It is a myth that reading the news is difficult, these great men have told us. Some of them were paid far too much for simply reading an autocue, said Marr. These days, I find it difficult to hear that gentle Welsh lilt, or look into those sweet, concerned eyes, without imagining him, as soon as the cameras are switched off, reverting to "Disgusted of Shepherd's Bush" mode and sending off a few angry e-mails.So I hope that neither he nor any of his newsroom colleagues will have stooped to reply to recent literary festival chatter emanating from the likes of John Humphrys and Andrew Marr. It made Huw seem like a normal human being - even, worse, like a journalist. I imagine that Edwards, Natasha Kaplinsky or Anna Ford provide more company and solace to the lonely or the mentally frail than any social worker could manage.The "yuk" e-mail was a problem. They are stern yet comforting, sympathetic yet dispassionate. The best of them allow a hint of feeling to enter their voice without descending to outright emotion.
My e-mail correspondent was outraged by what he saw as journalistic cynicism, lack of respect towards the dead and so on. It was from Huw Edwards himself.There is something disconcerting about a newscaster in a huff. With one or two exceptions (for some reason, I have never been able to take Sir Trevor McDonald entirely seriously), those who night after night bring the events of the outside world to the privacy of one's TV assume a lofty, semi-divine status. It read: "Yuk". I had argued in a column that for the BBC to relocate its news team to the site of the bomb, placing its newsreader Huw Edwards in front of the wrecked train, was ghoulish and faintly exploitative. A few days after last year's Madrid bombing, an e-mail was sent to me with a starkly concise subject heading.
It would certainly make an entrancing finale to the next Home Office statement on chain gangs.. Which brings us to the ex-lead singer of Ugly Rumours; but, as so often, he is an exception.All a bit of a puzzle; still, I can't help thinking Ms Hazel Blears would get an easier ride if people knew she is an expert tap-dancer. Writing is commonplace, although that is not a description that applies to the oeuvre of, say, Sir Winston Churchill, Roy Jenkins, Ms Edwina Currie or Sir Norman Fowler, whose memoirs are generally regarded as the highest test of stamina.Many a quiet tear, too, has been shed by listeners to Michael Ancram, especially when he is singing "The Streets of London" to his own guitar. Or, perhaps it's because they went into politics, where the possession of "a hinterland" does excite admiration. Ronald Reagan and Arnold Schwarzenegger have managed spectacular extramural success, but that might be because people were keen they should give up the day job.
