To anyone who has dreamed of becoming a journalist, the thrill of walking into a national newspaper office never goes away. My desk is in the glass-clad offices of the Sunday Times, next to the Shard; the outside ‘walls’ are all windows and the views from the ninth floor are spectacular. When I first came here, as an intern, I was too scared to admire anything. Now I’m back, this time on the news review section and in charge of the interns, which entertains me no end. Many are from Oxbridge, and all are super-smart. I try to sound authoritative, hoping my age — I’m 48 — will help me do so. But there’s little point in my pretending to have been doing this for years, since often they’ve googled me before they arrive.
They’ve found out that this time last year I was a stay-at-home mother of three. I applied for a Spectator internship, taken by the no-CV policy: age and background were not a factor. My children are growing up; I felt I was young enough to try a new career and not old enough to give up on dreams. When I got the placement, everything changed. My story seemed to capture interest: four BBC interviews, and a feature in the Sunday Times where I was interviewed by a young journalist called Leaf Arbuthnot. I’m now doing her job, while she has moved to the magazine. I read the papers, look at books, commission, edit, write. And no, I can’t believe it either.
Going from being a full-time mum to a full-time journalist has turned life at home upside down. My husband Nick and I have reversed roles: I wake him at 7.30 a.m. with tea and the Today programme before catching my train into town.
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