I'm so nervous.

My first blog.

As I often do, I can't help but think about my dear old Dad.

When he started his reporting career at the Manchester Guardian back in 1954, he pounded his stories out on an old English typewriter.

Probably with two fingers like I am doing now. Except his pieces were well written,

The Guardian editor, Mr. Bevan, actually corrected my father's copy with a quill pen.  

Fast forward a half century.

I am starting something called a blog - a name which reminds me of some sort of swamp creature. Something I might have seen as a child in a black and white Saturday matinee.

Back when my dad began, the notion of computers, the internet and blogs probably existed only in Robert Heinlein sci-fi novels.

Yet here is one of his sons blogging away.

In this twice-weekly rant, I will obviously talk about Politics. Hence the name "Backroom."

But I will also write about the media, about scuttlebutt I hear downtown and maybe even some Page Six type stuff.

And as I do this, I will try and keep in mind some advice Mr. Bevan once gave my dad.

Early on, Mr. Bevan reminded my father that,

 "Here at the Guardian, we avoid cliches. Even the newer ones."

Until my next blog, I'll be in the political backroom.

CPV