It's Me or the Kiddy-Fiddlers
We are all aware, no doubt, that Daveybloke's casual dismissal of the Leveson recommendations stems from a genuine and principled commitment to the ideal of free journalism, rather than from the mere wish to avoid a fight with a few scumbag press moguls just because he happened to crawl up their colons a few years ago. Undoubtedly a similar virtuous underpinning graces the motives of Daveybloke's mad old cat lady, who has displayed a characteristic predilection for mature debate on the subject of her plotted snoopers' charter by ranting away in what is almost certainly the most scumbag organ of that very same scumbag press. "It is absolutely not government wanting to read everybody's emails," she foamed; "we will not be looking at every webpage everybody has looked at", not least because no-one in the Bullingdon Club would be able to move his lips fast enough. But Daveybloke's diva of deportation wasn't finished: anyone who has qualms about giving police and spooks access to phone and internet records on the mere utterance of the magic words terrorist paedophile is putting politics before people's lives and flinging open the doors for serious criminals to walk free. In these post-political times, of course, it is difficult to separate the genuine lunacy from the statesbeinglike manoeuvring for clear blue water across which to exchange moist, tender glances with the Farage Falange and in which to drown the Liberal Democrats; nevertheless, even allowing for the colourful literary tastes of her presumed audience, the Home Secretary seems to have gone overboard a bit.