Quintin Jardine's blog

Three days, that’s all, and Bob Skinner has 73 Facebook friends already. He’s a big believer in police accountability, so the more he has the happier he’ll be. Remember, location Gullane. He’s a little shy about uploading photos, but I’m trying to persuade him.

Okay, it’s my day for bashing the BBC but on News 24 this morning,the twat who did the paper review, after commenting on the happy couple from Largs who just won large on the lottery, was allowed to crack a ‘joke’ which I might have found funny in the pub on a Friday night, but took ill out when I heard it on the public broadcasting channel. An hour later, he was allowed to do it again. Let’s see if Newswatch runs my comment next week, and if so, whether they give the offence a further airing.

Further to my previous post: in the wake of the Hutton inquiry into the sad death of David Kelly, and the shouting match between Andrew Gilligan and Alastair Campbell over the so-called dodgy dossier, the BBC instituted a programme called Newswatch, as part of an initiative to make its news department more accountable to the public. It gives viewers an outlet for their views and complaints, and it’s been running since 2004, presented throughout by the impeccable Raymond Snoddy, OBE, a free-lance journalist employed by the Corporation for the purpose.

Never heard of it? I’m not surprised. News accountability is allowed 15 minutes per week, and that’s it. The programme is broadcast only on the news channel. It’s shown twice. The  first screening is at 8:45 pm on Friday, when much of the population tends to be celebrating the coming weekend, and the rest is watching Coronation Street or Question of Sport. The second showing is at 7:45am on Saturday, when much of the population tends to be asleep or in the act of rising.

In other words, it’s a fix. BBC news accountability is a complete sham. Newswatch is hidden away from the general viewing audience, as a deliberate act of policy. True accountability would see it shown at least once, after each of the major BBC1 news bulletins, One O’Clock, Six O’Clock and Ten O’Clock, and at peak viewing times on the other BBC channels. Isn’t it ironic that Newswatch should have been born in response to the Hutton Inquiry, which was, of course, also a fix.

The analogy doesn’t fit all the way through, but I’m beginning to think of Henry II when I see Rupert Murdoch on today’s news bulletins beating his breast and making brief, chaotic public apologies. No turbulent priest has been dispatched, but the aftermath is shaping up to be the same. ‘My words were misunderstood and misinterpreted by people who acted with excessive zeal’. No doubt this will be his story when he makes his pilgrimage to Westminster and presents himself before my old acquaintance Whitto’s select committee on Tuesday, to be ritually and painfully scourged by its un-monastic members. Like Henry he will survive, and who knows, may also be played by Peter O’Toole in the movie version.

But will the highest standards of British journalism survive, or are they already dead? Everything is distasteful about this saga. I heard it described today as the story that won’t go away. No it won’t, for Murdoch’s rivals won’t allow that. Previously cowed and intimidated by the biggest baddest dog on what used to be Fleet Street, they are turning on him in a frenzy that is as self-righteous as it is vicious. It is also very dangerous. If phone hacking is that easy, I for one do not believe that it has never been done for the benefit of any newspaper other than those owned by News International. As for bunging police officers for information . . . don’t make me laugh.

Objectivity seems to have disappeared from the agendas of some formerly unimpeachable journalists. I won’t go on about Robert Peston, who by now must have caused more viewers to change channel than any other TV reporter, but his colleague Nick Robinson seemed to me to have his story written even before he went into the room for his unusually aggressive grilling of Dave Cameron last week . . . pre-prepared also, for he seemed to have an extra camera in there filming his questions to give his piece added edge in the bulletins.

I’m a terrible old cynic, but I know this; at the end of the day, the political machine always wins, even if it has to shed the odd cog now and then. So, the ladies and gentlemen of the non-Murdoch UK media should be very careful where they step. This knot is going to take a while to unravel, but it’s pretty certain that the present Press Complaints Commission, which is less of a deterrent to media misbehaviour than my dear old cat is to mice, will be replaced by a new body, one with tiger teeth. The more moral outrage they generate, the sharper they will be. They say they represent the views of the public, but don’t believe that for one second; it’s not your axe they’re grinding, its their own, and the whetstone is jealousy of News International.

In ancient Greece (469 – 399 BC), Socrates was widely lauded for his wisdom. One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance, who ran up to him excitedly and said, “Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?”  “Wait a moment,” Socrates replied. “Before you tell me, I’d like you to pass a little test. It’s called the Test of Three.” “Test of Three?” “That’s correct,” Socrates continued. “Before you talk to me about my student let’s take a moment to test what you’re going to say. The first test is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?” “No,” the man replied, “actually I just heard about it.” “All right,” said Socrates. “So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now let’s try the second test, the test of Goodness. Is   what you are about to tell me about my student something good?” “No, on the contrary.” “So,” Socrates continued, “you want to tell me something bad about him even though you’re not certain it’s true?” The man shrugged, a little embarrassed. Socrates continued, “You may still pass though because there is a third test – the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?” “No, not really.” “Well,” concluded Socrates, “if what you want to tell me is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, why tell it to me at all?” The man was defeated and ashamed and said no more. This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.   It also explains why Socrates never found out that Plato was banging his wife.

You say, and I quote ‘Read a book by another author that mentioned Skinner and most of his work mates, being consulted by the main character in the book, but can\’t remember the name of the author or the title of the book. Have your characters ever been mentioned in a book by another author and if so, could you please let me know.’

You sure you’re not geting confused with The Loner? If not, I would seriously like you, and anyone else who reads this, to try to remember, because it would be news to me and I might like to follow it up, possibly with serious intent.

One day up and Bob Skinner now has 18 Facebook friends, or so he tells me. He’s a competitive guy, so he’s after as many as he can get. Enter name, then location Gullane, and the profile picture will tell you you have the right man.

Don’t be ashamed. Be proud you’ve caught up so quickly. Father’s Day, eh? It’s no coincidence Bob’s annual appearance is around that time.

Depends how far you’ve got so far, Wee Jean. If you’re up to Grievous Angel, then you will have 11 months to wait for the next Skinner, but you can ask him yourself on his Facebook page.

Just done something zany. I’ve set up a Facebook account for Bob Skinner (but don’t tell them or I suspect they’ll delete it). When Andy Martin asks to be his friend, then I’ll get worried.

Haven’t heard from AJ today. Until I do I can harbour the notion that he might be the mystery Brit who has scooped £162m on Euromillions. But no, not even I could make that one up.

One might think that News International would know when to regroup, but no. Under attack on several fronts by the last Prime Minister, the Sun chose today to lead with a defence of its publication of a story about the medical condition of Mr and Mrs Brown’s younger son. They deny that it was obtained by illegal means and that it was brought to them by a ‘member of the public’, and go on to set out chapter and verse of the exchange with Brown’s office that followed. Give up people, you’re the bloody Sun, and we all know that nothing you do is about morality, but is for one end alone, namely the lining of the pockets of Rupert Murdoch, presumably so that he can continue to pay for the services of the blonde personal trainer who seems to have been at his side from the moment he arrived in London. It’s as simple as this; you’ve shattered the right of an infant to medical confidentiality. You’ve put the poor kid in a goldfish bowl, and it’s no use saying that the Browns approved the story, if they did, because we all know you’d have run it anyway.

If it’s any consolation, such are the preferences of the average Sun reader that the Brown story ranks only Number 5 on today’s most-read online stories, behind, in order, a £162m lottery winner, a potential football transfer, a picture special about the girlfriend of another footballer, and a piece under  the headline ‘Hermione Granger and the Chamber of Pole Dancers’, which claims that the Harry Potter actress Emma Watson went partying after the New York premiere of the last movie in a club where there were poles for dancing on, but didn’t actually mount one herself. Classy, yes?

Around an hour ago, 70% humidity turned to 100%. We decided to go shopping, and got in the car. Unfortunately so did everyone else in L’Escala. Took us a long time to go nowhere. By that time humidity was down to a mere 73%. Once home I decided to take Mia for a walk in the pram, to kid her into going to sleep. She fell for the trick, but the sweat is still pouring out of me.

It’s cloudy today. After a month in the mid to high eighties that should bring a little relief, but no; instead it brings 70% humidity. It’s a tough life on the Costa Brava.

No, it isn’t a set-up for anything, it’s a one-off (maybe) look into Skinner’s past. You have a point about the RCN, and I take it, but I have to point out to you that the book is set in 1996, and that the NMC wasn’t established until 2002. NLaS.

A long time back, I deleted all the games from my computer, but I can’t touch my iTunes library, and  that’s an even stronger barrier between me and the day job. Now for example, when Primavera is screaming for attention, I find myself listening to the mighty Neil Young, at his absolute peak on all eight minutes and twenty-one seconds of Like A Hurricane. And I know that next I’ll move on to seven minutes and thirty-two seconds of Cortes the Killer. I like guitars, see, and these are two of the best such tracks ever laid down. What the hell, it’s nearly lunchtime anyway.

I am an admirer of David Beckham. He’s an all-round class act, a great ambassador for his country and a model father. But even I must question his choice of middle name for his daughter. Seven? It can only be after the number he wore as captain of England, the number he inherited from Eric Cantona at Man U, then passed on to Cristiano Ronaldo. But then he moved to Madrid and on to LA Galaxy. I can only wonder; if he and Victoria have another daughter will she be named Twenty-three?

Thanks, Amit. Please recommend it to as many peers as you can find. I’m glad it brightened your week.

Relax. You haven’t missed a book. Inhuman Remains is where the Primavera series starts. Next, Blood Red, to be followed in January by As Easy as Murder, and a year later by something else, as yet untitled.

First time, but I hope it won’t be the  last. I look forward to hearing from you again.