One of the first things you learn as a journalist, after shorthand and the vital need to spell people's names correctly, is the importance of a thick skin. You can say goodbye to popularity. Bringing into the open what the rich and powerful prefer to remain hidden inevitably makes you deeply unpopular. Ask too many awkward questions and you are likely to face rudeness, harassment, threats and worse. The most common response, of course, is the haughty 'no comment' followed by shutting the door in your face or slamming down the telephone. The most effective is to ignore you completely.
During my long and undistinguished newspaper career, colleagues would compete with each other as to which of us had been rebuffed by the most famous personalities. Some boasted they'd been slighted by pop stars, others by arrogant politicians and oafish celebrities. The best I could manage were Kenny Dalglish, who would elbow you aside if asked for an interview, Graeme Souness who'd ignore you with a supercilious sneer, and Tommy Docherty, who would simply spit on the Old Trafford boardroom carpet before treading it in with his shoe.
On reaching my 80th year, when I thought nothing could hurt any more, my rhino-like hide has been finally punctured by, of all people, the Bishop of Shrewsbury. Last year I wrote to His Grace requesting guidance on a liturgical question. I am still waiting for a reply. However, it would be wrong to say the Curia office has remained silent. I recently received a letter from them asking me for money. Ouch!
