It’s probably just me putting silly words into Google, but while I can find zillions of articles about the Royal Assent being given to press regulation (see yesterday’s Slogpiece) I can’t find reliable details about what the final Bill said.Perhaps this is what happens when politicians determined to be ruthlessly honest with their citizens meet in secret to stop newspapers from reporting what they want to keep secret: the whole thing remains a secret.
It is only a matter of time before Nick Clegg (who secretly chaired the secret meeting) emerges to bat away my previous paragraph with the words, “See? the legislation’s working already”. And even if such a response would clearly be further evidence of the bloke’s tertiary Alzheimer’s condition, one does wind up wondering whether – when the Fourth Estate does get round to more openly discussing the Bill’s content – they will be breaking the Law that has now emerged from the content. Catch 22 and all that.
The irony of ironies here is the meeting taking place at Brenda Mansions, and requiring her Royal Assent. I say this because her son and heir George VII has been currying the affections of all three security services for some years now, the outcome of which was a recent cleverly snook-away Bill giving the Windsors complete immunity from the press, and granting them sort of lettres de cachet against any hack “poking his nose into business that doesn’t concern him” as that fine libertarian, and friend of the perverted, Prince Andrew remarked in such a profoundly libertarian manner two years ago.
And just to pile on the Orwellian double-speak here, the clause was hidden under the innocuous heading “Royal Appearances in Public”.
Anyway, the High Court threw out the Press Corps appeal, and now the Press will appeal to the Supreme Court to throw out the throwing-out of their appeal, and although the appellants still don’t know the substance of the content vis-a-vis the thrown out appeals, no way are they going to throw in the towel.
You have to laugh. Or rather, I used to laugh in what I call The Private Eye Years, when it was funny to watch the antics of the Bedlam inmates. But now they’re dismantling my homeland tree by tree and village by village with their corrupt building and educational policies, their media illusionists and their secret openness. A plague on all their houses, be they in Wapping, Westminster, the City – or at the end of The Mall, allegedly.