Sunday 21 October 2012


Recently I wrote that I rarely watch TV and, equally, I don’t read newspapers. In fact, having not been to the UK for over six months, I am sometimes a little out of touch with the tittle-tattle of the British media.
But this weekend, having returned from a wet business trip to Glasgow, Wendy thought she was being kind by bringing me a copy of the Saturday Telegraph.
So it was, after having written up about the absurdity of the case of Andrew Mitchell, something which should have been settled with a handshake, I then get chastised for presenting a one-sided rant from a friend who was staunchly defending the police-force. She does have a point and I have no intention of undermining their good work or their struggles with government shortcuts.
But on re-reading the case in this paper, I still stand by what I said: that it is irrelevant nonsense, a storm in a teacup, used for political gain. And, in general politics don’t interest me.
Neither does this newspaper, because the first 10 pages – yes ten bloody pages – are full of stories about politicians doing something highly unmemorable, like having an argument with a train guard.
Who cares?
Why can’t these idiots confine their mud slinging to their designated workplace instead of inflicting us with their thinly disguised wrangles. Should all this really be reported for us to read?
Admittedly, this edition came from Scotland, so many of the stories are about Alex Salmon and his marginal ideas on independence. Of this I care even less that the class-obsessed stories from Westminster. News of a £7 million settlement to that criminal Rebekah Brooks enrages me slightly, but then a report on the SNP conference causes me to start glazing over.
By the time I get to the crossword page, I have fallen fast asleep and am snoring like a runaway train.
Thankfully, when I awake, I have 50 supplements, the weight of which must have exceeded Ryanair’s baggage allowance, and I can drool over a review of the new McLaren 12C Spider. For once hasn’t been written by his holiness, J Clarkson.
All in all, I consider this pile of trash an emphatic waste of money, but am thankful that at least we will be able to light the fire for the next three months.

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