Ros Reines: ‘The truth about my rockstar days’

Everything I know about surviving as a woman in a male dominated world, I learnt from my years spent working as a rock journalist in London. 

Right from the start, it was dirty work. The punk era had arrived and I was despatched to review some of the early events. I should have been issued with a raincoat and a large shower cap because this was the era when fans showed their appreciation of the sounds by spitting at the stage. It was called gobbing back then, and one of my earliest survival lessons was never ever to stand front and centre at anything. Instead I positioned myself right at the side of the stage, almost hidden, so only the most enthusiastic and accurate gobber could reach me with a curve ball of spit. Interestingly my new sideways position made no difference to the quality of the sound on stage, it was still painfully, ear drum shattering dreadful.  

Admittedly this was not an ideal introduction to the world of music journalism and I also suspected, it was a test to see whether I was made of the right  stuff. So, I never complained about the large balls of saliva that had landed in my hair but hatched a plan to diversify. This course of action is far better than just quitting and being labelled weak. 

One day, I explained to my editor that I had developed a passion for reggae music and went on to cover this beat instead. This was a genius move on my part because reggae fans would never dream of gobbing at the stage...they just wouldn’t. They don’t move fast enough.