Language sits at the heart of a good interview. It sits at the heart of a bad one.

Regular readers may vaguely recall we like to collect the odd word or phrase.

Let’s start with some positives, and the power of language to paint a picture or prove a point. Here are two compelling examples, both on the same theme of inequality or – depending on your perspective – greed:

“The richest one percent grabbed two-thirds of all new wealth created since 2020 – a colossal $42 trillion.”
Oxfam/Politico 16th January

“Chelsea FC spent more in January than the combined total of every single club in the Bundesliga, La Liga, Serie A and Ligue 1.”
BBC Sport 1st February

What about language that does the opposite – obscures, or confuses? One of each from media training sessions this month, starting with the former…

Toolkit (“We’ve developed a toolkit to help…”)

I can’t stand the word. It means nothing to the audience unless you explain what it actually is or does.

As for a word that confuses? Arisings (“Arisings vary each year but have been between 10 and 25 tons over the last five years”)

I’ve never heard the word used in this context before. What they were actually talking about was…grass cuttings.

So why not just say that?

As promised I’ve listened to Archive on 4’s ‘What Has Media Training Done To Politics?’ so you don’t have to.

Nobody comes out of this programme particularly well. Politicians, interviewers, media trainers, it’s a 58 minute plague on all our houses. (“We’re media training politicians into a bland mush”).

“I think the right word is armour…but when it become a way of controlling not just a narrative but stopping any discussion of a more truthful version coming out…that’s when it becomes detrimental to democracy.” Emily Maitlis

I don’t media train politicians. Not on principle, simply because nobody has ever asked me. I’d love a crack at it. There’s a familiar rhythm to a media trained politician accepted within Westminster as “the right approach” that I’d love to try and change.

This rhythm centres around the pivot, which there’s nothing wrong with in principle – the problem is it’s rarely done effectively. (Incidentally the analysis of the Ed Miliband pivot is worth the license fee alone.)

There’s also a recognition in the programme that journalists must change their approach. The fear of interviewees saying something accidental – the obsession with the gotcha moment – is what drives a reliance on media training.

The impact of rolling news is maligned, the death of the long form interview (Walden, Day etc) mourned. It’s a pretty good listen. Brimming with big hitters and some lovely archive. You just don’t really come away with any answers about how to improve the situation.

“Is that a smirk or a grimace? You started laughing as I mentioned this legislation. I mean this is a very serious proposal from the government. Will you ignore it?” 

Amol Rajan to ASLEF boss Mick Whelan on R4 Today recently. Whelan completely ignored the interjection and – to be fair – may not have minded the intimation that he was mocking and/or contemptuous of the government.

Yet it’s a reminder that it is fair game for a presenter to reflect on your physical reaction as a question is being asked. The most common by some way is the nod. You might be nodding because (a) you were expecting the question or (b) because you understand the question. But a nod gives the signal that you accept the premise of the question. And that’s something you absolutely might not want to do.

“You’re nodding as I ask that so presumably it’s something you agree with.” 

I talk a lot in media training sessions about stillness. It’s a concept I’ll explore in more detail in future weeks (try to contain your excitement), but it comes into its own as you listen to questions. Revealing how you feel can – and occasionally is – used against you.

Established media lines have been blurred for a while now. Just as a print journalist might turn up with a camera, a broadcast journalist is increasingly tasked with churning out 300 words for online after their report has aired. I heard a fascinating account this week from a press officer that appears to blur those lines even further. Their spokesperson was a recent guest on Robert Peston’s weekly ITV political programme. Scheduled for Wednesday evening at 22:45 it is recorded earlier in the evening but – crucially – broadcast live on Twitter. So far so good. The problem comes with breaks, filled naturally with adverts on ITV. Not so Twitter, which simply continued showing the studio feed. So guests naturally thinking they were off air were actually being seen by those dedicated enough to watch the whole thing live. Now I’m not sure if this was a one-off production error or a consistent theme, but it’s extremely unfair on the guests – and another sobering reminder that the minute you walk into a studio please assume every camera is rolling and every microphone is live. Even during the breaks.