I don’t like press conferences. Organised to propagate nothing more than a particular message, they are spaces where real questions are rarely asked because they are really no place for real answers.
Everything is pre-empted, rehearsed, and answers are a performed act, designed by media experts, advisers and prom queen mothers.
Everyone knows that real answers to probing questions are found in the most unlikely of places: in the bar, on the golf course, in someone else’s bed.
The journalists who are forced to patronise press conferences merely rotate old rhetoric on new paper before they go outside to cuss and light a smoke.
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