3. The very worst though, is when a waiter approaches you with a tray full of tasty treats when you are talking to a very important person. There's that moment of hesitation when you're not sure whether you should accept or decline, then the person in charge waves the waiter away, and the journalist is left gazing longingly at the mini-quiches as the waiter disappears into the crowd.

Now, journalists are very lucky in that we almost always get a lunch break.

There might be the odd day when you are ridiculously snowed under chasing a big scoop and eat a quick sausage roll from the servo at your desk, but more often than not I get to sit in the tea room with my lunch buddies discussing Ladette to Lady or some other ridiculous topic.

Photographers, however, hit the ground running most mornings, zipping from job to job, and are often denied the luxury of a one-hour tea break.

They are the ones that truly deserve those tiny chicken and avocado sandwiches or party pies at "napkin-stories''.

This is why I was so surprised at the amount of food on offer at the "cadet camp'', as we fondly called it.

Every morning we'd struggle out of bed at 6.30am, trundle down to the conference centre and pile up our plates with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and hash-browns, washed down with brewed coffee.

A few hours later we'd enjoy a morning tea of mini-muffins and fresh fruit.

Lunch was an array of tiny sandwiches or occasionally a buffet with fresh salads, meats and rice.

As we ploughed through the seminars in the afternoon we'd stop for cheese, crackers and more fruit.

Then in the evenings we'd sit down to a hearty dinner, followed by a sumptuous dessert.

Very spoiled indeed.

But before you dismiss my trip as a junket, you should know that while the food was fantastic, I actually learnt a lot about myself, my profession and my colleagues.

As I write this, I have just returned from the regional launch of a new foundation.

Finger-food was abundant and I happily returned to the office with my very own cupcake, in a tiny white box tied with green ribbon.

The frosting was divine and the shiny ribbons are displayed like a trophy on my desk.

Journalism is not a glamorous job. We get muddy, people yell at us, we stand for hours in the cold waiting for a scoop and have to deal with children and animals - not to mention trying to interview teenage boys.

Finger-food is a small blessing, and one of the perks of the job.

So don't chastise that poor journalist when you see them hastily shoving their notepad under their arm as they reach for that tiny sandwich.

It may be the only thing they've eaten all day.