The death of print journalism in its current form is a fact- the industry is in freefall. This continuous groundswell, augmented by the firestorm of Leveson, has turned the public- by and large- furiously against the journalistic profession. As the prevalence and standing of conventional print media declines, the PR industry will necessarily morph over years and decades into a hybrid beast, incorporating networking, influencing and social media as its key tenets.

Media of all kinds are almost by definition dominated by curiosity and novelty, with timeframes set by miniscule attention spans. Yet despite the undoubted importance of considering what’s next, we mustn’t forget the importance of what is, what we have already. While I’m aware there are many in the industry ready to gleefully welcome a lobotomised, castrated press, I can’t imagine anything more tragic.

From a PR perspective, no amount of saccharine, tame coverage can beat the engagement and story value brought by a great independent journalist getting behind you. A journalist willing to blandly spew out whatever a PR tells them may bring column inches for the client, but their copy won’t generate actual conversation. A fantastic journalist who gets truly excited by the recommendation of a trusted publicist will be the one to make or break a meme.

Aside from anything else, those with dedication to fact and authenticity- and the training to pursue it- will always be needed as mediators. Even in a world dominated by the chattering of the masses, someone needs to be present to sift through the torrent of useless information to find the gold, not just in terms of the truth, but in terms of what’s genuinely exciting, truly valuable.

An announcement on their website that “a spectacular name” was to sign for the club invited fans to watch the name’s unveiling on the team’s Facebook page.

Needless to say, an incredible amount of furore was generated and fans eagerly tuned in at the proposed time in their thousands. However, following a short video clip from FCB’s general manager Christian Nerlinger, fans were treated to a view of their own Facebook profile picture, followed by their own name on the back of a Bayern Munich number 8 shirt.

Cue slow clap. It’s not hard to imagine the brainstorming session behind that one. The scene: a smoky little room, the unearthly glow of a dozen iMacs lending a superhuman sheen to the bearded mugs of the creative team. Who knows what blue sky heights they tapped into to get there, but the point is that when that eureka moment came and someone threw this ‘off the wall’ nugget of media disruption into the ether, everyone was clearly too busy congratulating themselves to think for a second about the fans themselves, and the ongoing, human narrative that would arise.

A football team’s stock in trade is the illogical, desperate and oddly beautiful passion of its fans. Football is not just another consumer product, and its fans are not simply consumers. Like the release of a Morrissey album or the unveiling of a new Pope, the transfer window is something that inspires interest and conversation that transcends the rational and borders on the obsessive.

In order to keep fans onside, buying tickets and following the team after the window has closed, the most important thing that a team’s communications need to do is inspire and retain trust. If the fans trust the team through and through, then no matter what disappointments or controversies come their way, they will stick by the team with religious ardour.

Ironically, of course, this ardour and support is something the stunt was clearly trying to acknowledge, and I’m not claiming that FCB was deliberately sticking two fingers up at its fanbase. However, the main shortcoming of creative is that it gets so wrapped up in its own genius that it forgets how the great unwashed actually think. In the eyes of someone who’s skipped a class or skived off that all important meeting just to watch the announcement of a name this is not a clever stunt- it’s a sick joke.

In short, the team weren’t thinking in narrative terms. They planned meticulously up to an initial moment of shock and disruption, but failed to plan for what would come after. Feeling betrayed and abandoned, fans have lost some of that crucial trust. While 20 years ago this may not have been such an issue, they’ll now whip each other up into a frenzy via social media, and likely leave in significant numbers.

I encourage clever media thinking, but when clever become smartarse, particularly in a supposedly grassroots organisation like a sports team, you’ve got disaster on your hands. Some good may come out of this fiasco if the suits who run modern sport can be made to see that.

Arthur Schopenhauer, that eminently quotable German, once said ‘We forfeit two thirds of ourselves in order to be like other people.’  In the past, I’ve occasionally prioritised the need to get the job over the passion for it. I’ve let myself and what I do be defined by what a client wants, rather than what my heart (and my more hard-bitten instincts) tell me I should be doing.

If you’re pitching without passion, it’s more likely than not a question of too many mouths to feed: unchecked growth leads to serious issues. In growing your business with limitless tenacity, the likelihood is that you’ll fall victim to the 33 and 1/3^rd factor: some unalterable law of the universe dictates that, left unfiltered, your employees will appear in three types, in equal proportion.

The first 3^rd are the stars, the challengers, those who grow the business with their unstoppable thinking and enthusiasm. The second are the support staff, the dependables and hard workers without whom the company could not continue day to day. Both of these are necessary components in the agency vehicle, whether it’s a slick ad world Beemer or a dependable in-house people carrier. Managing the ratio between them is the secret of a great corporate culture.

The last 3^rd are the hangers on, drifting through the day like fugitives clinging onto the sides of a train, only without the diligence or sense of opportunity. The overlarge organisation, or the agency which cannot fully define itself and stick to that definition, attracts an inordinate number of these energy sappers. Without a firm culture to define them against, it gets harder to keep them away.

If you’re questing after true efficiency, you won’t find it by increasing your workforce. Take the time to define the way you work now and establish the way you want it to change. Grow slowly and strategically, and you’ll be left with far fewer hangers on, and far less air resistance as you travel.

As editors faced the muzak, a genuine tabloid legend’s coffin was making its way past a sea of solemn faces inside a dimly lit church in SW15. Mournful voices drowned out by the perpetual clang of a tolling bell heard moving tributes celebrating the life of ‘Smoking’ Sue Carroll.

When I first met Sue in my early 20’s she scared me to death. She was overwhelmingly glamorous, gritty and tough.  Gradually, however, my trepidation and the fear subsided. The more we did business, the more I learnt about the idiosyncrasies and the methods of popular journalism.

I treasured Sue’s friendship and confidence. Standing in the church fighting  back the tears I found it difficult to believe a constant presence in my professional life would no longer be at the end of the phone or available for an old fashioned lunch. Cancer corroded and finally consumed this vital human. Sue’s passing is significant, a metaphor, perhaps, for a type of journalism the like of which we will never see again.

Most importantly, Sue taught me to trust whilst correctively ensuring my words matched my message. Off the record gossip- no matter how compelling- remained firmly off the record. She never betrayed a confidence and remained true to her word.  On three occasions she delivered  some very bad news about errant clients. Thankfully she provided me with the time and space to gather my professional  wits before the deafening clamour descended from on high. It was never an easy ride with Sue, but it was always an honest ride.

The funeral and subsequent wake were portentous. Whether the gathered throng shared my observation or not I don’t know, but it felt to me like we were mourning the death of a whole profession. When I looked around that room at a collection of legends and old warhorses, I was brought shockingly down to earth. Many were unable to work, others were stripped of all their power. In short, the question was begged as to who was left to bring experience, temperance and morality to the popular press.

Hate destroys a man’s sense of values and his objectivity. Society is clearly angry about the dark art which trades as modern popular journalism. Alas a hunger for stories at any cost was overwhelmed by the malady of an ugly lycanthropy. It is pointless to posit a dewy eyed eulogy for newspapers and journalists, but it is a time to declare the game has changed.

It’s a fact that old media is in fast decline, that I will see the death of print.  Hopefully the legend of Sue Carrol will be preserved  and  cherished and not lost in the sea of detritus and the sins of a generation of lazy hacks

The values enshrined in the ethics of Sue should not be forgotten. It’s not an artifice to suggest that responsible journalism could be confident in a two way relationship between parties on different sides of the line. Any PRs rubbing their hands at the prospect of a neutered press are gravely mistaken- great content is about managing relationships with the mavericks and the enthusiasts. It is they who will produce copy to truly capture and excite the crowd.Sue and I United on BBC Breakfast

Being a PR, I just can’t resist a quick plug: those looking to understand Bernstein’s remarkable talents could also do worse than investing in a copy of my book The Fame Formula. In it, I dissect, analyse and celebrate the incredible gift of Bernstein and his ilk for capturing the public, as well as understanding so well the stars they catapulted to fame with apparent ease. Their arts aren’t lost, but they are essential background reading for anyone seeking to make waves in the comparatively anodyne world of modern communications. In these uncertain days in the shadow of a certain Lord L, the lessons of the past have never been more pressing.

Bernstein was one of the absolute greats. Unmistakably, he was a true showman of the kind I’ve always admired. His stunts, which ranged from artificially stoking Tom Jones’s sex bomb reputation with hired pantie-throwers to holding his own-televised- wedding underwater, are now the stuff of legend. Like Jim Moran and other ancient heroes of mine, he was a fabulous ringmaster of publicity and pizazz.

However, for all the hype about him being the ‘inventor of the modern publicity stunt’, his greatest talent was far more subtle. While researching the Fame Formula, he was one of the figures I had the pleasure of interviewing during a stint across the pond. A gent and an enthusiast, he gave up his valuable time without complaint. Upon entering his house- formerly owned by Rita Hayward and site of the first Jacuzzi in Hollywood- my eyes were assailed by a remarkable collection of memorabilia. The place was filled with debris from his remarkable time in the industry.

As a hopeless collector myself I was excited by the sheer volume of it (and I particularly wonder what happened to his incredible collection of stuffed animals), but I was also impressed and touched: these deeply personal items were evidence of the highly developed bonds Bernstein had with his clients. His memories of each and every client were fond, full and nuanced. One particularly memorable moment involved him musing as to what John Wayne might have said if he’d been offered the script for Brokeback Mountain, just released at the time.

He took clients all the way, and each of the crazy stories he launched came from a place of deep thinking, considered strategy and mutual trust.

It strikes me that, while Jay’s stunts place him in the vein of ‘publicist’s publicist’, his relationships with clients offer up lessons to those in any line of work. Brand communications in any field can only work from a basis of deep mutual respect between those working within the brand and those pushing it out. Madness, controversy and conversation spring from narratives mutually developed and sculpted over years- Bernstein knew this, but I fear it’s something we’re starting to forget.

One advantage of the thinking that goes in to this kind of offering is that along with the new ideas I discover and devise, I am reminded of some of my favourite pieces of wisdom. Amazing quotes and thoughts which get pushed to the back of my mind are suddenly thrust back in front of me- and my audiences- a couple of times a week.

One is from the great film-maker Jim Jarmusch, and it informs much of my thinking about modern communications: ‘Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Authenticity is invaluable, originality is non-existent’.

In these times, it’s a good insight to remember. One of the less-observed effects of the rise of the internet is that it has disabused us of the illusion of originality. Before 1996 or so, those everyday snippets of inspiration or bursts of creativity didn’t get stored for later consumption and re-consumption. Nowadays they do.

Too often, people in my business forget that what we do has a proud heritage, carved out by bullshitters, showmen and mavericks. That’s why I couldn’t help but feel a small thrill as PRs working for the stain remover brand Vanish and the “Wear it Pink” Breast Cancer Campaign were firmly reminded that claiming total originality as a point of difference is always a risky business.

For those who didn’t catch it, the campaign launched with a stunt whereby allegedly ‘the world’s largest bra’ was hung across a skyscraper in central London. The news was swiftly responded to by one Joey Skaggs, a conceptual artist and genius of media manipulation of whom I’ve written before, pointing out that he came up with the same idea back in the 60’s, except his was bigger, bolder, and immeasurably more badass. More importantly, his wasn’t touted as ‘world’s biggest bra’ (even though it probably was). The size was pertinent to its underlying feminist agenda.

Skaggs was one of the greats, a true genius. His stunts were always not only attention-grabbing but poignant, judging the zeitgeist and the instincts of the media to perfection. Above all, he was an artist, with the front page of a paper his ever-willing canvass. The best number too many to list here, ranging from his Christmas day 1968 staging of a life size Vietnamese nativity scene to his 1976 ‘cathouse for dogs’ to the more recent 2006 ‘universal bullshit detector watch’.

One group of folk who should have taken a leaf out of Skaggs’s book were PRs at the Guinness Book of Records, who today got a nice slew of coverage for their Guinness World Records Day. They are to be feted for the global dimension of the day, which saw record breakers around the world playing up to ironic stereotype-themed stunts (largest collection of leprechauns in Dublin et al). However, their photo ops still largely came from biggest, tallest, most- the kind of bread and butter offering a creative like Skaggs might have eschewed.

The spirit of Jarmusch’s comment doesn’t require that we constantly bow down and pay homage to our illustrious forebears, but it highlights an important distinction. While originality is impossible, authenticity is not. Don’t claim to be the first, the best, the biggest. Instead find the same seams of genius that others have tapped, and dig deeper to find what is true and right for your project.

Another quote I’ve been using in my presentation sums it up. An old PR friend of mine once remarked to me that ‘what matters is contacts, culture, energy, creativity, bullshit and bollocks. And of course, the last piece of coverage. We succeed because we are scum-sucking, news-junky, urban cosmopolite, ambidextrous grasshoppers’.

A true publicity showman has his nose to ground, his finger on the mouse, and always knows just what to steal and when.

This year, however, something was missing. As per usual, I totally reworked my presentation, but found myself surrounded by other speakers from TV, Advertising and elsewhere flogging the same shtick they’ve been peddling the last couple of times round the track.

Perhaps I’m being unfair to my esteemed colleagues: they all succeeded wonderfully in making PowerPoint their bitch, fleshing out each point with whizzing animations, Technicolor wankfests and glorious info graphics to the point of turgidity. However, at heart, they were clinging on, and they were offering old thoughts to some of the newest minds in the country. Once again, it’s the PR world that’s at the front line of culture change.

I’m filled with hope that PR could be right at forefront of communications culture change, but first we have to overcome the prejudices and obstacles placed in our way by a group of disciplines who are perpetually convinced that they are right. At the course, as in real life, they were putting lipstick on a series of proverbial pigs. The audience may have been comprised largely of vegans and vegetarians, but pork was most certainly on the menu.

When confronted with all this self-congratulatory bollocks, I’m reminded of an old Jewish joke: A rabbi is acting as marriage counselor and agrees to see a couple, but one at a time. The wife carries on about the husband, and the rabbi nods, over and over: “You’re right! Of course, you’re right.” In his session, the rabbi tells the husband: “Yes, you’re right. What can I say– you’re right!” After they leave, the rabbi’s assistant, who heard it all, asks: “Not to be rude, Rabbi, but how can they both be right?” To which the rabbi responds: “You know what– you’re right!”

I’ve written about the show a lot on this blog: it’s always thrived on controversy. Syco’s PR lifeblood comes from outrageous stories that dig their claws in to the tabloid column inches and don’t let go for days: Katie Waissel’s gran, Chloe Mafia’s Prostitution, Ceri Rees’s humiliation and countless others. After making it through Boot Camp, Cocozza was pretty much handed an Ikea flatpack ‘hellraiser’ lifestyle, which he duly assembled within minutes and then attempted to cram up his nose.

For a time, he served his purpose: he was a decent story factory, most recently grabbing the show a page in the Mirror after his first girlfriend took them a kiss and tell. However, arguably things became a little too real after he started appearing inebriated on the show and prompted a full scale Ofcom investigation.

In deciding to fire him, the show have timed things perfectly: they can now distance themselves from whatever happens to the kid, while reaping the benefits of red top coverage that savages Cocozza while leaving them untouched.

One party that won’t be welcoming the news is M&S. Having proudly gloated about their X Factor themed Christmas ads earlier this year, they’ve found themselves a victim of ad folk’s thinking: close minded, unresponsive, short-term. They’re now saddled with a decaying, toxic brand, slowing down their promotion rather than giving them the gentle boost they’d presumably intended. I’ve been banging on about this for months, though they’re yet to send me through a 500 grand contract and a lifetime supply of orangey mini bites.

What’s more, it’s not an isolated moment of damage. The Mirror today ran with the line that Frankie had spent a large portion of his £3000 fee for the commercials on the very same ‘wild nights’ which got him expelled. Damage limitation has been implemented- though I doubt anyone buys the line (pardon the pun) that the money was just a ‘discretionary payment’ from Fremantle- but had M&S sought the advice of decent PRs in the first place, it wouldn’t be a necessity.

More pressingly, we must pray to whichever God is listening for poor Frankie, whose inevitable meltdown should be cosseted by some kind of duty of care from ITV or Syco. Following his 12 and 1/2 minutes of fame, he’s been cast away from the golden circle he was briefly permitted to enter, and the only possible result is bitterness, ironically the main recipe for perpetual obscurity.

In between the possibly hypocritical condemnations by the Tories, the possibly equally hypocritical support offered by Labour, the regulations of the City of London and the public dithering of the Church of England, there’s enough fuel here to keep the media busy for as long as the camp remains in place, and probably longer.

Dr Rowan Williams’s comments last week, in which he acknowledged the inequality inherent in the financial sector and called the protest ‘a real focus for people’s feelings and their imagination,’ were perceived by many as an antidote to the church’s infighting. In fact, they confuse matters further by acknowledging the ideological alliance between the church and the protestors while smartly avoiding the legal conflict.

The whole affair’s like a messy divorce case: the issues are being ignored because everyone has a claim to being a victim- a problem the media has taken it upon itself to sort out. The entire confused, irrational mess was summed up by the Daily Express last week in an unintentionally genius bit of satire: a reporter camped out in front of the house of a protestor, armed with a tent and a sign reading ‘how do you like it?’.

It’s an interesting quandry: it’s hard to think of a recent protest of this scale which has earned itself so many column inches, and arguably, visibility is enough. The rational, we might argue, will draw their own conclusions. However, my fear is that the temptations of a juicy bit of finger-pointing will obscure the issues at heart far more effectively than a thrown fire extinguisher ever could.

This is event TV- as are Britain’s Got Talent or the X Factor, for instance- because it gathers and broadcasts true, impactful stories in a major instance, drawing together disparate audiences and engaging them in irresistible conversation. Like the funfair sideshows of old, it’s a destination show, with unpredictable appeal and undeniable allure.

It’s a brilliant publicity stunt: with David Cameron, Prince Charles and Ed Miliband in attendance the Mirror benefits from ready-made gravitas and a direct line to the great and the good. Since John Hegarty’s seminal Guardian interview in June on the continued value of TV to advertisers, the accepted wisdom that TV is dying a death has been challenged and re-appraised. Its now official: event TV, with real stories, still has the power to grab attention, start conversation and really boost brands.

On a deeper level, though, this says something about the Mirror’s understanding of its audience, its function and its values. The Sun and the News of the World ran into trouble because they alienated their audiences- they disregarded honesty and simplicity in their practises.

The Mirror, in particular Peter Willis, whose brainchild the whole shebang was, understands the true worth of the story. The scoop and the angle are only meaningful so long as they engage with the beating heart of the reader. According to the awards’ press material, the reason for their success is simple: they ‘give the lie to the idea that we live in a selfish, cheap, materialistic society where no one cares for their neighbour’.

These are stories which provide powerful, emotive evidence in contravention to a negative zeitgeist. There’s a lot of friction there, and hence a lot of conversation generated. They’re pitched at the ideal tabloid audience: values driven, moral, switched on but not remote or overly intellectual.

It’s no wonder, of course: The Mirror has a rich heritage with this sort of thing. The reason Piers Morgan’s editorship was so heavily covered and criticised was that it broke with a long tradition of honest, grassroots reporting from a paper that was, after all, founded on the revolutionary and highly targeted ideal of establishing a newspaper for women, the paper that truly stuck its neck out with experiments like Mirrorscope, that has repeatedly and consistently campaigned against the centre-right/politically ambiguous line of virtually every other mainstream tabloid.

The Pride of Britain awards were inspiring not only because of the stories they presented- though even to my jaded old eyes some of these were truly extraordinary- but because of what these stories represent. They prove that, even amid the supposed collapse of the tabloid press in this country, some papers truly understand the value of a good story, the needs of their readers and the function of what a paper communicates to the world.