Media

Fun times for our country cousins over at Country Life: they have compiled a list, drawn up with the help of Jeremy Paxman and Jilly Cooper, of dos-and-don’ts to guide the modern gentleman. Mr S has chosen not to comment on their unprovoked attack on coloured trousers, or the usual jazz about pre-tied bowties and tardiness, because he is rather puzzled by the emphatic statement that a true gentleman always ‘makes love on his elbows’. The mental image is beyond description. Needless to say, this particular tip does not seem to have made the cut for Debrett's – or, to take in another point of view, Playboy. Mr S can only recall the famous line about Marlon Brando’s seduction technique.

As the two leading British political weeklies, the Spectator and the New Statesman, have for many years enjoyed a relationship of jocular antagonism. This amiable sort of rivalry can been maintained as their differences are over relatively trivial matters such as how the country should be run and the world ordered. But now they have come head to head over something deadly serious, drink. The shortlist for the  Fortnum and Mason drinks writer of the year has been announced and it’s a two way race between Nina Caplan of the Staggers and Henry Jeffreys of this parish. Expect thundering editorials, snide remarks and spiked drinks from both sides in the run-up to the announcement of the winner on the 13th May.

The potential for brouhaha lurks on any party guest list; but the stakes are not often as high as they were last night at the Savile Club, where hacks and MPs – both past and present – gathered for the launch of Jerry Hayes’s naughty memoir An Unexpected MP. Tension mounted when former News of the World executive Alex Marunchak came face to face with Tom Watson, self-styled scourge of the Murdoch Empire. Readers may recall that in March 2012 Watson made a series of allegations in parliament about Marunchak concerning the News of the World and the murder of the private investigator Daniel Morgan in 1987.

Index on Censorship defends free speech and debate for all – so we defend Nick Cohen's right to write a blog highly critical of Index. The problem is, however, that what he wrote was wrong, both in broad outline and finer detail. As a consequence Nick threatens to undermine the very cause that he claims to hold most dear. Index is not ‘falling apart’ nor is it even ‘in crisis’. In common with many other organisations in the charity sector it found itself, last year, facing a shortfall in funding. There are complex reasons for this but one of them, ironically, may be due to the very opposite problem to the one Nick suggests.

The Daily Mail has been holding habitués of the corridors of power to account for so long, it has decided that it deserves a corridor of its own. The Editors Hallway has just been unveiled in Northcliffe House, home of DMGT. It's a sight to behold, complete with a Vegas-style lobby, pomegranate White Company candles and an all-male line-up of editors since the 19th century. There’s even a picture of Mrs T in the ladies loo. Our only question is: if this is a hallway belonging to the editors, shouldn’t there be an apostrophe? Perhaps it’s an ironic joke about the Mail’s rigorous editing standards.

Some of the best journalists in Britain rarely, if ever, have their names in print. One of them is my colleague Peter Robins, the genius chief sub editor (or, technically, production editor) of The Spectator. In his Times column today (£), Matthew Parris has a story about Peter. Here it is: 'If you sometimes feel you’re getting gobbledegook from this columnist you should realise how much worse gobbledegook you’d get were it not for that most self-effacing of species, the sub-editor. I blush to remember the errors from which this page’s subs have rescued me.

By way of a metaphor for the way the NHS and, come to that, the law regards foetuses, you can’t really better the reality, viz, that foetal remains from abortions and miscarriages are being incinerated in NHS hospitals and possibly used to heat that hospital. If a foetus lives less than 13 weeks, it could, in Addenbrooke’s Hospital, for instance, be used as fuel as part of the hospital’s waste-to-energy schemes. And 13 weeks is just over three months’ gestation – the point at which wanted foetuses register as recognisably human on the scans that prospective parents take home and show their friends. Meanwhile, the unwanted foetuses, or the ones that die early, get dumped with the used disposable gloves, in the incinerator.

Just to ring the changes, I’ve written about the BBC and political correctness for the mag this week. Yeah, yeah, I know – you haven’t heard enough about that subject. But one of the writers of the 1970s situation comedy It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum has complained that aunty isn’t showing the series any more as a consequence of political correctness. My suspicion is that it isn’t being reshown because it was humourless unmitigated crap, but there we are. The bigger issue, though, is the one raised by the excellent (for a Blairite) Dan Hodges. As it happens, I was invited onto this show and now wish I had accepted. The irony of it all seems entirely lost on the BBC. Thank god they’re going to get rid of the channel entirely.