EPUK
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Night Of The Blunt Nibs

Oh. My. God. Not again. In truth we’d rather stick pins in our eyes, sub an edition of The Journalist and struggle for a correction from Jeremy Dear – all at the same time – than return to the subject of the Union Whose Name We Dare Not Speak. But some things will not be denied, and the National Union of Journalists’ latest initiative, the grandly titled Commission On Multi-Media Working, has created such a rumpus it would be churlish to ignore it. Those of a nervous disposition should look away now.
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If only she'd had breakdown insurance...

And this week’s prize for tasteful and appropriate advertising goes to the Sun, with it’s highly appropriate adverts next to it’s pop-up slideshow of photographs from the it’s coverage of the Diana Inquest…
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Dotcom 2 : The Movie

Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth with Nikon Fs things were simple. Photographers took photographs, writers wrote, newspapers and magazines published information that readers wanted or needed enough to pay for. Advertisers paid to reach readers and publishers tried to put together titles that tempted both to part with their money, whilst unions sought to balance the interests of their members against exploitation. Then there was TV, a different medium altogether, populated by people with clipboards and strange job titles.
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The NUJ's Parallel Universe

Some people are just s-o-o sensitive. Take one Kyran Connolly for instance. Earlier this month the woefully ill-informed National Union of Journalists Book Organiser queried whether the union had any involvement in running EPUK [please, stop sniggering at the back]. This was during the Emergency National Executive Committee meeting where Connolly and his cronies were busy putting the boot into Irish photographers.
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Kidnapped By The Forces Of Freedom

There was justified and highly public rejoicing last month when BBC correspondent Alan Johnston was released 114 days after being kidnapped by the Army Of Islam in the Gaza Strip. This was hardly surprising: four months of enforced hospitality in a Middle East basement is nobody’s idea of fun. But now that the fuss has died down it’s interesting to compare Johnston’s ordeal with that of some other journalists held against their will.
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