Good Will hunting

Scraping together the final few Christmas cards. I hate this stage where you run the drag net over missed names and play the "should you/shouldn't you" game over others.

Gill (Mrs Donkin) likes to run a "three strikes and they're out" system but I prefer to keep on sending as long as there's a pulse.

It warmed the cockles of my heart today to receive a Christmas card from one of our leading national newspapers signed by the editor, a former colleague.

What a wonderful feeling to be remembered. Such an unexpected gesture deserved a response, I thought. It could be hardly considered crawling to reciprocate. A pleasantry here, a mention of my web site there.

But just as I put tongue to gum, Gill announced that the card had been sent to her as a subscriber. It was a "keeping the customers happy" card. A corporate thing. My imploding ego was almost as audible as the crunching cockles.

Then there was the dilemma. Having penned the card, I might as well send it. What harm is there in a Christmas wish for an old colleague? Isn't this the season when generosity of spirit prevails? Let him appreciate the joke at my expense.

Even journalism, the most cynical, mean spirited, miserable, back-biting trade on the planet, can make room for a little bit of good will, whether or not it falls on stony ground. It's Christmas after all, I thought.

Sending the card would have been the noble thing to do. But such sentiments appear like a crack in the ice sheets, a fragile channel that soon closes under pressure from that protective frozen shell around our hearts. Stuff him, I thought. I have my pride.

But writing this has changed my mind again. It's like remaining seated in the tube when there's a young woman who needs a seat. You can make all kinds of excuses for staying seated. She may be younger than you, she's probably going to get off at the next stop, she'll almost certainly decline as they do these days. What about equality and all that? What will the other passengers think? I'll just make the other blokes feel bad.

Chivalry, like good will, is so old fashioned. And isn't that sad? So you got your card, Will. I hope you read it and have a little chuckle at my expense. Happy Christmas to you and all the other Fleet Street editors.

Your old mate,

Donks.

I don't like Mondays

Bob Geldof isn't the only one. Monday is column day for the FT, often preceded by some report or book reading on the Sunday night as I get my ideas together. Why don't I write the thing the previous Friday? You could ask that of any journalist.

As a colleague once tried to explain to an unreceptive chief executive who was trying to introduce his own management ideas, you can't produce news like tins of beans on a conveyor belt. Journalists work to deadlines, the closer the deadline, the better the concentration and focus.

Removing a deadline is akin to releasing a mental shackle that prevents the mind from wandering randomly around its favourite places where we learn new things and nourish our thinking.

I love that feeling when, in writing terms, I get on the back straight. By that time the thoughts and words are in full flow and sometimes it's an effort to end things. Then there's the checking and double-checking. Even then, mistakes sometimes still creep through.

I remember once, an FT production management mantra called "right first time", probably related to the Six Sigma principle of continuous improvement. I don't believe that anything is ever right first time. An aeroplane take-off must be right but pilots are working within margins for error. A word or name is spelled correctly or it isn't.

I have mild dyslexia and often transpose letters. There are certain words - necessarily is one - that I might spell correctly nine times out of 10 only to see the 10th attempt flounder miserably. So spelling and writing is a constant struggle.

This week I have written something relating to the Leitch report on skills. Part of me had wanted to write about job interviewing but Leitch won out because, I suppose, it's important. It's easy to get on your high horse, writing a column criticising this and that. But everyone out there is trying to make the best of things aren't they? We're condemned to improve. No-one gets anything right first time.