As well as being a platform for JKers to rant, ruminate and reflect on the worlds of technology and PR, 'Whatever...' will periodically be running guest blogs from friends who live beyond the (fire)walls of Johnson King Towers.
Here's Phil Muncaster, senior reporter at IT Week, on life in the fast lane of tech journalism…
I used to think that as a technology journalist par excellence, the crème de la crème, number one with a bullet etc etc, I would therefore be invited to the best of the best parties on the London social scene. Or at the very least rub shoulders with minor TV celebrities, has-beens and never-wills.
But no. Eventually you come to realise the sad fact that, as an IT hack, you are a few hundred places below Tourette's-afflicted Pete and clinically insane Nikki on the list of zeitgeist opinion-formers today.
Usually this isn’t a problem - over the years, one of the skills a successful IT journalist comes to acquire is the art of kidding yourself that free house beer, the roughest plonk and as much mineral water as you can physically stomach - all consumed in the delightful setting of a musty function room above a pub - is where it's at.
But then every so often an event comes along which dangles a cruel and glamorous carrot in front of you, involving a private members' club, bucketloads of champagne and, quite possibly, the close proximity of some celebs.
The other week, it was the launch party for .mobi at a secret location in London's bustling Soho district, where we were located directly beneath a party for Gordon Ramsay and his missus, who was launching her new book. No doubt they were accompanied by an entourage of celebrity hangers-on, and allegedly Posh-Beckham-Victoria-Spice sans David. Oh, and Jeremy Clarkson.
So near and yet so far - right venue, wrong floor!
What is most head-smackingly frustrating about this is you get to peek through the looking glass for just a second, before being yanked back unceremoniously, and once again cruelly forced to make small talk about business cases, technical specifications and deployment strategies.
That said, most of the PR girls were canny enough not to stay put for long. Up the stairs they quickly trundled without so much as a bye or leave, off to press the flesh and kiss the air with the great and good - and Jeremy Clarkson.
After exchanging risqué banter with Ramsay and nabbing a few copies of the free book, back they came to gloat. And found me trying to listen politely to technobabble while simultaneously catching the barman's eye, eating a miniature Thai green curry, and working out whether I'd make the last bus home.
Rock ‘n’ roll it ain't, baby*.
* Come on, Phil, we’ve seen that picture of you and the Hoff on your blog…