It happens to the best of us.

A funny story from my desk neighbour, education correspondent Ian Wishart, pictured here looking rather intense.

He posted it on his blog a few days ago and I know it will strike a chord with journalists everywhere.

Readers will enjoy hearing how we suffer when things go wrong.

An old boss of mine used to say: "The man who never made a mistake is the man who never did anything."

That was as long as he was somehow implicated in whatever disaster we'd created.

If the mistake was entirely down to you and he was in the clear his language could get pretty incendiary.

Anyway, Ian's blog:

Tramp Juice pt II

Bad alcohol seems to be the theme of the week.

A fella who comes into the office to see me from time to time - frankly, he's a big drinker - was roaring drunk when I bumped into him in Cheapside the other day.

He was being loud, very loud and I was pretty sure someone was going to call the police.

I didn't want him to get lifted because he's a terrific man and he's had a stupid run-in with the legal system lately.

So I started escorting him through the city centre. It was like pushing a grand piano up the stairs.

He popped into a shop on the way.

A moment later he emerged carrying a two-litre bottle of nasty, cheap cider. It had cost him 73p.

Why did the shopkeeper not say "Sorry sir, you've clearly had enough today. May I suggest you go home and sleep it off."?

Yeah, I know.

Some hope.

That's me, with the 'tramp juice'. Don't I look happy?

This is me after I bought a few cans of Tennent's Super and a bottle of Diamond White. Strong stuff indeed.

Normally, I'm more of a Guinness man.

I bought them from the new Tesco Express shop next to Leicester railway station for a story.

Tesco had voluntarily agreed it would sell no beers, lagers or ciders stronger than 5.5 per cent and that became a condition of the licence they were granted by Leicester City Council.

The Tennent's is an eye-watering 9 per cent and the Diamond White 7.5 per cent.

So, in the spirit of erm, Roger Cook, we had them. A big company. The Man.

I contacted the Tesco press office on Monday and we ran the story on Tuesday.

Funnily enough - and three days on from asking - I've still not heard anything from Tesco's press office.

How come?

I wanted them to make it clear whether this was all a mistake or something more cynical.

They have my mobile number and my e-mail address. Still.

In their defence, I also checked whether they were sticking to another condition of their licence. The shop opens at 6am and their idea originally was to sell alcohol as soon as they opened the doors.

Again, they volunteered to abide by a licensing condition and knocked it back to 8am.

I went in just after 6am on Monday and loitered in the alcohol section.

"Sorry, we don't serve alcohol until 8am. It's in our licence," an assistant said.

So, well done there then.

But, why anyone would want to buy alcohol at 8am is beyond me.

Is is really posh commuters stocking up on Chateau Neuf du Pape (okay, to be honest I just called out across the newsroom 'name me a posh wine') before they jump on a train for London?

Or is it people who get out of bed before dawn, raging for a drink?

But frankly high strength alcohol is nothing new.

Most places sell them and plenty of people drink them happily and without doing themselves any harm.

Plenty of shopkeepers who sell it to people who are clearly winos then have the nuts to complain to the police and us about the bad behaviour of alcoholics in their street.

Some shops I've spoken to this past year or so are choosing to not sell these products anymore.

They say there's not much profit there and (how to put this politely?) these drinks tend to be favoured by winos. Sometimes, not the most polite customers.

Selfish sometimes too.

Take a walk down certain streets in the city today and keep your eyes to the ground and - I guarantee - you will see their empties all over the place.

There's been talk of bans on the high strength stuff, but it's not going to happen is it?

So, street alcoholics who frankly don't know how to take care of themselves, will always get their hands on their favourite poison for the price of a bottle of mineral water.

Whether it's from the corner shop or a major chain.

At least, I'm guessing, Tesco Express in London Road will now have a clear conscience that at least they're not contributing to this very specific aspect of the country's drink problem.

That's it, I'm going home.

It's been another bitty day. Coming at the end of a bitty week.

When I came in this morning I was feeling bright and pleased with myself.

You see, I had a couple of stories on the go and I was confident they'd come off before the end of play.

One did come together but wasn't as enthusiastically received by the bosses as I'd hoped.

I liked it though and so did the police officers who were involved in it.

A thief called Russell Archer stole a sat nav from a car and presumably thought he'd got away with it.

A few minutes later he got nicked in the street because he looked suspicious. Man lurking for no apparent reason in the street in the early hours etc.

The officers, from Spinney Hill Park and Keyham Lane stations, checked the most recent destination in the sat nav and went to visit the owner.

Archer got 30 weeks for that and other crimes.

Ho ho.

The stories didn't get done because 'such and such' or 'so and so' weren't around to speak to me.

Oh well, they'll keep until Monday.

I'm looking forward to one of them because it's not the kind of story I normally write.

If I'm correct - and I'm pretty sure I am - a big chain is selling something it shouldn't.

The other is about an estate where crime has fallen madly because police have succeeded in getting their top 10 criminals locked up.

They're all in jail at the same time and will be there for months to come.

Also, I think there's a gang going round cracking safes. How Sweeney-like.

So, it takes time to bring certain stories together.

We're quick, but if you want super-quick switch the telly on.

Sky announced this afternoon that John Terry had been stripped of the England captaincy a good 20 minutes before I saw anything on the BBC website or on the Press Association wires.

Ah, the lifestyles of junkies and winos. And people who hang around on stairwells.

This is a picture taken by one of the beat officers down on Leicester's St Matthews estate.

It's a littered communal stairwell in one of the blocks of flats down there.

Look closely and you'll see a drinks can fashioned into a crack pipe.

Some of it is just litter, pure and simple. Ciggy butts and the like.

Now generally when I write stories I apply the 'what would my mum make of this?' test.

How would she feel walking through the city centre come Friday night? Would she be upset by groups of kids hanging around the Clock Tower on a Saturday afternoon?

In those cases I don't think she'd be much bothered. Although, some people tell us and the police they feel otherwise.

I don't need to ask how she'd feel if she had this crap on her doorstep.

One of the residents told us: "I am fed up with all the people coming onto the stairs where I live, they seem to be taking drugs and leaving the litter everywhere.

"Once I have been out shopping in the morning I feel too scared to come out again for the rest of the day."

Read that again.

This lady is staying in because she doesn't know what she's going to find outside her front door.

Wrong, wrong, very wrong.

The only positive here is the police team on St Matthews - good friends of the paper they are too - are going after the people who are putting this lady and others like her through this.

Walk on. I hope Rafa doesn't.

I don't post things on Twitter too often.

Today, I was moved to write the following.

"Oh Rafa. My dreams be very tossed and very blown."

Nope, nothing to do with the police or anything else this blog is concerned with.

I just wanted to say it again.

Fernando Torres and Steven Gerrard are both injured and the club is in turmoil.

Where are we going?

UPDATE:
Reading that back, it makes me sound wet. And a bit of a nut.

Bear with me, I'm just getting the hang of this blog thing.

Well, I've had to remove a couple of readers' comments from the previous post.

Every day as a reporter I speak to people at length and then select two or three paragraphs of their comments to go in the story.

The skill - and believe me, it is a skill - is to accurately reflect their views.

Now, with the blog I've just censored someone by removing his or her comments because I saw a potential libel.

I'm not an editor, I'm a jobbing reporter.

Now, comments - and let's face it, there haven't been many so far - will
pop up in my inbox first before I decide whether to release them to the blog.

If the person or people whose comments were removed would like to contact me direct I'll happily discuss it with them.

While we're at it, who in Barnsley is reading this blog? I'd love to know.

UPDATE:
I've not gone censorship crazy. This latest deleted comment was just a test.
Or was it?
Well, yes it was.
Lord, this is complicated.
UPDATED UPDATE
I think Cutie speaks for all of us there.