Heavy day’s telly watching Mr. Murdoch trying out his Uriah Heap impersonation and also being attacked by an interloper armed with a custard pie! Well done that man!
The saner, or perhaps more cynical, amongst us do wonder what all the fuss is about. If anybody thinks private detectives, journalists and police officers, to name but three as they are the ones surfing the tide of scandal hysteria at the moment, will not go to any ends by whatever means to turn a dishonest buck, then they probably believe all the bullshit the apprentice contestants come out with too.
The whole thing was put into a timely perespective last night in the new drama series The Hour.
Thrusting young journalist happens upon a report of a mysterious death, being treated as a robbery with violence.
Along he goes to the police station, slips the desk sergeant a fiver, it is set in 1956, and weigh hey, he’s looking at the corpse, discovering it still has its wallet on it and is hot on the trail of a mystery.
Now either the writer was particularly prescient or this stuff goes on all the time. Which do you think?
Answers with the entry fee of £25, in a brown paper bag, down the back of the cistern, gents toilets, platform one, Barnsley Central.