So, today is D-Day for the hypocrites--the ones who yearn for press regulation, but only when it suits them. An actor allows a prostitute to blow him in the front of the car, he gets caught. You or I would be sent to jail. He achieves world fame, and moans about the press writing about him. That's after he's been on Desert Island Discs and told the host how he loves to watch celebrities squirm when caught out. You shouldn't have done it in the first place, son! Another celeb is trailed by the tabloids because it (see how I don't add the gender?) appears to be permanently on the razzle, making an absolute tool of itself, getting drunk and disorderly. The same happened to Amy Winehouse, and another celeb. It's called the 'Liz Taylor Syndrome'. They are on their way to a secret rendezvous but they tip off the press first so that they can make a big entrance--then they moan about the press being there, who THEY have told! Someone else complains about being 'outed', when THEY have outed someone else. When you do things purposely to keep yourself in the press, the press does not differentiate between grief and turpitude. The parents of a missing child bit the hand that feeds. On and on it goes...
Only the Dowlers come out of this as decent, normal people worthy of our respect. The others are not worth--well, you get it, from a great height.
Not so long ago I wrote that my heartfelt desire would be to read the headlines that a certain pair, along with a journalist I loathe, had ended up mangled in a wreckage on the M6--or maybe it was the M1. Same difference, same desire, and I would still rejoice--save that since then there has been an additional passenger. A bunch of lunatics (one is depicted above, receiving a kiss from the handsome young man) made a big fuss of it. 'Mrs Teeth' is still making a big fuss of it. The other day, someone made a comment which links a Cher song to the London Marathon. It was irresponsible--very irresponsible, though the comments which accompanied it made me titter.
We all say silly things, but sometimes they have no meaning. After an argument one might say to the other person, 'Drop dead!' We don't want them to, we just say it! It means the same as 'Get stuffed!' And now, the same lunatics who want the pressed gagged over reporting their 'beloved darlings' are wanting this person to be hanged, drawn and quartered.
I evaded gracing the front page of one tabloid because I threatened to spill the beans on a certain matter--nothing whatsoever to do with the 'beloved darlings'. Maybe--and I said maybe--I should get in touch with this maligned person and drop a hint over what I know. It's bound to come out some time.
And now, I guess, 'Mrs Teeth' and her pals--who wildly exaggerate the 'death-threat' to their 'beloved darlings' will be organising a few more to be sent my way to add to the ones I already have in my collection.
Double standards, my dear! And what is the most dangerous weapon in the world. A gun? A sword? A halberd? A bomb?
No, 'tis the mystery of silence and what might or might not happen next!