DIY News

Like a bad Hollywood trailer, Ananova burst onto our monitors in April 2000 proclaiming “Here is the news, and this time it’s personal.” But it still remains unclear, at least to me, whether we ought to have our news personalised. I can imagine the vanity that drives people to shell out for a personalised car number plate (the pride of knowing that road users and pedestrians alike can see your name almost spelt correctly as you casually swing round the bend in fifth gear). And I can understand on some level the hollow sentimentality that leads couples to inscribe each other’s names in a locket. But personalised news? Isn’t news by its very nature supposed to be composed of things that we may not really want to hear? Is the news really supposed to be a carefully tailored thing, a reassuring, warm, fuzzy, familiar environment?

Let’s see: After reluctantly providing my name and email address, I’m greeted with a sample profile of a girl called Kara who has already signed up. Apparently she has chosen to only receive news concerning “rocky relationships”, “sex life”, and “heartwarmers”. Goodness. “Is your news profile more interesting than Kara’s?” I’m asked. It certainly is. With a choice of over 3,500 subjects to receive up-to-the-second reports on, surely it’s easily possible to concoct a news cocktail which would be the envy of friends, family and net news addicts alike. A cursory scan of the subjects is interrupted by a paragraph advising that if this choice of 3,500 isn’t sufficient, if I’m unable to find a subject that takes my fancy, then I’m at liberty to suggest one. I love this. Amongst the subject titles sits the promising words “Glynwed International”. Further research yields the fact that Glynwed are an international pipe systems business which was worthy of three stories on one day last January and nothing since. I sign up without hesitation, and return excitedly to the homepage to find out what Ananova has deemed suitable for my now aroused and expectant news receptors. Sadly the page is mostly blank, with an apology that there are no stories of interest at the moment, and a cursory mention that actress Kate Winslet will be wearing £10,000 worth of diamonds at the Orange sponsored BAFTAs this weekend. Maybe I always needed to know this information, certainly Ananova thinks so. Ananova PR Deborah Lightfoot: “We always want to give people the option of a broader news brief. We don’t want people to live in little boxes, we don’t want to just give them that snippet of news they’re interested in.” Well, I’d never thought of Winslet’s jewellery as part of my broader news brief, but I do now. As do 2.5 million other users, who continue to propel Ananova into the top five news websites (along with the BBC and the Guardian).

Despite the fact that being first with news can mean being worst with news. It’s not uncommon for stories to appear on Ananova, then disappear, presumably when it has been revealed to their newsdesk that the story was a complete work of fiction, or legally challengable at least. During the current “war on terrorism” I often call friends of mine in other news gathering organisations to share Ananova’s newest revalations, and I’ve become used to the weary replies of “Yeah, but that’s just bollocks.” Deborah Lightfoot: “We only work with sources whom we trust. Of course we want to get stories up as quickly as possible, but not at the expense of accuracy.”

Ananova must trust a lot of people: Each of the 2.5 million users is invited to “join the ranks of Ananova’s reporters,” in a suspiciously open-minded approach to newsgathering. With an email address and a SMS number thoughtfully provided, anyone now has the power to unleash any number of tall stories. (Deborah Lightfoot: “Not at all. We will always doublecheck.”) But how do they ascertain whether a 43 year-old father and his 2 sons actually did play rugby with a live mortar over the weekend in Poole, Dorset? Whether that Romanian pensioner did fall asleep on a sex line? Whether hamsters really don’t like spring? “Well, we look for corroboration, for instance if the story has appeared in another newspaper.” So the stamp of approval from the Daily Mirror, or indeed the Dorset Echo, is enough to guarantee accurate reporting? “Well, it depends on the story.”

I take this as an invitation. Stopping short of sending them my “Eighteen men found in van, chatting” story, I whizz a text message up to their Leeds HQ informing them that a spilled lorryload of soft toys is creating hazardous driving conditions in West Glamorgan around junction 42 of the M4. As my sister is about to return to London from Swansea, I imagine that perhaps my warning might make a few public spirited motorists reconsider their highly unnecessary journeys and give the girl an easier passage back home.

There’s plenty to keep me waiting while I wait for this news to appear. Ananova, after all, is an official digital babe. She’s the only virtual newscaster in the Guinness Book of Records, her honeyed modulated tones reading news in video reports. She’s only ever managed to make my computer crash, but no matter – her future is dizzyingly exciting: Soon she’ll be able to phone you on your mobile! Telling you only things that you want to hear! You’ll be able to speak to her directly! She’ll answer you! You’ll be able to change her face and voice! Left speechless by the notion that the worlds of news and role-playing prostitution are in danger of imminent collision, I log out. And my soft toy story still hasn’t appeared. Ananova’s sources remain a mystery, but at least I now know they’ve got the number for AA Roadwatch.