Recently, I seem to do very little other than go to weddings. My friends are mostly at the time of their lives where they decide to get married – in disparate parts of the country, mostly.

That means I spend a lot of time at wedding receptions making increasingly boring small talk with strangers. Summer 2011 was the worst time for this. At the height of the worst period of hatred against journalists in the history of man and I lost count of the times that I had this conversation:

“So Marc, what do you do?”

“I’m a journalist.”

“OH! One of them!”

“Yeh – but don’t worry… I’m self employed.”

“So you haven’t tapped my phone?” the stranger laughing asks,

“No.” I reply straight faced.

For me, it wasn’t the assumption that I was some kind of unethical monster that really annoyed me. It was what always came next.

“So you’re a self employed journalist?”

“Yup. I edit a magazine.”

“Oh… which magazine?”

“Plastik Magazine.”

“Uh…” they would muse, “haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s an online magazine about creative culture in Cardiff.”

“I see! So how do you make money then? Advertising is it?”

When I tell them that no, that’s not how I make my money, they look absolutely perplexed. For a magazine publisher, assuming that the only way that their brand can make money is advertising is an insulting idea. Let’s reverse the roles for a moment:

“Tell me about what you do. You’re in finance aren’t you?” I imagine asking them,

“Yes. That’s right. I’m a stockbroker.”

“Oh. I see. So you make your money through insider trading and embezzlement?”

The whole room is silenced… it’s the Bride’s beloved uncle who I’ve just mortified. One more victory for journalists all over the world, alienating the public.