Frank Gilbride Watch: the Brasso Kid’s Amazing Magic Show

Former Newsflash boss (now credit crunch mortgage repo man) Frank Gilbride has proved there is no end to his talents.

He’s been outed as something of a conjuror, with the ability to make unwieldy and sizeable objects vanish with just a wave of his wee wand.

His remarkable talent was unveiled when the liquidators appointed at Newsflash decided to auction off the only tangible asset left by the unexpected collapse (some might say carefully planned asset stripping) of the Edinburgh-based press agency.

While they have an archive of 40,000 images to flog to the highest bidder, the experts found that the main picture server had - shocked intake of breath - disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Gone baby, gone.

I’ve managed to source this video, which shows the full extent of wee Gilbride’s magical talents. It seems he can make bulky computer equipment disappear and reappear at will. Truly gifted.

Thie means the Brasso Kid can now officially be recognised as a gifted prestidigitator (I always said as much). According to the online dictionary, this is the proper name for practitioners of the ancient art of sleight of hand. It’s a skill which is also known as “quick fingers” or leger de main, from the French for “lightness of hand”.

Who’d have guessed that Frank had such talented, quick and light fingers, eh?

Of course, it may be that Wee Brasso has lost his (light) touch. Despite the lovely chaps at the liquidators asking, very, very nicely, Gilbride has so far failed to make the missing picture server reappear.

I’m getting worried for the wee fella. First he made Newsflash disappear unexpectedly and didn’t manage to bring it back. Now the picture server has vanished and stubbornly refuses to rematerialise. Maybe his powers are waning.

Never mind, Franko - rest assured I won’t be disappearing anywhere soon - so I hope that makes you feel a wee bit better?

Violent nurse Kevin McCartney Demands An Apology

Among the many things keeping me too busy to blog of late have been a couple of complaints which came my way through Deadline Press & Picture Agency.

It’s a fact of life in journalism that mistakes happen. Reporters deal with complex and emotive subjects and have to crunch them down into short formats for readers/viewers/listeners - all against the clock. That’s not an excuse. When errors happen they should be put right quickly and fairly.

Ideally reporters would be infallible and never drop clangers at all. However we accept that To Err is Human. As long as the errs are occasional. I would hope that innocents who have been maligned, inconvenienced, had their reputation tarnished or been put through an emotional wringer by mistakes or fabrications should expect prompt apologies or clarifications.

I put particular emphasis on the term innocents. Because recent experience leaves me of the opinion that the complaints process has become something of a chancer’s charter.

Last week I had the joy of dealing with the Press Complaints Commission regarding a complaint from Mr Kevin McCartney. This bloke was a nurse who twice battered his girlfriend. In one case, after she poured his booze down the drain, he dragged her through their home by her hair, screaming: “I’m going to kill you.”

During the assualt McCartney’s partner and her daughter were so terrified they had to barricade themselves in the bathroom. Apparently he was “going through a difficult time” when he gave his girlfriend a kicking and is now “extremely remorseful”.

Remorse aside, McCartney landed in court - and later at a hearing of the Nursing and Midwifery Council, who had to decide whether he was competent to keep practising. The nursing tribunal imposed a five-year caution order on the shamed nurse.

In reporting the nursing hearing, a Deadline reporter misheard the details of McCartney’s earlier court punishement, which was a 16 week sentence, suspended for two years. It’s a crucial point - because the journalist mistakenly reported that McCartney was jailed for 16 weeks. In fact, he never spent any time in prison.

McCartney obviously felt his reputation (or what was left of it) had been tarnished by the suggestion he was banged up. So it was his right to seek redressfrom the three papers - all of whom printed immediately clarifications.

If it was me in that situation, I might also want everyone to know that I wasn’t actually jailed. So, I’d seek my clarification and then quitely let the issue drop.

Not McCartney, however. Oh no, he has pressed further, telling the PCC: “I find it disappointing and disturbing that these agencies are permitted to produce and circulate reports that are factually inaccurate, incorrect and speculative without anyone being held accountable.”

Maybe by judgement is skewed, but I’m weighing up which of these scenarios is most disappointing and disturbing:

1 - Convicted domestic abuser allowed to continue working as a nurse, albeit under supervision.

2 - Genuine error in report of legal proceedings swiftly corrected by all publications involved.

Having to write a detailed response for the PCC in reply to McCartney’s “concerns”, was almost enought to drive me to drink.

The good news is that, despite my ordeal, I was able to resist any urges to beat my wife.

Digging for victory. TV star Dr Neil Oliver notches up another success.

There’s not much on TV ithat nterests me theses days.

Reality shows are a turn off - even those which, like The Apprentice, I’m told are pretty good. I’ve never been one for soaps or British cop shows. Then I’ve lost track of the baffling number of comedy shows on offer and struggled to find one to really make me laugh (though the news series of Peep Show is getting rave reviews).

Meanwhile, the big dramas, like the recent ITV offering, Flood, are total gash. Thankfully, I didn’t invest any time in watching it though it must have been grim for the TV critic Ally Ross and columnist Lorraine Kelly to each give it a hearty kicking in consecutive days in The Sun.

Nah. I’ve turned into a curmudgeonly old sod and only rarely pull my nose out of a book to switch on the telly. And then, it’s usually to watch some nature or historical documentary. Give me Attenborough or Schama any day of the week.

Which brought me recently to an episode of the BBC’s Coast. I’ve caught this before but this time I was struck by how visually impressive it is. Mibbes it was something to do with the new flat screen telly. Or mibbes it mostly caught me attention because windswept Dr Neil Oliver was striding across the landscapge.

TV is always more interesting when you know the person on screen and I have a passing acquaintance with Dr Neil, from his time in Scottish journalism. So I sat up straight and paid that bit more attention while he was on.

I was impressed. Even more so when I mentioned the subject next day to my business partner Raymond Notarangelo, who said that Dr Neil apparently writes most of the show and the accompanying book. Among his many other achievements is that he also wrote the book, Amazing Tales for Making Men Out of Boys.

Coast is obviously a success, since they seem to be making a new series. Earlier this week I picked up a copy of the Evening News to find an appeal for anyone with interesting stories about coastal life in East Lothian to contact the BBC (read it here).

Then in Saturday’s Daily Record I read that Dr Neil has an even greater reason to celebrate - the birth of a third child. Wife Trudi gave birth to new son, Teddy this week. A wee brother for Evie and Archie.

Congratulations all round. Dr Neil likes wee boys to have decent role models - and certainly wee Teddy and older brother Archie are going to grow up with a successful dad they can really look up to.

PR guru Barbara Clark joins the hot 100 - and gives Johnny Depp the perfect reason to Visit Scotland

Congratulations to media legend Barbara Clark, Head of Comms at VisitScotland.

She has just achieved official PR Guru status, according to the industry bible, PRWeek.

The magazine’s latest PowerBook  is a list of 100 people considered the most admirable movers and shakers in the UK PR and communications sector. Quite an accolade.

There aren’t too many Scots in the list, so Barbara can be extremely proud to have merited a place among such hallowed company. Though no doubt she’ll be shrugging it off in her usual modest fashion.

I most recently caught up with La Clark at the Scottish CIPR awards in Glasgow, where her VisitScotland team bagged armfuls of awards (including Scottish Public Sector Team of the Year).

There’s never a dull moment in her company and she was in particularly fine fettle that night. Despite having dozens of staff to see home safely - as well as enough silverware to fill several trophy cabinets - she still managed to find room on the bus for the bedraggled party from Holyrood PR.

Our bus back to Edinburgh never showed up and we were milling around in the centre of Glasgow in the wee small hours wondering how we were going to get along the M8 - when Babs appeared and ordered us onto her coach.

As bus journeys go it was no quiet, early morning roadtrip. Indeed, even at that time of the morning, with hangovers starting to kick in and everyone yearning for bed, Barbara is a social hurricane - as anyone who’s been lucky enough to bask in her bonhomie will testify.

Johnny Depp features a lot in Barbara’s full PowerBook entry, which you can read in full here (in pdf format), if you haven’t already seen it.

When I asked her how she felt about her PowerBook mention she told me: “I’m hoping it will make me more attractive and that Johnny will want to leave that thin little ‘Joe le Taxi’ bird.”

So there you go Mr Depp. Why don’t you walk away from Paradis now that you’ve got the perfect reason to VisitScotland?

Come fly with me - or at least my strangely named lookalike

Most of us have checked out our “googlegangers” - the hybried term (part Google, part doppelganger) coined for typing your own name into the world’s biggest search engine to see what it throws up.

For instance, when I type in Scott Douglas I find a man who balances a cat on his head (and writes about running), another chap who is a bit of a boffin in the world of electrical engineering and an unsual book shop owner.

I’m sure I recall doing this a few year ago and coming across a children’s entertainer/magician and a cabaret singer. However, it’s all about search engine optimisation these days and they must have slipped down the rankings.

Googling yourself is a bit of harmless fun and a shortlived, vicarious peek into the lives, interests and thoughts of people (usually north American) who share your name.

However, it pales when compared to the shock of unexpectedly stumbling upon a photograph of someone who looks so like you that your nearest and dearest find it difficult to work out if it is you or not.

Especially when that person is not on the other side of the world - but a mere 50 miles up the road.

So, thanks to Brian Lewis at Deadline Press & Picture Agency (and soon to be at the Scottish Sun) for bringing me no end of ribbing by finding this picture which accompanied a recent press release from RAF Leuchars.

Firstly, let me congratulate the RAF Leuchars team on raising £2000 for local charity, Enable, which helps people with disabilities. And for the recent prodigious output from their media office, who have been extremely busy - and I hope - garnering many column inches of positive coverage.

For those who don’t automatically see the likeness, let me say that not only was I taken aback by this image, so were my missus and my mother. It doesn’t really get any more inarguable (damning?) than that. And just to mop up any lingering doubts, I’ve even looked out this image of yours truly for comparison:

The first thing that strikes me is that it has to be a stroke of bad luck that my lookalike wears a hat straight out of Thunderbirds, along with a comedy RAF outfit complete with lapels that look as though they would probably help the wearer to take off.

Apart from that, I suppose I should be grateful that Squadron Leader Rob de Boyes is such a handsome swine. Oh - and give thanks to anybody who’ll listen that he’s not actually called Roger de Boyes.

How to keep a marketing exec occupied: Ask how to spell “flavour”

During a phone call earlier this week I had to adminster many a soothing noise (you know, supportive oohs, aahs and much tongue clicking) to a fellow hack who has turned to the dark side.

The individual in question shall remain nameless. Suffice to see the person is a reporter of high repute; a seasoned campaigner and respected writer; experienced on the road, with sharp elbows and good door-knocking skills; but just as comfortable writing features and consumer/celeby type stuff; they’ve also served time as a sub and worked on newsdesks; and they are easily capable of turning their hands to traditional media or in the newer, digital platforms.

What’s more the person in question also has a decent stint as a PR person on their CV. You get the picture. This is a capabable, proven and popular media all rounder. Someone who is not often put out, caught by surprise or left stuck for words.

However, recently the person in question was thrust into the company of a small band of “marketing” types. Not in itself a problem, as our trooper ploughed on through the tasks assigned their way. As our nameless chum started to get a picture of the murky goings-on in marketing land, their eyebrows slowly began to rise.

First of all, they were handed the file on a major blue chip client and told: “You’d better get out to this event this morning - we need 10,000 hits for this client! Oh - by the way - the major national newspaper originally signed up as media partner has pulled out at the last minute. So you won’t be able to get any coverage there.”

“Er, right. So what do you mean by ‘10,000 hits’ exactly? What are the messages? What are the target audiences? Which media should we be aiming for? What actually counts as a hit? Are we talking about audience reached or the value of coverage generated?”

In other words, our contact asked all the reasonable (indeed basic) questions for any media pro being suddenly dropped into a situation which had all the makings of a marketing goat-f*ck.

But worse was to come: “Just hits,” was the less-than-helpful reply. “We don’t care how you justify them. The client give us a a number and we have to hit it somehow. That’s all.”

Ahhhh! So that’s how marketing works! A precise and respectable discipline with near scientific means of measuring the success of clearly defined targets. Or not, as the case may be.

But while our chum was quickly seeing the shine come off the marketing world, worse was to follow. For 30 minuters our contact had to bite their tongue while two rather vacuous colleagues discussed the spelling of “flavour” and debated - in some depth - whether it has a ‘U’ in it or not.

Near their wits’ end, our source was wondering what they’d let themselves in for: “Thirty effing minutes. Couldn’t they just have done what any self-respecting hack would have done after 30 seconds and run it through Google?”

My own preference is for the well-thumbed copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. Where I quickly and easily found the defintions for “tolerance”, “fortitude” and “serenity”.

All qualities our friend is going to need in spades to survive any lenght of time with the marketing muppets (definitiely with a “u”) without the aid of a rifle.

No wonder smoothie Simon Pia is looking pleased with himself.

When Simon Pia was axed from Talk 107 he moved off quietly and without a fuss and started planning his next career move.

When he resurfaced as the new spin doctor for shouty Scottish Labour leader, Wendy Alexander, I was a tad surprised.

I thought the Hibs-daft smoothie might have chosen to sup from something of a poisoned chalice. Really though, I should have known better. Simon’s been round the block and knows how to take care of himself.

It’s clear from this picture that he’s already found the ideal way to  defuse potential histrionics from La Labourette. He simply whips out his magic pen and, with a few soothing words, Oor Wendy immediatly falls into a rather glaikit-looking, glassy-eyed trance. Brilliant.

Simon sprung to mind in the past week, when the bloodletting at Talk 107 reached Night of The Long Knife proportions, with the demise of Mike Graham, followed by the sacking of “shock jock” Scottie McClue (which seemed to be the industrial relations equivalent of a particularly clumsy seal clubbing).

It suddenly became clear just how dignified an exit Mr Pia made earlier this year. When he was canned in favour of Dominik Diamond, there was no wailing, gnashing of teeth and no spat over who did what to whom. He simply retired from public view for a few weeks while sorting out a suitable new, high-profile berth for himself.

Somehow I can’t see Scottie McClue pulling of a similar job coup (McCoup?). He’s already made a bafllingly long career on the margins of radio by having a go at single mums and other council estate dwellers.

My favourite story about McClue came courtesy of my old chum Stephen Rafferty who was staking out the home of the DJ/presenter (real name Colin Lamont). If memory serves, Raff was looking into something to do with the misuse of periscopes in public.

The upshot was that during the stakeout he and the oustanding photographer Chris Watt had to quickly hide in the substantial hedge on the perimeter of McClue’s property - only to be outed by the startled DJ’s pet dog. It was comedy gold and Raff has dined out on the story many times since. You can read his own account of the tale HERE.

Animosity between the pair was heightened when McClue then turned up at work and used his morning show to berate and generally badmouth Raff and his Daily Record colleagues (of whom I was one).

The next time their paths crossed was at the launch party for the ill-fated Live TV (which gave the world topless darts and weather read by trampolining dwarves). Raff had his fill of the hospitality then spotted McClue - in full get up of bunnet,half moon specs, tweed jacket and fingerless gloves - chatting to two stately looking ladies.

To the horror of the middle-aged Morningside matrons, Raff waded in, got McClue in a, er, friendly hug (actually it was closer to a half nelson) and promptly half-inched his trademark bunnet. iN fairness it was only once incident among many a shameful going on that nigh. The upshot was a varierty of complaint to the editor, a summons in front of the scary managing editor Malcolm Speed for all those involved and a rap on the knuckles for Raff whcih saw him forced to work in Glasgow for a couple of months (a cruel and unusual punishment in anybody’s book).

Ahhhh … the memories.

Gilbride Watch: Get your claims in quick!

Following yesterday’s post about Frank Gilbride resurfacing as the G7 Network, it appears the demise of Newsflash has taken an official turn.

allmediaSCOTLAND. com has reported that creditors of the defunct press agency have until next week to lodge their claims.

I hope the staff who were unceremoniously emptied without any money might now have a glimmer of getting what they are due.

A public notice in yesterday’s Herald newspaper, makes it clear that liquidators are involved and anyone seeking to make a claim against Newsflash need to do so soon.

Yesterday’s announcement in full:

“Notice is hereby given that on 13th March 2008, a Petition was presented to the Sheriff at Stirling by Newsflash Press and Picture Agency Limited having their registered office at 6 Pendreich Road, Bridge of Allan, Stirling FK9 4LY (’the Company’) craving the Court inter alia, that the Company be wound-up by the Court and that an interim liquidator be appointed, in which petition the Sheriff at Stirling by Interlocutor dated 13th March 2008 appointed all persons having an interest to lodge answers in the hands of the Sheriff Clerk, Stirling, within eight days after intimation, advertisement or service and eo die appointed Matthew Henderson, Accountant, 10 Melville Street, Edinburgh EH3 7LU to be provisional liquidator of the Company with the powers specified in Parts II and III of Schedule 4 of the Insolvency Act 1986, of all of which notice is hereby given. Kerr Stirling LLP, Solicitors, 10 Albert Place, Stirling FK8 2QL, Agents for the Petitioners.”

Gilbride Watch: Frank rises from the ash of ‘Flash

For those with an interest in Scottish journalism who haven’t yet heard, Frank Gilbride is back on the scene.

This momentous event actually took place yesterday so this is a late newsflash (a bit like Mr Gilbride’s ex agency).

I’m sure those who were unceremoniously booted from Newsflash with no notice and no pay offs will be interested to hear their former boss has once more graced the Fourth Estate with his presence.

After the shenanigans of January and February (Click here for a reminder), there was much speculation about what the wee man was up to. An internet business? A venture buying up houses from those in financial difficulty? A straight-forward move to concentrate on his own property portfolio?

What seemed clear was that Frank wasn’t really cut out for any move into management consultancy, HR advice, employement relations or business finance. Meanwhile he’d already flunked efforts to set up a PR company and told anybody who would listen that the news game was finished.

There were no clues to Gilbride’s new direction, except some talk of “irons in fires” and “interesting projects”. So I was among those wondering when he would reappear - and in what guise.

Some of you may recall that I previously posted on Mr G’s highly polished brass neck (refresh your memory here). Which means it really comes as no surprise that, with barely weeks elapsed since he shocked Scottish journalism by shafting his most loyal long-term stuff, Gilbride is back doing what he knows best: Ripping off local newspaper stories.

We might have hoped that if Frank was intent on a return to the Scottish media, he’d do it in style - with a cracking exclusive, a top human interest story that would make a page lead everywhere, or even a belter of a picture story. Anything, really,  that would say: “Forget what might have happened - I’m back with a bang.”

Er, no. Instead Frank’s offering whimpered: “I reckon people have stopped cringeing when they hear my name - so I can start ripping stories from local papers again.”

One newspaper exec told me: “Frank is back on the scene. He asked us for an email address then attempted to punt us the Dundee Courier splash.”

In actual fact, it was a story about police preventing East Fife players from drinknig champagne after they secured the Third Division champsionship. You can read the Scotsman’s version of the story in question here.

Another sniffed: “If he thinks he’s getting any stories in my paper he’d better think again.” (awright, I’m paraphrasing to keep it clean!).

For obvious reasons Frank isn’t trading as Newsflash or Press Team. Nope, this time round he’s calling himself G7 Network.

On first reading I thought this was a play on Franks’ reputed fortune being of a size to qualify him for a place among the world’s richest industrialised nations.

But since he pleaded poverty when he unceremoniously consigned Newsflash to the crapper, such a move would be either breathtakingly cheeky or (more likely, knowing Frank) breathtakingly insensitive. Surely, there couldn’t be enougth Brasso in all Christendom for that?

So I gave Frank the benefit of the doubt. Since he is a proud dad of five (we all have redeeming qualities) and is now working from home, I’m guessing the G7 is a reference to the Gilbride 7 (him, missus and the weans).

But quote of the day has to go toFrank’s former right hand woman, Jenny Morrison, who after years keeping Newsflash afloat any paying for Frank’s comfy lifestyle, was “let go” with a quite callous disregard for her 15 years of service - and friendship.

I’m told that when told the news of Frank’s resurrection and asked what the G7 could possibly stand for, she quipped: “Is it something to do with the number of people he’s made redundant in the past month?”

Welcome back, Frank!

Baffled Tony Marsh gets a view from the other end of the lens

Part of the fun of journalism is capturing pictures of those who don’t want to be photographed.

These days it’s a rather grubby affair, thanks to the efforts of the so-called paparazzi who follow around so-called celebs and photograph them for a bunch of so-called lifetyle magazines. However, that’s the way of things because there’s money in z-listers - and where there’s brass, there is inevitably muck.

Don’t get me wrong, there are still any number of superb paps - those who meticulously plan and go to unbelievable, James Bond-style lengths to get the pics of proper A-list celebs that they don’t want the world to see. They spend years cultivating contacts with hotel staff, movie insiders and other helpful sorts, find themselves in weird and hard to reach places and basically dedicate all their guile, charm and experience to outwitting the publicity, security and personal staff of overpaid stars.

But I’m afriad their noble work (awright, that’s mibbes stretching it a bit) has been diluted by the proliferation of eejits with cameras who think it is perfectly acceptable to:

A) Stalk famous or semi-famous people relentlessly, then shout abuse at them to provoke a reaction and so get sneering/spitting/swearing/swedging pictures.

B) Cut mutually lucrative financial deals with z-listers who are desperately trying to claw their way up (or back up) the celeb ladder by staging pictures to show them in a fabourable light, then pass them off to an unsuspecting public as though they were taken without consent.

However, there is an oft-overlooked and forgotten area of photographic news work which altogether less glamorous and less well-paid - the good old-fashioned snatch picture.

This is usually reserved for the likes of criminals, conmen, bent business sorts, cheating public figures and anyone else who is in trouble, but doesn’t want the world to know.

This week two Deadline Press and Picture Agency staff were off on a wee jaunt into the Lothians in pursuit of once such suspect, armed only with a possible address to check out.

When they arrived at the destination they scoped the area and quickly realised the possibilities for a surreptitious snatch were remote. Which meant they’d have to blast the suspect and take their chances.

So while reporter Doug Walker knocked the door and tried to keep the occupant talking, photographer Stuart Cobley stood a safe distance away with his motorwind whirring.

While Doug quickly realised the man at the door wasn’t who he was looking for he did his best to keep him talking. But it quickly became apparent this particular chap had clocked the photographer - and worse yet, recognised him.

Ignoring the hapless distraction efforts of reporter Doug, he shouted out: “Is that you Stuart? What on earth are you up to?”

Rather excruciatingly for the Deadline pair, they were at the WRONG address and were actually trying to snatch highly-respected newspaper photographer Tony Marsh, who has worked for all the main papers. Indeed, he spent time at the Evening News, where he was actually Stuart’s BOSS. Oops.

Luckily for all concerned Tony is a top bloke (as well as a top snapper) and has been on enough snatches himself to know that sometimes you get the wrong information. So he saw the funny side. Or at least, he accpeted the explanations/apologies of the Deadline pair with as much grace as he could muster having just been roused from his scratcher and subjected to an unwanted photoshoot.

But I’m going to look on the bright side. Because the Deadline pair still showed professionalism and fulfilled the first rule of snatch photography - by getting a usable picture in the bag regardless of other circumstances.

And Tony, news photographer par excellence, got an unexpected view of life from the other end of the lens - as well as a funny story to tell his mates down the pub.

I suspect I will also owe him several beers for publishing this pic!