Unfortunately MM cannot reveal the identity of who vented their spleen here… (and no, this is not due to a super-injunction).
Hugh Grant is a beautiful man, but things turned ugly last week when he dipped his Fulham-casual wick into the phone-hacking debate.
Fop-haired ‘personalities’, such as the unspeakably bumptious Steve Coogan, slide down the poles from their ivory towers at times like these, to add their tuppence to current affairs debates.
Agreed, what has been going on is shocking. Phone-hacking murder victims and soldier’s families, terrible.
But what really got me was the amount of awkward situations I found myself in after some journalists not only hacked my phone, but deleted the messages as well.
The car garage called, I missed the MOT date and was fined. The job centre got back to me, but I missed it, so couldn’t hope to get a job to pay the fine.
My folks called, to tell me a relative had died, so imagine the surprise of a Polish family who had moved into my deceased Uncle’s house when I let myself in, pulling party poppers and swilling brandy in anticipation of his birthday. Again, deleted.
This behaviour is just the sort of disgusting, abhorred, crass thing we the public have come to expect from our journalists.
But I, like the rest of us, will continue to read the papers, continue to nod away at the words, and continue lapping up newspaper information, without really thinking about where it has come from.
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