My week: Layth Yousif

Thursday, September 3: Early start, not just because children prepare to return to school. The reason I'm attempting to look smart is that we've got a big name visitor in town.

Pull on jeans for the first time since before lockdown. As anyone who knows me will attest I live in shorts during the summer months.

After I left The City to follow my dream of becoming a journalist more than a decade ago, I vowed I would never wear a suit again – for anything or anywhere.

Bar donning a dickie bow at a few awards evenings here and there, mostly with my wonderful girlfriend – where I looked like a cross between a doorman and a boxing referee - I have mostly succeeded.

So despite the Labour leader making a surprise visit to Hitchin, I steadfastly wear my adidas trainers and North Face top. Not that he notices or cares. Which is the whole point.

My exclusive interview with Sir Keir Starmer goes well. I spend the morning writing it up in Granello Lounge on Brand Street in my favourite seat. You know, the comfy chair, near the bar. Yes, that one is mine, thank you very much.

The only problem is that moments after finishing my in-depth feature – but miliseconds before I am about to publish it – the screen on my laptop turns black.

To my horror, I am so engrossed in writing it I have forgotten to save the piece. Horrified that two solid hours worth of research and blood, sweat and tears has apparently gone up in smoke, I try to suppress a primal scream of agony lest I scare the table in front of me, quietly enjoying some salt and pepper squid.

Thankfully the autosave is on and my words are rescued. I push the story and feel like a stiff drink. I say a silent prayer to the patron Saint of Journalists instead.

Friday, September 4:

Opinions are given on my Starmer piece on various sites on social media. Some positive. Some negative. As a journalist criticism goes with the territory. I have no problem with readers expressing their thoughts, good or bad, on anything I write.

In fact, I always take it as a compliment that readers have taken the trouble to post an opinion on my work. As an experienced journalist I also take it as a compliment when I get stick from all hues of the political spectrum for being too biased against their particular persuasion. It proves I am doing my job properly.

As a journo you wouldn't last ten minutes without a thick skin – and I never forget I am lucky to do what I do – whether it be reporting on Champions League games at the Nou Camp or Hitchin Town FC, interviewing major political leaders or writing about the weather. That said, the majority of comments on my exclusive feature are positive.

As an aside, I do find it vaguely amusing when people give a running commentary on my job. I wonder how some would feel if people passed opinions on what they do at work. Imagine shouting at a street sweeper - 'Oi you, you're holding that broom the wrong way – that's absolute rubbish', or 'Look at the way you're typing on the laptop – you've got it wrong. Wrong I say'.

Ah well, public analysis of my work is part of journalism and I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read what the in-depth stories we take pride in writing at Nub News Towers.

However, for those comms people who behave like sub-par Malcolm Tuckers from the political satire The Thick of It, I would suggest you read my memoirs one day for what I think of you guys. But, that, as they say is a different story entirely…

Saturday, September 5:

It's a weekend of birthdays. First comes my youngest daughter's big day. Which was wonderful and we plan a day out in London on Sunday.

We're also celebrating my girlfriend's father's birthday, and she cooks up a storm for us all that night.

First though, I take my daughter to her Saturday morning football with the mighty Hitchin Belles.

It's a local derby against a side from Stevenage. (Even if all local football games are local derbies).

We lose. Narrowly. But afterwards, as the whole team, coaches, parents and all, trudge away, I give her a huge hug and tell her she did well. I always kid myself I think I'd be more of a Pep Guardiola-type manager rather than a Jose Mourinho.

Although given my lack of athletic prowess these days I suspect I'd actually be more of a Sam Allardyce…yet, having interviewed all three over the years, I'll refer you to my future memoir to learn exactly what I think of the latter pair…

Sunday, September 6:

A trip to London on the train. The train! When did train travel become so dystopian? I haven't actually let the train take the strain and used Govia to get to our wonderful capital - since, similar to many I suspect - before lockdown.

As someone who had a decade's worth of commuting to London, to the City and Canary Wharf in a previous life in Investment Banking, it is fair to say I am not the biggest fan of our train services.

In my early days as a journo one of my favourite interviews came when I went full-Paxman on a fat-cat train boss when I worked on a newspaper in Bedford. I think I asked him 14 times whether he actually got a seat on one of his own trains during rushour, such was his reluctance to admit overcrowding.

It wasn't big and it wasn't clever, kids, but my word, after ten years of frustration at being shoved into someone's armpit every morning on the 751am from Hitchin to Kings Cross, believe me it felt good.

The poor man later admitted to me after we finished I had given him his toughest ever interview. Which, as the bloke used to say on the Fast Show, was nice.

So, it was with shock on Sunday that I realised train travel in our post-lockdown era is so different, so far removed from what we were used to before this wretched virus took hold.

Why? Because there was simply no-one on the train. No-one. Not a soul. On a Sunday. To London.

No wonder Hitchin MP Bim Afolami wrote to the transport secretary in a bid to get him to take new ideas on board to tempt punters back.

London was the same. As a born and bred Londoner it was utterly strange walking around a relatively empty Camden Market and Oxford Street in a bid to buy birthday shopping for my daughter.

Covent Garden was the same. Even most of the 'street artists' had disappeared.

Which to be fair wasn't necessarily a bad thing given that my children once made me wait 20 minutes to see a man hold his own head in a box. Such was my kids' excitement at such a sight, they stayed so long trying to figure it out, even the headless man got bored.

My point is, we are lucky in Hitchin.

Despite naysayers, our town centre is thriving in comparison to the parts of London we visited.

People actively seek out shops in our town and contribute to a nice bustle – while hopefully spending money in our wonderful independent stores.

London in comparison is really struggling. If I wasn't fully aware that city centres are struggling, well I am now. Which could work massively in Hitchin's favour.

Monday, September 7:

Decide to write a post-piece on Eat Out to Help Out. Neglect to mention the day during scheme when I dined out all day, consuming a full English, burger and chips for lunch, and a huge selection of tapas for dinner, simply because, as I tried to explain to my wonderful girlfriend, 'it's Monday…and I want to do my bit."

My excuse didn't go down well. Unlike the two Eat Out to Help Out mains I had the day after.

I feel a trip coming on to Archer's Gym next week…

Tuesday, September 8:

I write the train piece after Bim's letter is sent to Grant Shapps. During my research I note it is actually cheaper to fly to Tel Aviv than it is to buy four daily peak returns from Hitchin to London. The system is broken. But can we fix it before it is too late?

Wednesday, September 9:

PM Boris Johnson outlines stricter changes to post-lockdown life. It's going to be a long winter.

I try and take my mind off matters by doing a live blog on the breaking news. As a journalist I love a live blog and it's something we plan to bring to Nub News as and when the need arises.

Johnson outlines the plans and I write furiously, trying to keep up.

Normally when someone speaks fast I rely on my trusty T-line shorthand to note the quotes.

After spending such a long time learning shorthand at journalism college a decade ago I am reluctant to let it lapse. After all, I still think in shorthand.

The next time you speak to me, ask me what your words look like in my brain. As my youngest daughter said to me once when I wrote my shorthand squiggles in front of her: 'It doesn't make sense.'

The same could be said of the government's handling of the Covid crisis. Labour councilor Judi Billing articulated what a lot of people are thinking here in north Herts with her hard-hitting column.

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Nub News is a genuine success story. We are growing all the time up and down the country. It makes such a refreshing change to work for a publishing company that values its journalists and cares about good journalism. All the while respecting our efforts as journalists. No wonder so many former colleagues that I worked with at local, regional and national newspapers message me to ask if Nub News is the real deal and if we're going places. It is and we are.

As for those publishing companies that I've worked for that aren't Nub News. Well, as I say, read my memoirs for the full story…

Thursday, September 10:

My girlfriend alerts me to Hitchin Food Rescue.

A brilliant group that attempts to curb food waste in and around our town. They meet at the Half Moon pub between 930am and 11am every Thursday.

There's a brilliant team down there and it was great to catch up with a raft of familiar faces including the very excellent Freddie Best, landlord of the Half Moon who has offered the pub's outside space to host their event.

As Freddie told me it was a real eye opener to see how much food is saved that would otherwise go to waste.

If you haven't been yet, I would suggest you join a good cause and get down there. Not least because you get two bags of perfectly edible food for only a fiver.

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One of the joys of being a journalist is that no two days are ever the same.

And because Nub News journalists absolutely love our job, the days fly by. I caught up with old familiar faces at Top Field that evening with the Canaries back at that wonderfully evocative ground for the first time in 185 days.

How I missed the wonderful characters and good-natured ribbing that comes with seeing so many familiar faces. The game was good too as Burkey's side dismantled a Harpenden Town side 5-0.

Guesting for the Canaries was a rap star from Rizzle Kicks – who have more than 1m followers on Twitter.

Honestly, it all happens in Hitchin, as I get home tired but exhilarated following a 16 hour day - after loving every single minute of it.

Friday, September 11:

I spend the morning and early afternoon at the wonderful North Herts Museum on Brand Street. I film a couple of 'Facebook lives' and pen a few pieces including a heritage piece, the first of series that we plan to run every Friday.

The staff are friendly, helpful and knowledgeable. The museum really is a treasure trove of stories, artifacts and information about Hitchin and the surrounding areas. If you haven't visited it yet, why not – it really is wonderful.

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Today marks 19 years since the dreadful attacks on the Twin Towers perpetrated by hateful terrorists. As someone of Arabic heritage, 9/11 came into sharp focus once again, not least because I recalled that someone I knew told me on that awful day in 2001, 'my lot' had bombed the World Trade Centre.

As I put together today's daily Nub News breakfast briefing I searched for a suitable quote. I think I found it with a poignant line from the dignified wife of a tragic pilot on the ill-fated Flight 93.

Earlier in the morning, my girlfriend and I blow away the cobwebs by taking the dog on a walk around Oughtonhead Common just after sunrise. As the golden orb gradually climbs to reveal a glorious morning, we walk silently, the cockapoo snuffling in the hedgerows, lost in our thoughts, but grateful.

Because despite all the challenges each and every one of us face at the moment, simple pleasures in life are the best ones to savour.