Gareth Gates and me are 'at it' again (ie. Harping on about stammering, OBVIOUSLY)

Ah, Gareth Gates. Haven't seen him in a while with his cute little face and speech impediment. However,  I saw him on Monday fronting a programme entitled 'Stop My Stutter' in which Gareth, talks about how he's now a qualified speech therapist working on an intensive course to help stammerers overcome their affliction. Being a stammerer myself, I was somewhat interested in this programme. I mean I had to be. What kind of stammerer, would I be otherwise? I'd probably be lynched mobbed by Gazza and his followers. And no-one really deserves that. For others though, it was a chance to fill their hearts shamelessly with the emotion that only comes from engaging with disability related programmes: “Awwwww, they are soooooooo inspirational/ brave/ amazing (Delete as appropriate). “I'm literally crying through this” *BLUB*  "God bless you, Gareth. I love you." ETC ETC ETC.

We all remember Gareth, ten years ago, a 17 year-old guy on Pop Idol. He walked into the audition in front of Simon Cowell, Pete Waterman, Nicki Chapman and Neil 'not an actual fox' Fox and sang the judges a classic bit of Westlife:

Gareth's first audition

He got through. But more than that, he was one of the first people to be on TV with a stammer. Those who had speech impediments rejoiced, it was fantastic. We could finally be represented. Someone was like us. Then he lost to Will Young, who had a lisp. We were crushed.

Now, we can't deny that Gareth has done well after Pop Idol, with music and theatre career to his name, he even produced musical delights, like this:

Sunshine- Gareth Gates

I do actually commend his efforts and his hard work at raising awareness of this disability which is really good and something that every disabled person should endeavour to do, famous or otherwise. Although, I’m honestly not that supportive of the course that he was endorsing on this documentary, the Mcguire Programme. I know about this only because of two years ago. I went with a friend to see the delightful musical Sweet Charity. Oh, so it wasn’t exactly great and my friend had just broken up from her boyfriend, who she was in a three years relationship with and I took her to see this really appropriate lovey-dovey play. OK, we both felt like shit. We were made to realise that we both lacked romance in our lives AND I noticed that my stammer was so rubbish on the night, I literally couldn’t get out a sentence. My stammer was at a stage were my crutches (the things that a stammerer does to cover up the fact that they do ) were ridiculous, my tongue was sticking out and I was opening my mouth so wide that I thought my jaw was going to fall off. When I got home, I did the usually ‘dramatic cry/ feel sorry for self’ routine, this time over the sink of the upstairs bathroom (It made sense, I was getting ready to go to bed).  But then, the difference was that I wanted change, I wanted to feel better about myself and needed to gain more control over it. Thus, this resulted in me finding the McGuire Programme.

It’s a course that mixes the psychological techniques of Joseph Sheehan, who tells you that stammering is a behaviour that you have control over rather than you being the ‘victim’ of your own situation with a technique called costal breathing (which in itself can be considered as a cover-up). Throughout the four day course, you learn how to re-programme your breathing to speak with more ease and fluency.

Fantastic, I thought. This looks great. I can sort out this problem once at for all. There was one tiny stipulation though…

The course is around £700 to attend excluding living and travel costs. If you take into account these then it’s around £1000.

Fair enough, that this is one way to help stammerers overcome their impediment. But then I can’t help thinking that this course and others exploit us and those like it to get their hands on our cash. If ten people go then that’s £10,000.  And there’s such things known as ‘lifetime membership fees’ which are an extra few bob. We’ve already got disabilities. But asking us for that kind of money? They are not doing themselves any favours and frankly should be ashamed. I suppose that it is our choice though. Putting on what looks like your dad’s old belt, round your diaphragm and taking in a deep breath, is definitely worth that kind of money.

Admittedly though, it did help so people on the course, particularly the guy Simon who was soon getting married and was terrified about saying his wedding vows. He really was struggling with blocking and getting his words out. He seemed to have practised the art of costal breathing which is no more than four words with each breath to start, building up to a faster more normal pace. On his last day of the course, he presented himself to family and friends (cue emotional music) and spoke for a couple of minutes in a tone that sounded like he had just been aroused, sexually. He did manage to say what he wanted with much more ease than previously. See, it works for some.  

I’m on an NHS speech therapy programme, at the moment.  I don’t really go as much as I once did but it is always really good to know that I have (non-exploitive) support. I’ve come to learn that stammering is mainly driven by fear which you can only overcome by putting your into fearful situations, meaning that you need to confront them. Having the balls to say something in a seminar, interviewing someone for article (if you’re an aspiring journo, obvs), ordering a cheese and onion pasty from your local Greggs and using the phone. Anything like that. The more you do, the better you’ll get at doing it. Hence, your confidence and self- esteem shall flourish. No need to fork out loads of dosh or marvel at Gazza G’s gelled centre part of a hairstyle.  

Until next time though, Gaz. Maybe we’ll see you in Celebrity Masterchef soon. Cooking a chocolate pudding or something. If it’s against Will Young, you can beat him and get the revenge you truly deserve.

Work experience at the Liverpool Echo.

Last week, I undertook my work placement at the Liverpool Echo. Going back to the offices in Old Hall Street felt like the 80's TV sit-com Cheers. You see, I've been there twice before, to have a chat with the Regional Editor and to do some experience at the Wirral News. "Where everybody knows your name". OK, so not everybody but some people did remember me. In effect, what I'm trying to say is that everything was familar to me and you know, I've been there before. Yes. I think we all understand this now. Move on...

Getting onto a regional paper was the next step up for me, experience-wise. It's a paper with a bigger circulation and there's just more going on with it, so I was looking forward to it and was intrigued to see what would happen. The first day was more of an introduction. We were assigned to a journalist who would take care of us during our placement and give jobs to be getting on with. Ah, press releases. They are wonderful things. Granted, they teach you in an extremely simple way how to put a news story together, which is good. But once you've done a few they becoming a little bit soul-destroying. Fair enough, very. But then, we all need to work our way up in our chosen professions... and the next job... vox pops.

Any would be journalist knows what vox pops are. It is a term that translates as 'voice of people' and involves you walking up to members of the public and interviewing them about a certain issue. In this case, it was a 'street style', asking young people in Liverpool about what they were wearing, style inspirations etc. Unfortunately, Monday wasn't exactly the best day, weather-wise. It was shit. In fact, it was the shittest weather to ever to do a vox pop in, ever. Me and the other girl on work experience I was with decided it was best to lurk outside Topshop in Liverpool One. Oh God. The bitter cold of the wind made the whole experience so much more enjoyable. I thought I was not going to come out of this alive. We managed to interview a couple of girls which was great. But then, we needed to ask them if we could take a picture. Some refused eventhough we tried to persuade them, we finally managed to get what we needed, thankfully before dying a premature death due to hypothermia.

Tuesday was mainly centred about Kate Middleton's visit to the city, her second solo engagement without Prince William. Eventhough I asked if workies could tag along, the answer was no. Simply because of the tight security. Only one local and one national journalist were allowed to report when she visited dry bar The Brink, Alder Hey Children's Hospital and Ronald McDonald House. Not a great royalist but it was still nice to see her here. The journalist who was lucky enough to report said that she seemed really nice (despite not getting to speak to her). People in the office were commenting on the fact that she was very slight, which must mean she can afford an extra slither of banofee pie. However, the more interesting part of the placement came on Wednesday, when I got to shadow a senior journalist on a job. We went down to Liverpool's Heart and Chest Hospital to interview a lovely lady who was part of a new screening trial for lung cancer. She had a history of the disease throughout her family, and told us of her her son who suffered from the disease and died from it at the age of 45.  I was just observing the interview and I got to see how the journalist conducted it, the way in which she put forward her questions and how she was apt in shorthand at recording the lady's responses. All of which was great for me to see and something which I got alot out of.

By Thursday, it was back to press releases but I got a chance to talk to the Regional Ed, Chris Walker. Mainly about what I should do next, with regards to work experience. He told me I could go locally or further afield and try nationals, but I needed to remember that it 's not neccessary about quantity but the quality of the work you produce on the placement. Also, he told me that at the moment, he isn't running the Newcastle bursary. Right. So I started researching Plan B, another journalism diversity bursary which you can get wiith any course as long as it is NCTJ accredited. (That's the National Council for Training of Journalists- A course from them is good one to take to help you get your first job in the industry). Options: Liverpool, Newcastle, Manchester, London. Would very much like to move away if I do get the money. Would love London, but then it is whether or not I could find a job and afford to live there. Unless I learn to crap money soon, I think somewhere like Manchester is somewhat more feasible. As for that day, I just had the usual press releases....

Friday. Best day of the week, they say? Yes, it was. Switched on my computer and logged into Twitter (for news purposes...) and actually found a bit of breaking news, courtesy of my observant university friend. She speculated that a man had been found dead in her halls of residence, Grand Central. Wow. Sat on this for a while. Didn't say anything. Then the voice in my head was like "Come 'ed girl, you gotta do this, if not for you but for your mar and dar, they'll be made up. Don't be a mef!' If only that were true... Still, I decided to just go for it and the journalist I spoke to seemed really pleased. He asked me to phone the police to get confirmation and I was the first to break the story. From then on, I just got more information by phoning universities and going to visit the accommodation itself and looking on the internet for tributes. The result? A joint byline on PAGE TWO of Saturday's paper.

All in all pretty good. I hope to get more placements very soon. For now though, just want to go to bed.

Until next time

xxxx