I Am Unwell Today But Deadlines Must Be Kept

In the true spirit of traditional journalism the deadlines must be kept. Even if you are down and out in Paris or London. Even if you are owning a head that is banging around like two cats fornicating on a hot tin roof the deadline must be kept. Deadlines are important. Such is the first rule of journalism. Damit.

I had a birthday celebration yesterday. I am unwell today. But the show must go on. I sent a text message to the boss telling him that I was unwell today. Could he get somebody else to write for me today. The quick reply came back like this : This is Finland. We keep deadlines and we have Sisu to handle these kinds of self-inflicted wounds.

If I understood the boss correctly this all meant that I must write today no matter how nasty my hangover. But does anybody know where I can buy some of that ”Sisu”? Can you buy it in a bottle? I dislike pills. That inner-strength of the true Finn is something I need right now. I am very unwell today. The boss refuses to give me the day off. All I can say is that there is no rest for the wicked. A good journalist always keeps to the deadlines.

Before my birthday adventures I was getting ready to write up the latest news on Obama and Iran. Somehow this all got lost to music videos and football and poetry readings by Richard Harris and Burton. That was until my good wife told me to go the bed and behave myself. Football, music and poetry readings, blasting on full volume in the home house, is always a good sign that I need to go to bed and behave. My good wife knows that.

Yesterday, before my fatal fixation on my silly birthday, I was preparing to write about the good Pope from his Vatican City. I was interested in his claim that inequality was good for us. But music and football and the poetry readings of Richard Burton (especially when reading that other Welsh wordsmith, Dylan Thomas) just seemed to be better. Damn the Sisu I said. I want to have a good time. I work to live – not live to work. That was my first mistake of the night.

I wanted to sing along with my musical heroes and I wanted to perform poetry with Richard Burton. Then along comes the message with a hammer. You have to work tomorrow, this is not a Friday night. Get off to bed!

I am very sorry. I must apologise to you all. My birthday did not come on a weekend. I know it should have done but it did not. Maybe our government can fix this. All birthdays must be on weekend time.

I knew at this stage that I was beginning to write a load of old rubbish. So I sent another polite text message to the boss. I said that I am not writing well about important issues today. Gimme a break I said. The reply was clear and concise. It was saying that I must make my text before mid-day or get sent on an assignment to study Haparanda.

So I found my sisu. I do keep to the deadline. I stick to the timetable that is holy ground for a newspaper. Even when I am unwell today. But if the Speaker of the Finnish parliament can do it then so can I. I found my sisu.

So is there anything sensible that I can try to write today?

Maybe I could say that the plans for increased nuclear power in Finland have been seen for what they always were. Now I can say the word ”rubbish” with some respect even with a nasty hangover. Now I can write rubbish. But please let me alone on these things right now. I need to sleep and I need to live again and I need the hair of the dog. Yes, I need the hair of the dog to survive stories about the Pope or the speaker of parliament or USA involvement in their world. As my old school teacher used to say ”I could do better”. Rubbish.

Right it is now eleven (that is 11.00 hours) and my deadline is kept. I have found my Sisu.

Steve Bowles