Diary – 1 February 2018

It never occurred to me, when I was interviewed for Desert Island Discs back in November, that I’d actually be on one when it aired last week. The plan had been to laze in a hammock under a palm tree in Ko Yao Noi in the Andaman Sea, with waves lapping against the white coral beach, read books and recharge for the year. These days, however, it’s hard to be totally cut off. I’ve read about ‘digital detoxes’ but never understood how you deal with the avalanche of messages on your return. So I left my phone on and soon it was pinging with notifications from WhatsApp, Twitter et al. Most were lovely. There were messages from people I hadn’t heard from for years, who’d listened to the programme. I even had one from my old school, which suspended me, and from strangers appreciative of insights into the work of a war correspondent. But I had unwittingly stirred up a hornet’s nest. I wanted to make the point that there are so few women in the higher echelons of newspapers, which is sad as I think men and women see things very differently. I said that in 30 years I personally had never had a female newspaper editor, foreign editor or news editor. I worried this might irritate the men I had worked for. It never occurred to me that the women whose cause I thought I was advocating would see it as a slight. In fact the Sunday Times appointed a very talented female news editor last summer. I was thinking of the executive editor who oversees news. My mistake. Yet the male editors sent nice messages, while the women wrote things like #stillfuming. It left me wondering if we are our own worst enemies — and confirmed I’d been right to leave TV for print where I can consider my words carefully.

I was in Thailand to participate in Bangkok Edge, one of many literary festivals around the world.