by Phil Vine

The mosque attacks are weighing heavy on our hearts, but grief is not the only rock we carry. We must look hard at ourselves, our communities, our history, our bigotry and - if we are all us - face it all

A haunting weight. It presses down with dizzying effect, defying easy description. Its surface etched with the familiar language of human loss, heavy with regret and shame. But some rocks we must carry.

Despite the fears, what it means to be a journalist has changled little. It's journalism itself that's fragmenting. So, in rebuttal of Tim's post last week, it's time to start judging journalists on their merit, not some outdated idea of 'the public interest'

My dad, Frank, was a journalist. So were his two brothers, Brian and George. They're dead now. None of them were university educated. All three left school in Hastings, Sussex and wound up in Fleet St.