There are two reasons. I’m willing to take the flak for one or two of my own errors myself (although not all of them obviously – I’m not a damned fool): when you screw up, you should pay a price. But I’m not willing to see other bloggers and tweeters, who played no part in those errors (but were to some extent responsible for the other ones that I don’t talk about and won’t mention again but are clearly based on a desire to ensure that this blog remains the leading scone pronunciation blog in the country, nay the world) and are unimpeachably decent people, take the flak too. It’s not fair on them. That’s why I’ve left it for months to make this decision – leaving them to take the flak in the interim and now things have quietened down a bit I’m hoping to sneak this out. Anyway, wordpress has been great to me and the scone pronouncing community (but not the scone or Scone pronouncing communities obviously), and we need its principles in the scone pronunication arena without distractions.

Secondly, while hanging around on twitter, I’ve started working on a tweet on a subject I believe is important and requires urgent action. I have already contacted Barack Obama and Labour MP Tom Harris about it. To write this tweet properly it needs international travel and the kind of in depth focus that’s not possible when you are throwing together a blog post pilfering chunks of other scone pronunciation articles found elsewhere on the internet at the same time. So, while I’ll be writing occasional blogposts elsewhere, I’ll be mainly tweeting deeply into this one subject for now.

Above all else, I’d like to thank all the readers of this blog. Ever since I started as a casual blogger with no training and shall we say a very personal view of ethics I have learned so much from you. I often learned the most from those that agree with me wholeheartedly – and if you did write, you know that you’re right: it is pronounced scone – and your messages in recent months have hugely moved me. Moved me all the way from wordpress to twitter in fact, to work on this tweet of international significance.

I’ll continue to be a loyal reader and supporter of some stuff on wordpress when I can be bothered. It is undoubtedly one of the world’s blogging sites, and must feel privileged to have had me as part of it for all these years.

After the election he is asked in Parliament when this important vote will take place on a weekly basis by a man with a boring voice. he refuses to answer. He is asked when this important vote will take place during interviews with journalists. He refuses to answer with any specific date.

Another politician from a different parliament (which has the power to clarify the legal problems relating to the important vote) wants the important vote to take place soon. However, being incompetent and insensitive the politician rather than limiting his comments in an interview to suggesting that his government will provide legal clarity to ensure a vote will take place the politician makes various comments which imply a degree of interference in the important vote.

As a result of the intervention by the politician from the other parliament a statement to the other parliament is brought forward to discuss the legal position.

At the time that statement takes place the politician who won the election promising an important vote holds a meeting and then goes to the television stations announcing when the important vote will take place. The important vote will be delayed to avoid clashing with two sporting events which take priority over important votes. Strangely his statement is not accompanied by an accompanying press release from his government. Indeed, a press release is not published by his government until the following day as can be confirmed by checking the date in the bottom left hand corner of the webpage for the statement. In other cases when the politician makes a statement his government publishes a press release at the same time.

You are the political commentator. How do you analyse the above situation?

(a) The politician who won the election promising to hold the important vote has been bounced into announcing a date for the important vote and the announcement of this date came as a surprise to his officials?

(b) The politician who won the election promising an important vote was not bounced into anything. He had planned to announce this date all the time and in a masterful display of tactics waited until the very moment it would have most impact?

(c) The politician who won the election to hold the important vote had been bounced into announcing a date for the important vote, and had then made the best of it by scuppering the publicity for the announcement by the other politicians?

You decide.

Shocked.

And stunned.

In fact I am very stunned.

Why did no-one mention this years (eg four and a half years) ago?

Ed "Mister Ed" Miliband's tribute to the late Bob Holness

Miliband, in a detailed series of over thirty tweets, has denied that his error is due to ineptitude but has instead suggested that this apparent typing error is the responsibility of a mysterious man in a hat seen loitering near Miliband’s twitter account during his burst of tweeting activity yesterday. Miliband has released a picture of the man in the hat.

Ed "Mister Ed" Miliband has helpfully circled the man in the hat in this picture

In addition Miliband has issued a picture of the mysterious man in the hat in the vicinity of his twitter account.

The man in the hat is pictured here deleting the letter "o" and replacing it with the letter "a" with the sole intention of humiliating Ed "Mister Ed" Miliband

The mysterious man in the hat remains unidentified but is believed to come from the Hackney area.

My regular reader will not be surprised to know that the vast majority of the searches to reach my blog relate to the pronunciation of the word “scone”. My regular reader will know this because clearly it is what my regular reader is searching for. Fortuitously this very question of pronunciation is a topic on which I have blogged previously. However, I have never had the capacity to obtain a definitive sample of views from you, my dear reader. In this Olympic year it seems an ideal time to provide a definitive answer and accordingly I have embedded a poll on the topic below.

As most people know there are three principal pronunciations of “scone”. There are those who say “scone”; those who say “scone”; and those who say “Scone”. Some people in addition say “scone” – but as this is such a trivial minority I have decided not to collate figures on these individuals. And while there is a minority who say “Scone” – the implications for the general health and well-being of those individuals is such that it is crucial that figures are collated.

Statistics indicate that generally within the UK 2/3 of people say “scone” while 1/3 say “scone”; and that figure rises to 99% of people saying “scone” with a trivial 1% saying “scone” in Scotland. It is believed that pronunciation is influenced by geography and class. Once I have clear figures on the pronunciation of “scone”, “scone” or “Scone” I will ask some follow up polls on geography and socio-economic group, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

So, onward dear reader, and complete this scientifically rigorous study of “scone” pronunciation. For armed with accurate figures the oral abominations of CBeebies hosts, bakery show contestants, and people who just say it differently to the way you do may never be defeated.

Bloody hell.

This morning I witnessed such a performance. Typically, the role of second inn-keeper is a bit of confirmatory filler between the important first inn-keeper (who establishes the busyness of the inns in Bethlehem) and the third inn-keeper, whose response to the plight of Joseph and his heavily pregnant wife can make or break a production. The third inn-keeper can take his line benevolently or can play it in a resigned way, feeling pressured into nudging these Nazarenes in their stable relationship into his barn. But today was the day of the second inn-keeper. He was determined to stand-out – even as he sat there in the early stages arms folded, a grimace on his face. And then came the pivotal scene.

While Joseph cockily held the bottom of his dressing gown front of stage, swinging it from side to side and forgetting to knock at the inn doors in time with the sound effects (a nursery teacher stamping her booted foot on the floor) the second innkeeper leapt up from his chair, his face contorted with rage, and snarled.

“NO.”

Joseph let go of his dressing gown. There followed a pause. Majestic. Magisterial. Dripping with contempt and bile.

“GO A-VEIGH.”

Another pause. Longer. Joseph noticably twitching now beside him, bowing his head as he responded to the power of the performance. Some of the nursery teachers started to look uncomfortable. Gently the second innkeeper began to shake his head, almost imperceptibly at first. But slightly more pronounced as the pause hung there. The gestures were small, the audience silenced.

He raised his hands dismissively.

“THERE IS NO ROOM”

And he turned his back stamping his feet. A child cried. Another screamed.

Joseph left. He was not going to stay at that inn.

Does the telling of things help memory? Or distort it? And when what you remember has its own media life, and media afterlife, do you remember what happened, or what you watched happening, and rewatched happening, and rewatched again?

It was some months after when I first talked about what had happened. Years before I wrote directly, although my stories in English were about it. Were they always really about it? Seems like that now, sometimes. But I think they were more about loss. Loss of trust. Loss of a close relative. Loss of innocence. Lots of things were lost in the time before it happened, impacting on that time after in the class. In the stories.

In my head there is a park. A roundabout. Swings. A long rocking horse. We played there on Saturdays. We played there in school holidays. I remember spinning on the roundabout watching the sandstone houses merge like smudged pastels before the judder of the old cheese factory once each revolution. The trips to our grandparents were fun. Things in the park changed. No rocking horse. A new roundabout. I can’t remember if that was before or after the large patch of grass where we ran and chased, playing tig or football, was filled with items of luggage.

And when I remember the park my grandfather is in my head. A tall man. A giant (shorter than I am now, it turns out). Dark haired. Swarthy. A gentle voice. A white Aran jumper. His welcoming arms. His goodness. His love.

But he was dead when it happened. Over months had become fragile, thin; his sonorous voice a croak. The last time I saw him the biggest man I ever knew cried after a farewell handshake, before driving me home.

Yes. He was dead when it happened, when the plane exploded over the town, when it rained fire.

And so in the run up to Christmas my siblings were with my grandmother keeping her company.

We got a phone call just after seven. Something had happened. A bang. We laughed. My grandmother didn’t. A plane. There’s a plane crashed into a house at the end of the street. Unbelievable. Television on. Nothing. Channel 4 to Border to BBC to Channel 4 again and a story. A plane missing. A jumbo. A big plane. Vanished. And the thoughts. That can’t be right. A plane that size would destroy the street.

Well it destroyed a street, just not the street my grandmother and siblings were in. The house was undamaged. Not even a broken window. The house a few doors away was gone. And her phone worked. How did her phone work? Chunks of the town were out of communication. But her phone worked – a last gift from my grandfather, the telephone engineer.

And then the call for medical staff on the local news. And my mother went. But was not needed. None of them were needed.

And I watched the television looking for news. To try to find out what was going on. And I watched television the day after. Recorded programmes. Watched programmes. Could not understand what was going on. Still cannot comprehend what was going on.

Going there a couple of days after was unreal. Journalists hanging around asking stupid questions until they got the message to go and harass someone else. Areas cordoned off. The stench. A thick stench in the air. A thick stench still in the nostrils in the day after – every breath for hours reminding you. But you needed no reminding. You walked along the familiar streets. And the park? Not like the park you remember. It was full. Row upon row upon row of luggage. Look over your shoulder and see the hill, bright plastic sheets there covering things. Get to the door and you walk in. And in the kitchen your grandmother has shut curtains. She never shuts curtains. And you look out. And you look out.

And you look out.

And there is a chair in a window. An aeroplane chair you assume. You’ve never been on an aeroplane. There is a chair in a window, and something is in the chair. Someone is in the chair.

You still see that.

I still see that.

And the tree at the bottom of the garden which appeared a week later in Time Magazine with the body still in it.

It’s hard to sleep sometimes.

And the van pulling up outside the former house in the corner, the house where economy class landed. And a van, the same van? A different van? I don’t know. Just item after item removed from that area.

I don’t remember leaving that day.

But going back was never the same.

Even the later years in my grandmother’s house during University vacations when I visited and we’d chat, and watch old films, and share jokes.

I don’t go back now. The last time I was in Lockerbie was this year for a funeral.

We drove past the park.

My grandmother died this year.

I miss her.

But I remember.

I feel that never having worked as a journalist, or written for a newspaper (other than satirical pieces written as a schoolboy that sneaked their way past a naive local news editor) is no barrier to this publication. In this book although I cannot recollect anything, don’t remember any specific information, to the best of my knowledge and belief didn’t do anything worth speaking of, and certainly did nothing unethical particularly not involving scrutinising any of the people that didn’t work for me, and certainly have no recollection that I authorised the payment of up to £80,000 to a third party private investigator who obtained private information that could only be obtained by breaching data protection legislation, I will gather together stories from people I have read about or heard about (preferably dead) and gather them together in a form of heightened reality using plenty of topspin (or lies as some would call them).

This true made-up story will cast light on the dark underbelly of modern British journalism, and tell tales of the times I met lots of politicians and celebrities. It will be great. Just like me. And Piers Morgan.

During oral evidence one witness is being asked about a private individual whose medical records have been obtained by a newspaper through blagging. It is not clear that there is any public interest in the obtaining of this information and it is arguable that a breach of data protection legislation has taken place. The witness has been asked to avoid using the name of the private citizen in his evidence. But in trying to explain a complex factual point the witness inadvertently names the private citizen to the discomfort of the judge and the counsel questioning him, and well as to the evident mortification of the witness. The naming of the private citizen can potentially cause embarrassment and speculation about the health of the private citizen.

You are the Editor of a national newspaper which specialises in lecturing other newspapers about their ethical practices. What do you do?

A – refer to the evidence in general terms noting the practices of the newspaper that obtained the medical records, but not naming the private citizen because naming the private individual is potentially an invasion of his or her privacy and may cause speculation about his or her health.

B – Run a story where the information about the manner in which the private information is obtained is presented, but the private citizen is named with a note that his or her name had been redacted from written evidence and inadvertently let slip by a witness in the case to the obvious discomfort of all involved.

or

C – run a story immediately naming the private citizen on a live-blog and include an enormous picture of the citizen just to make sure no-one was in any doubt who it was, then within minutes of the evidence being given, write a piece referring to the practice which led to the obtaining of the private information of the citizen, contact the private citizen for a quote about his or her medical condition and whether they were angry about this becoming public, and using it as a stick to beat the newspaper that had obtained the private information while maintaining the sanctimonious high ground by providing as much information as you can about the private information (and don’t mention anything about the redaction of the private citizen’s name in written evidence or that the naming of the private citizen was an inadvertent slip that caused discomfort to witness, counsel and judge).

Which is the most ethical approach?

You decide.

Will you take the same decision Alan Rusbridger and his team did?

Be assured that my chairing of the loveandgarbage Code of conduct committee where I assess if the loveandgarbage blog has breached any ethical moral or legal issues is a guarantee that I, and the licensing body, takes self-regulation very seriously indeed.

Official blog licence kitemark designed by http://twitter.com/danieloppenheim

For more on the background to this and the GAKALCOB scheme read Richard Wilson at the link below.

My first victory in Time person of the year was in 2006 when I was surprised to see that “you” (by which they meant me judging by the distorted reflection in the shiny cover I stared at in the newsagent for literally seconds) were person of the year. I was not conscious of having done anything in particular but wrote them a nice letter thanking them for bottling a hard choice and choosing me – although they could have let me know in advance and I’d have brushed my hair.

I did not consider myself a contender this year to be honest but was pleasantly surprised to see that my hard work protesting against the mispronunciation of the word “scone” by people who should know better (you know who I mean); and my recent strongly worded tweet and e-mail campaign against BBC Scotland who have omitted me from a list of people who write about severe weather in Scotland, while adding local authorities who don’t even bother to live-blog if it is windy or snowy outside has seen me rewarded as “the protester”. Clearly the definite article must mean something, and in vainglorious spirit I have determined that it means me.

I was though concerned by the spelling of this and I have started a protest (with loud sighing and extreme tutting, working up to writing this blog post) against awarding the person of the year prize to “the protester” and am instead calling for it to be awarded to “the protestor”, and trust that this minor act of dissent makes me even more eligible for today’s great honour.

Now that I am in the company of Stalin, Nixon, Gorbachev, FDR, Truman, Churchill, and Reagan I am mindful that my own interest in scones, extreme weather events, and sarcasm about things in the news perhaps looks trivial – but in some small way I think that my being twice awarded person of the year within a few years says something about the decline of society in the twenty first century - although to be frank I can’t be bothered working out what that is.

Anyway, well done me.

I look forward to becoming a three time winner in a few years when Time chooses people with glasses as person of the year in 2016.

17:12 Dark. Wet. Windy. Our bin blown over. THe lamppost waving its light like an X Files torch.

16:20 Darkening for past 20 minutes. Very very windy. Trampolines to our left and right. Sounds of things falling over outside. Bit windy. mmm.

15:30 Bloody hell. It’s wild out there. The clouds are racing each other in the sky. A bird trying to fly into the wind has just been blown back and so seems to be flying backwards. And next door has a trampoline which is moving ominously. The lamppost looks fragile – like one of Wordsworth’s daffodils.

14:55 Ah, getting worse it is. Very very very windy gusting to very very very very windy. Lamppost now wobbling like a man forced to leave a restaurant after a works Christmas party after the restaurant owner has put the theme tune for the Littlest Hobo on to encourage people to make their ways home.

14:32 Police vehicles the only ones driving about outside. No-one walking around. Trees across the road bent like longbows being drawn at Agincourt. Hard to tell if the worst has taken place or is yet to come. No obvious damage nearby, but the lamppost continues to sway threateningly – like a drunken uncle with someone young enough to be his daughter on a wedding reception dancefloor.

13:50 As the wind blows under the cars sitting in the drives nearby the wind reverberates, groaning like a walrus looking for a mate. It’s either that or the chap at number 73 is up to no good again.

13:44 That was a monetary lull. It is back up to very windy outside.

13:42 The wind has dropped a little (down to quite windy again). It’s eery. Like the calm before a storm. But during a storm.  Lamppost now standing still, proud, its lamp protruding slightly, like a heron poised in the water waiting for a passing fish.

13:31 And for the avoidance of doubt folks. Yes it is windy.

13:25 Update from Malc at Corstorphine “It’s pure mental oot man – even the accent has blown in fae Glesgae”

13:24 Outside momentarily to rescue child’s toy car from tree. Winded by the wind. I’d say we’re up to very very very windy with more to come. Lamppost outside now wobbling like an ageing star off up to collect a lifetime achievement award at a film awards ceremony.

13:13 Popped out for a minute to rescue bin. Very very windy heading to very very very windy.

13:05 Darkened. Wind getting up to very very windy again. Disconcerting to look out of window and see car wobbling about. Lamppost shaking vigorously like a person waggling their hands about before putting them under a poor quality hand dryer in a railway station public toilet.

12:52 I am shocked. Shocked. The Guardian have now launched their live-blog of the wind. The bastards. I’ll sue.

12:50: Quite windy moving up to very windy. Lamppost swithering in the air like a backbench MP pressured by the whips not to vote against the government.

12:17 Recovered children in a military type operation from school as they sat like evacuees in the school hall. We had to sign them out. Was tempted to sign for other smilier children but decided it would not go down well with my spouse.

11:48 Off to pick up children from school. Back down to quite windy. But police warning no travel from 2 pm when it is expected to be up to very very very very very windy.

11:00 Wind fluctuating between quite windy and very windy after the very very windy earlier. We also had a flash of sunlight for a while – as if Charlton Heston had ordered the rain clouds to part.  I am advised by correspondent Malc that it is “pretty windy” in Corstorphine. As that is further east than here I expect it will be up to quite windy and thereafter very windy very soon in the Edinburgh area.

10:26 Very very windy. Wet. Car wobbling outside window. Lamppost swaying like a fishing rod being casually waved before being cast. We’re due to get the worst in 5 hours. Concerned I may run out of verys.

10:21 Now up to very windy. And rainy. Lamppost wobbling like a Strictly contestant trying to do a Latin dance.

10:18 It is now quite windy. so windy I can hear it. Fears that it may become very windy and very very windy within a few hours.

10:06  It is windy outside. So windy the lamppost over the road is gently swaying.

09:15 Back home and I can confirm that it is windy. My hair flew about and everything.

08:45 About to take children to school (which will close at lunchtime) and yes. Yes it is windy.

07:45 Stepping into the void created by the Guardian’s failure to provide a live wind blog I offer my new is it windy outside live-blog service. So, is it windy outside? Yes. yes it is.

TT photographed earlier today - picture courtesy of @peatworrier

Two recent immigrants to the UK (referred to as TT and YG) have today submitted statements to the Leveson Inquiry following a complaint about press intrusion into their privacy in the past couple of days. TT and YG have only recently arrived in the country but have been hounded by the media. Neither TT or YG has sought publicity but were innocent bysitters in a box with airholes in a battle for tedious and dull rolling news coverage.

The evidence of both TT and YG have been leaked to this blog. As I am outwith the jurisdiction of the courts in London I have decided to reveal exclusively excerpts from their witness statement.

Passages have been redacted to protect their privacy.

The statement from TT narrates,

“There was I sitting in a box after a lengthy flight minding my own business when these bloody paps started taking pics. I went to the window of the box to have a look out and to tell them all to bugger off but snap snap snap on they went. It’s a bloody outrage. And then we were subject to people repeating again and again a joke that after our arrival in Scotland there were more [redacted] than Conservative MPs. I mean you hear one joker making that joke and you have a wry grin, when you hear hundreds of them all thinking they’re the first to come up with it you just want to curl up in a corner of your box and go to sleep.

“Of course, how the hell can you sleep when some joker shouts “Colin, where is the [redacted]?”

“As we were making our way to our new home, our two minders and the doc told us that we should really co-operate with the press. “they can only make your life difficult if you don’t” they said. “They’ll be setting up hidden cameras in your love tunnel trying to catch a glimpse of you at it, before a splash over the front pages”

“And then the doc told us that if we didn’t co-operate with a quick smile and wave, while brandishing a bit of bamboo, he’d heard that [redacted] from the [redacted] group of newspapers was going to run a story saying that we were typical immigrants who the moment we arrived in this country were given free transport, a home, and food.

” So, anyhow, they’re still there outside our home, filling pages of their newspapers and showing rolling coverage on their news channels. You’d think there was nothing happening in the world while these clowns are obsessed with a paid of bloody [redacted] and the hope that during a three day period next year we might have a quick [redacted]. Well, they can [redacted] right off and start covering proper news.

“If they start going through my [redacted] bins though there’s no way I’ll be appearing to sing or do impressions at [redacted]‘s kid’s birthday party. That [redacted] can just [redacted] with a [redacted]“

1.  Have you seen the thing complained about?

One might think that having seen or read the thing you want to complain about would be a necessary precursor to complaining about it. But that’s not the case. Having no direct contact with the thing you are complaining about need not preclude you from being angry. In fact for being angry on social media it is often better not to have seen or read the thing complained about. It might have nuances that will negate the strength of your feelings of anger when reading a brief representation of it by someone else. Instead you need to ask

2. Is a celebrity angry about it?

if a celebrity is angry about a thing then you should be angry about it too. You can do this by retweeting the celebrity’s anger, or you can repeat the substantive content of the celebrity’s anger but omit any reference to them and pretend that it is your anger. Either approach is fine. If there is no celebrity angry about the thing that needn’t prevent you from being angry about it. Instead you merely have to apply a few quick and easy tests.

3. Is the thing being complained about by Jan Moir?

If it is then it is acceptable, in fact expected, that you will be angry.

4. Is the thing being complained about about a thing that politically you disagree with?

If yes, then you should be angry about the thing. If no, then you should complain that the people who are complaining about the thing are being hypocrites because they did not complain about a thing that you politically agree with the last time people were being angry about a thing. This allows you to ensure that you can be angry and outraged whatever view is being complained about.

In fact if you are an expert in being angry on twitter you can complain about people complaining about people complaining about a thing that they politically disagree with in order to ensure that the political position that you disagree with is reiterated in the general stream of bile.

5. Does it matter if the thing being complained about raises an issue of principle where you took a different view a previous time a thing was being complained about?

No. Maintaining consistent principles in support of people you agree with and disagree with is not expected when you are being angry on twitter. It is more important to apply the approach from your answers to questions 2 to 4 than to be consistent in general principles. On certain topics people expect everyone on twitter to be angry in order to generate some sort of news story. Don’t disappoint them.

I swiftly turned the television off and immediately turned to twitter to demand that everyone involved in the show be sacked because they said and did things I didn’t like.

This morning though I have thought more carefully about the issue and have decided that I should publicise the fact that I am urgently seeking legal advice from myself about whether or not to prosecute those involved in the show, because I have nothing better to do with my time and believe that people who say and do things I disapprove of should have the full power of the criminal law turned against them until they say and do things I agree with.

I hope that with this small action I contribute to assisting everyone involved in the television show garner more publicity for their Christmas Books and DVDs and trust that any passing politician recognises a flaming torch and pitchfork wielding bandwagon when they see one.

16:27 It’s dark, the sole illumination from outside the glare of snow. Bloody snow. Everywhere you sodding look snow.

15:23 Is there snow outside? Of course there is. It’s December: what do you expect?

14:34 Yep – there is still snow outside.

12:04 Yeah – snow outside.

10:14 Snow. blah blah blah

09:01 Snow just stopped.

08:15 It’s snowing. SNow. Snow. Lalalala snow.

06:15 Small children proclaiming snow outside. There is. Again. Snow. Whoopdedoo.

4 December 2011

23:00 Forecast snow. None yet, but there is still snow on the grass and lots of frost.

18:18 Yeah, still there.

14:49 blah blah blah snow.

12:48 Back from walk in snow. I can confirm that there is snow.

11:00 off for walk to check to see if there is snow.

07:16 Snow. Bloody snow.

07:13 Children announce there is snow. They are happy. Will check.

3 December 2011

22:04 None. Snow forecast.

09:14 No snow outside.

2 December 2011

22:38 No snow outside.

22:24 Checking Norwegian weather website. We are due snow in the next few days. Guardian snow blog will crank into operation no doubt.

08:20 No snow. Rain though.

1 December 2011

21:35 No snow.

11:14 There is no snow outside.

30 November 2011

23:24 No snow outside.

10:04 There is no snow outside but some people are wishing each other a happy St Andrew’s Day on twitter. What’s that all about? When did people start wishing each other a “happy St Andrew’s Day”? I’ve never had anyone say that to me. Odd.

29 November 2011

09:15 No snow. But wet. Very wet.

07:00 Wet. No snow. None. Nada. Zip.

01:00 No snow. But wind. And rain.

28 November 2011

12.13 No snow. Heavy cloud cover though. The sky a sort of grey colour like dirty water someone has dipped a paintbrush lightly covered in grey poster paint in.

11:08 There is still no snow outside. It is reasonably sunny.

10:08 This time last year the streets around my home were covered with a mysterious substance that prevented access and egress. This substance remained unidentified in our locale until – thankfully – merely a few days later a national newspaper known as The Guardian set up a live-blog about the mysterious thing that was drifting across the nation. My early fears that The Guardian would run its “what is this white powder affecting the nation?” live-blog in an ironic feature piece on celebrities by Marina Hyde in the pre-Leveson Inquiry G2 were alleviated when with due seriousness they called in some chap from the north of England and promoted the live-blog heavily on its front page. Thanks to the sterling reporting efforts from this man in the north of England, who regaled us with tales of Guardian reporters struggling manfully in all parts of the country, while offering regular guidance on transport problems affecting Guardian reporters around the country, I learned that this mysterious substance apparently should be known as “snow” and that literally two or three milimetres of this “snow” had adversely affected Guardian journalists in the London area and stopped any form of transport moving. Of course by that point we had this

Near us last year. Those black blobs are the tops of bollards next to sleeping policemen

And we were rather better placed than folk further north. But never mind.

Anyway, in order to get in quickly before The Guardian runs into overdrive because Alan Rusbridger slips on some ice on a pavement near his home (forcing the setting up of an ice live-blog, and various articles about the weather in the months at the end of the year becoming cold for no discernible reason) I have decided to set up my is there snow outside live-blog early this year.

So, as of now is there snow outside? No. There isn’t. There’s none. But I promise I will regularly update this for my regular reader’s information.

What has been most powerful at the Leveson hearings has not been the celebrity evidence – which has been the primary focus of television and newspaper coverage. Instead, it’s the evidence from the families and individuals that have been affected by tragedy that has had most power. These individuals have not sought to appear in the media in the first place, the media interest in them dependent on the tragedy. And they have found intrusion in their lives – cameras prying on private moments of grief; cameramen leaping in front of their cars, following them; some journalists pursuing them with calls, and stories; their lives, their grief, scrutinised day after day.

Journalists have a job to do. I get that. Sometimes that job involves providing explanation or colour in relation tragedy. I get that too. But some of the approaches used in the acquisition of that story cause me difficulties.

I have wondered about context.  Are things worse now than they were ten or twenty years ago? Has the introduction of rolling news on television and radio meant that print journalists need to ratchet up the intrusion to make a newspaper worth buying when anyone who watched the news or checked the internet the day before would have the gist of the story? I’m not sure.

My limited experience of the attitudes of the press came over twenty years ago.

I was in Lockerbie in immediate aftermath of the disaster. My siblings were there on the night staying at my late grandmother’s house. The house a few doors away from that house was completely destroyed. The entrance into the area where she lived blocked off by barriers – the only vehicles entering and departing the site were official, removing bodies and body parts to the temporary mortuary at the local ice rink.

I was there a couple of days after. I saw the journalists prowl in packs asking stupid questions. On the day after the disaster my uncle – who had been one of a group who had helped to get the neighbour out of her house before it was destroyed – was asked if he thought this was serious. His response was choice.

My father and I – there a couple of days after – were stopped and asked for our views by various people within a few minutes walk along the main street as we got off the bus ready to go round to my granny’s house: how we felt; what we felt the seriousness of the disaster was; what we felt the impact was; and the like. We were badgered. Not just by one person. Anodyne questions persisted from those following us, and walking after us along the main street and other streets.

We did not give answers. We were not harassed in the way those giving evidence at Leveson were harassed. But we were left alone only when the next person wandering along minding his own business was seen.

This, and the experience of those that lived near my grandmother, left me concerned about the role of journalists in these events. Her neighbours found that by speaking to one outlet they were then assumed to be fair game by others – and were harassed for a period afterwards when dealing with their own grieving or coping process. This makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Yes, stories need to be reported, but respect for those affected means they should not be harassed/doorstepped. The process of recovery from tragedy is long and hard. Many people from Lockerbie were treated for PTSD related conditions months and years afterwards. Many remained affected and were treated for some twenty years. I do not think that any favours are done to those affected by the harassment. The coping and treatment of later years has to deal not only with the tragedy, but with the intrusion.

The circumstances of Lockerbie were exceptional. The enormity meant that perhaps the press intrusion was less than it might otherwise have been with the impact of the press dissipated to some extent by the number of people affected. But if we were noting intrusion in such a case (and in the aftermath) what of the case where one family has a tragedy, and the pressure of the media focused in a much more concentrated way? How easy it is for a desire to explain to move into a hunt for exclusives, to become ever more voyeuristic.

We hear much from the media about the freedom of the press. We hear little about the responsibility that goes with it. Leveson is showing us that for some journalists, perhaps even some newspapers, freedom of the press meant the freedom to act without responsibility.

The path to Leveson started with coverage of phone hacking, and intrusions into the privacy of celebrities. But it was the hacking of the voicemails of Millie Dowler that prompted the outrage that led to the inquiry.

The experience of the media coverage of the inquiry mirrors this experience. That coverage has focused on celebrity witnesses (the BBC ten o’clock news last night, for example, largely omitted reference to the powerful testimony from the Watson family yesterday morning preferring to focus on Steve Coogan). But those watching and listening to the hearings at home are finding the testimony of the non-celebrities more powerful. I hope that those responsible journalists are paying most heed to those who have suffered huge intrusion after their personal tragedies – and wondering how best to ensure that such intrusions do not happen in future.