I think we can all agree that if recent events show anything, it’s that political correctness has truly gone mad.
Journalists these days are being persecuted like never before and are in danger of losing all the freedom they once had to smoke out evil celebrities.
Take Lois Lane, the famous female journalist from America’s Daily Planet. Like Rebekah Brooks, Lois was a frequent news headliner herself, after repeatedly winding up in jail or hospital or space. But everyone remembers at least one of the great stories she bagged using her unconventional means – and phone hacking was the least of the tricks she had up her sleeve. Methods used by this outstanding and vampish woman included accepting gifts and romantic dinners from handsome oligarchs, breaking into offices and stealing sensitive documents. Yet everyone just thought she was cute and professional. Nowadays, she might be branded ‘borderline unethical’ – and imagine what The Guardian would make of the unfair practices used by her partner to get his scoop.
So if someone is innocently dropping in on all the GHB gibberish that Sienna’s left hanging out for all to hear then in the spirit of Krypton, I say ‘Let’s bust that slag’. Unlike Sienna and Prescott, when my voicemail urges me to personalise my access PIN, I do it in a flash because there are several high profile continuity announcers who regularly leave me messages detailing utterly perverted homosexual dreams and any breach of privacy would undo all the good work we’ve done. Evidently randy Scotsman, Tommy ‘always the bridesmaid, never the bride’ Sheridan took similar precautions when setting up his voicemail and is now kicking himself for his prudence.
Do we really want to turn Britain into Russia – where intrepid journalists such as Rebekah are mowed down? Because that’s exactly where we’re heading: communism gone mad. Where are all the caped heroes when Russian lady journalists need saving? Champneys?
What everyone really needs to see is a Daily Planet style fly-on-the-wall documentary about News International. People will be charmed by Jimmy the bumbling junior and Perry White the sweaty, booze-scented editor with margarine arteries, who hasn’t a clue that among the list of methods used by his staff to secure a splash are lethal alien powers and highly radioactive materials.
Get those entrepreneurial coppers away from C-list celebrity phone bills and back out on the street, bundling young brown men into dank holding cells and forcing them to confess about Pakistan. The public have spoken: More Spooks and less Brooks!
It seems Rupert Murdoch isn’t that good at publicity after missing some sterling opportunities this week to get himself out of this mess. Little whaling expedition off the Californian coast? No sign of the magnate. Small boy stranded in flood water in India: where was he? Missing these kinds of crucial PR events is doing him no favours and the team of strategists appointed to organise these things is evidently not being paid enough.