual sex as long as no one sees you do it?

She was a 21-year-old kid that was, probably for the first time ever, letting her hair down and acting her age. People like Jade Goody don’t get three years at uni to get drunk and sleep with strangers, they don’t get gap years to make fools of themselves in before finally getting a ‘proper job’, people like Jade Goody don’t get proper jobs. They have to make do with three months in the Big Brother house, if they’re lucky, before being plunged back into the endless cycle of poverty that they came from.

But for Jade, Big Brother was a way out, it catapulted her to a different life; a better life than the drug-infested hell that she had come from, it gave her choices and chances and opportunities that this simple girl from Bermondsey would never have otherwise have known. Who cares that the only thing Jade had to trade on was herself. Who cares that she didn’t have any ‘talent’. Why does it matter? And who are we to begrudge her the small bit of security and happiness that she did manage to make for herself?

For a paltry seven years before her death Jade managed to realise her dreams; she bought her own house, she took her children on nice holidays, she had a white wedding, and she paid for the best education money could buy for her sons. Are these really the values of someone that is morally corrupt? Tawdry? Lacking in insight? Or are they the very same values that the same disapproving middle classes aspire to for themselves, and for their own children.

What these Katie and Jade haters need to realise is that not everyone has the chance of a university education in this life. Not everyone has functioning families and mummies and daddies that will bail them out, or bank-roll them into posh jobs in air-conditioned offices. Not everyone can afford not to join the real world until they are in their mid-twenties.

Some kids, like these two battlers from working class England, just have to do what they can, with the very limited opportunities on offer, in order to make a better life for themselves and their children. And until any of these moralisers have lived in a council flat in Bermondsey or Brighton, have toiled for 12 hours a day for minimum wage, have been molested, beaten or had to wrestle the needle from their parent’s hands, they would do well to return to the leafy sanctuary of their privileged lives, pour themselves another latte and keep quiet.

GUEST BLOGGER: Montarna McDonald - Sweaty Betty Public Relations

Today's guest blogger is the uber-cool Montarna McDonald from Sweaty Betty PR again. She made such an impact last time on Josie's Juice that her post received loads of hits - in the triple digits and the highest number of hits on my blog. So share this link like mad so she keeps blogging for us, eh?

Here, trend-spotter Montarna talks about cuffs... two of 'em. Yep, count 'em. I am accessories-mad so it will be a cinch to loads up on the cuffs, Wonder Woman-style. I love this trend so much I had to show the black and white Chanel pic twice (and how seriously gorgeous is that feather-y cape?). See, you're starting to see double already.

Double Trouble

The latest fall fashion trend has given a big nod to flaunting not one, but two cuffs.

That’s right, one cuff on each wrist - worn like Superwoman - is here to stay this season.

Seen on the catwalks of Chanel and Celine, the double cuff phenomenon is taking the fashion world by storm and is now starting to creep up on high street.

Wear your wrist armour with pride and double up your cuffs for some serious spring style!

Guest blogger: Mia Freedman on "The clean freak vs the messy pig. A story of domestic hell."

Never has a column resonated so much with me as this one. As I read my Sunday papers and came across Mia Freedman's column in the Sun-Herald Sunday Life magazine I sat there, newspaper sections strewn everywhere, mouth agape.

This is a story about a messy pig versus a clean freak. They live together. Maybe they have children (cough, maybe even twins... perhaps). But the clean freak is not the wifey. Oh no, it is Mr OCD, I-will-move-anything-I-want-and-may-even-throw-it-out-husband.

Okay, so I am not talking about the column anymore; I am talking about my husband and I. I read parts of the column to said hubby. He didn't even flinch. He knew I was talking about him and I.

My friend sent around a fun chain email last week about lessons men need to be taught. It included points about men not changing toilet rolls, and men leaving socks on the floor and wet towels in bathroom, and dishes in the sink.

No. No. And no. Does not happen in this house. Ever. Hubby is neat and tidy, sometimes annoyingly so. His way of living creates an environment where the other half cannot slip. Cannot leave a spoon in the sink. To his credit, he never huffs and puffs about it, never makes a scene, but sometimes, when the tiny pile of papers in the garage need to be rifled through and dumped in the recycle bin, it's an all out war. I am not even kidding.

And hello, it's not like I am messy. Okay, so I hoard magazines. And I am emotionally attached to certain things. And certain clothes. But I don't leave shit everywhere. Ask my friends, they'll tell you.

The good thing is that living with someone who is an opposite kinda makes you up your game and want to improve yourself. Likewise, I should hope I am helping hubby relax a little. Hope being the operative word.

I won't deny living with a clean freak has huge benefits. Before you know it, that job you hate? Done. There is lots to love about that. Hubby makes my life so much easier in so many ways. He helps free up my time to write, and spend time with the kids, and do all the nice stuff in life. I adore that. And, may I add, he never cooks. Only I do. Not sure what relevance that has here, but perhaps I am keen to let you know that yes, I am still a domestic goddess. Just not a fully fledged, Bree-from-Desperate Housewives freak. Thank the Lord.

Here is the column by Mia. Have a read and I would love to hear if you can see yourself in this piece.

Listen carefully. Can you hear the sound of fighting across our wide brown land? These are not disputes about politics or religion. Nor are they about asylum seekers or immigration or whether the burqa should be banned.

The arguments you can hear are about leaving teabags in the sink. And dropping wet towels on the bed. About a new bottle of milk being opened before the last one is finished. And leaving lights on when you leave a room. Not replacing toilet rolls when they run out. And the right way to stack the dishwasher and squeeze a toothpaste tube. They’re about putting whites in with colours. And leaving doors open and toilet seats up. About not wiping up toast crumbs AND LEAVING THE CEREAL BOX OPEN SO THE SULTANA BRAN GOES STALE, DAMN YOU.

These are the big issues of domestic life and they’re tearing happy households apart. It doesn’t matter whether you live with your spouse, friend, defacto, children, parents or flatmate, there are always petty home dramas that niggle. Chief among them are issues of tidiness because it’s statistically impossible for everyone in a house to share the same mess threshold.

There’s something about living with other people that calibrates your tidiness against each other and assigns one person the role of Clean Freak (aka The Nag) and someone else the role of Messy Pig (aka The Nagged).

Notice how both terms are pejorative? This is because each party sees the other as abnormal, tiresome and a big fat punish.

It’s a widely held misconception that clean freaks are female. Wrong. I live with a Domestic God and I don’t say that to brag. It’s hell. My husband may not be able to bake but he is a very tidy guy. Organised too. I am neither tidy nor organised domestically and this causes many problems. For him. But for me too. May I please speak up on behalf of messy people and state it’s not fun to be constantly told how to be less messy.

I am often baffled by this turn of events because honestly, I used to be the tidy one. In past lives with past boyfriends and flatmates, I have done plenty of bitching about wet towels and carelessly strewn teabags. Plenty. Similarly, my husband has been the messy one in his past.

So how did we get here?

To read the rest of this piece, go to: http://www.mamamia.com.au/weblog/2010/08/clean-freak-vs-the-messy-pig.html

Thanks to Mia for permission to reproduce this excerpt.