The answer is blowing in the wind

Journalism is a lot more dangerous than people often imagine.

In the course of chasing a story it is fairly easy to get into a scrape, most often when you least expect it.

Only a few weeks into my career as a reporter I found myself rapidly attempting to talk my way out of a beating at the hands of an angry man who made guns for feature films. He was incensed that I should take an interest in a robbery which had happened at his warehouse, despite the fact the thieves had made off with a small arsenal of weapons.

But this was nothing compared to my last paper, the South London Press, where our crime reporter was threatened with an axe by the friends of a murdered teenager just for asking if they wanted to pay tribute.

The problem is, people want the news as it's happening, and the best way to bring that to our readers is either to talk directly to the people experiencing whatever is going on, or better still, have it happen to you.

A prime example of this is currently being displayed on our newsroom television (describing it with the word 'newsroom' always makes it sound far more dynamic than your common or garden television, though realistically if you've got a television in your garden it's probably pretty special. Or broken).

As I type a Sky News anchor is stood in a field in New Orleans attempting to be heard over the incoming hurricane and occasionally pointing at a puddle around the bottom of a telephone pole, with the purpose I can only assume of reminding us all that rain = puddles and big rain = big puddles, or flooding.

Now this news anchor looks like he's having no fun at all, with one hand desperately clasping onto his microphone and the other constantly readjusting his anorak hood in an attempt to keep a storm which is threatening to devastate a massive city from ruining his hair. But he must stick it out - not only is he reporting the news, but, more importantly, the news is happening to him.

As the storm thunders ever closer to the East American coast an interesting and bizarre competition is unveiling in front of the viewing public - namely who can stand out in it in front of a camera the longest.

Earlier today a female news anchor was talking about who was left in New Orleans after the mass evacuation and came out with the line: "The streets are empty apart from groups of militia and, er, journalists." As the last words came out her mouth you could see a brief flash of panic across her face as she realised just what they meant - the only people remaining are people who are trained to face death unquestioning and people such as herself who, when confronted by the grim reaper, would be likely to break a new land speed record (stopping only to ask the skeletal scyther to appear exclusively on her show next week).

But that is what the viewing public want, and if the BBC anchor is still stood up to his waist in corpse-ridden flood waters as alligators gnaw at his knees then why should Sky's correspondent be safely tucked up in a warm studio hiding from the excitement of the news? I'll tell you why - because we're not soldiers, nor are we modern-day King Canutes and in the end no story is worth dying for.

Much as it would entertain me to see certain on-the-scene reporters swept up in a Wizard of Oz-style hurricane I salute the first network to get out of town (as nearly all authorities and aid agencies have repeatedly advised), as that may well be the first example of intelligent and responsible reporting I have seen on television for a while.