Let's Be Honest With Ourselves About Hackgate

#Hackgate #NOTW #Murdoch - if you're on Twitter these are the go-to hashtags for proving you've got your finger on the political pulse.  If you're on any news site, you're urged to visit the live streaming of events; the latest resignation, confession, lawsuit.  My view on the whole debacle?  Disgraceful, absolutely.  Complete invasion of privacy?  Without a doubt. Something we'll probably forget about or get used to?  Pretty likely. 

Think of the issues that have raised our national hackles in the past few years; oil prices, cash for influence, expenses, bankers' bonuses...for a while we're appalled, outraged, demanding justice, or at the very least all the juicy details. And then?  Business as usual.  Should we do more or realise that we're a fickle bunch? 

It was an intrusion too far - way too far - when news surfaced that the News of the World commissioned a private investigator to hack into the voicemail of (at that stage) missing teenager Milly Dowler, with the hope that an exclusive would be forthcoming.  What was forthcoming instead, from this despicable action, was hope. But it was the worst kind of hope for the family of a missing schoolgirl - it was false hope.  The British public was absolutely revolted by this flagrant disregard for a family's privacy in the direst of times - so we started baying for blood; the News of the World's, the Murdochs', Rebekah Brooks', John Yates', our newsagent's for selling the News of the World...Fast forward a week or two and we've had a select committee hearing; whose sole purpose seems to be to satisfy the public's wish to humiliate the Murdochs and hear the words, "We were wrong."  As it turns out, what with #piegate and #slapgate, even if the Murdochs had prostrated themselves on the floor at Louise Mensch's feet and cried remorseful, earnest tears we wouldn't have noticed, we were all too busy giggling at Jonnie Marble's "You naughty billionaire" insult.  Rebekah who?

Having an ethical, fair media is something we believe we're entitled to, just as we believe we're entitled to politicians who aren't the bedfellows (reluctant or otherwise) of said media. So should we vote with our feet at the next election or our newsstand? By all means, if you genuinely consider your chosen alternative can provide you with the principles you crave, then get those shoes on. In all likelihood though, as you pause to tie your metaphorical shoelaces, you will hear the barely audible sound of hands being rubbed together in glee; and if you're lucky, you'll catch a whisper of incriminating emails, phone records and Facebook friends being deleted before they welcome you with open arms. 

I don't think we'll vote with our feet; neither will many of us protest, sign any petitions, write any letters or do anything more taxing than try to think of a pithy line on Twitter to demonstrate our displeasure. By August, there'll be a new hashtag, Murdoch won't be synonymous with Lex Luther and our national outrage will be directed towards something else.

Yes, we'll still respond with a grave shake of the head if it comes up in conversation, just as we do when someone reminds us of the moat we cleaned for Douglas Hogg, or the fact that we might have to fork out £9,000 to send one of our kids to university. I'd love to believe that this whole affair will bring about a change, but that's not fair on the thousands of upstanding, ethical people working in journalism and politics. Saying they're all as bad as each other is our way to feel comfortable with doing nothing, to excuse our short attention span and- OMG did you see Kate Middleton's outfit??

"Sustainability"

As evidenced on Twitter today I had a bit of spat with an associate at a meeting which I'd like to go into in minute, excruciatingly boring detail for all of those who weren't *lucky* enough to be a rock on my Twitter stream today.  Many (I am an eternal optimist) of you know that I am in the field of sustainability - I actually had to fight the urge there not to put the word in inverted commas à la most people who introduce me at meetings.  It turns out that if you work in the area of trying-not-to-bugger-everything-up-for-everyone-else you get your very own punctuation with your title - thankfully the ickle baby speech marks aren't as heavy as the tree we're expected to cart round with us at all times for impromptu hugging sessions or padlocking emergencies.

The spat stemmed from a simple - though evidently highly hypocritical - action of mine.  Imagine the scene: ten of us, small meeting room, smaller window, typical British summer weather outside (lashing rain and force ten gales) - so I, in all my wisdom, turned the lights on.  Cue the "witty" and clearly rehearsed "Ooooh! Turning the lights on, are we?? Thought you were into "sustainability!"  Yes, because clearly this bestows infrared vision on all of us treehuggers.  I'm pretty used to most people finding the whole concept of "saving the planet" at best new age-y and barefoot, at worst some sort of hare-brained, dope-fuelled scheme thought up by Swampy to steal money from innocent, tax paying citizens.  I am the first to admit that the science is confusing and can seem contradictory - but the root of it, to try and ensure that future generations aren't igniting their farts to keep warm isn't exactly a hangable offence, is it?

As you can imagine, the recent cold winters have been particularly frosty for us "green people" - "Global warming?? You're having a laugh!" as they shake the snow off their boots and try to stab us with the nearest icicle.  "Climate change, it's called climate change actually" can be heard, muttered, through the gritted teeth of fellow "environmental types."

Whether we've had an effect on global temperatures through our flagrant disregard for the laws of nature and our out and out greed is a matter for debate - whether we're using up our natural resources at a blistering pace is not.  Us eco-warriors aren't out to get you, steal your money, brainwash innocent children and puppies - making the world a better place is a bit grand, but even so, it's not exactly a bad aspiration. And what if we go all out to try and achieve this and it turns out the science wasn't right?  Well, I think this cartoon sums it up perfectly:

Sorry for the lack of postage over the last few days - truth be told, I've been mulling over what my next post will be, mainly because I'm indecisive and can't decide between two topics.  So, I'm going to be all adventurous (read: indecisive) and make not one, but two posts today.  Living. On. The. Edge.  But first before I launch into either of these tirades fine pieces of writing, I just want to lob in my two cents regarding the whole hacking scandal, or #notw scandal if you're on Twitter.

Most normal people in the UK, or the world, if we're going to be grand and sweeping, (I do love a good sweeping statement) take their privacy for granted and get rather miffed if someone stands a bit too close when they're confessing their toilet issues (said in the same voice your Mum says sex in) to the receptionist at the doctor's.  Privacy, stiff-upper-lipness and not airing one's dirty laundry are traditionally thought of as very British attributes, so quite how we've got to a stage where we're not just happy, but expect to hear the minutiae of public figures' finances, conquests, medical history and eating habits is rather beyond me.  We were quite happy when it was Hugh's mugshot or Sienna's voicemail; it was "justified" with the old chestnut, if you're in the public eye you just have to deal with the intrusion - I mean what's the harm?  It's just gossip, right?  However, it was an intrusion too far - way too far - when news surfaced that the News of the World commissioned a private investigator to hack into the voicemail of the (at that stage) missing teenager Milly Dowler, with the hope that an exclusive would be forthcoming.  What was forthcoming instead, from this despicable action, was hope.  But it was the worst kind of hope for the family of a missing schoolgirl - it was false hope. Unfortunately we all know now that Milly was not still alive at this time; and not only did the Dowlers have to deal with this crushing, devastating blow - but with this came the knowledge that some "journalist" listened and then disregarded their most personal and painful messages as white noise in the quest for a scoop.

All of a sudden the "gossip" doesn't sound so appealing, does it?  It got steadily less appealing when it emerged that the Dowlers weren't the only "regular" people whose lives had been hacked open by a thoughtless, spineless specimen who gives 95% of journalists a bad name.  Families of 7/7 victims, families of soldiers killed in action, families of other murdered children - in other words people who were already suffering plenty.

Murdoch was quick to shut down the 168 year old publication; seemingly with as little regard for the lives and livelihoods of its staff as Goodman and Mulcaire had for the privacy of their prey.  It's been a week for journalist-bashing; most journalists with any connection to the News International group are trailing tar all over Twitter; accused as they are of anything from being "as bad as the rest of them" to killing kittens in front of a nursery class. Hopefully, when the dust settles and the tar gets scrubbed off (or dries in) the public will realise that most of the journalists in the UK publications are fair, honest people who are as appalled at the scandal as we are.  Spare a thought also for the dozens of editors, sub-editors and designers who were just as unemployed as the NOTW writers were on Monday morning.


That was definitely more than lobbing my two cents in - more like making a cruise missile out of a fifty pound note, but then (with a nod to my Northern Ireland roots on this, the auspicious 12th day of July) I never have been accused of missing and hitting the wall.


Thanks for listening - I'll be back.

So.  Didn't win the Euromillions.  If you follow me on Twitter (yes all 3 of you) you might already know that.  So it's back to the blogging board.  Following on from the success of yesterday's blog....33 new views and 3 new followers, (yes, I am aware most of the views were from me refreshing the page but hey, needs must, people!) I have decided that slightly less ranty posts are the way to go at least for the downhill part of the week. 


Very exciting news this morning in Stylist magazine; Caitlin Moran, (hilarious columnist from The Times) is doing a book reading in Laandan town next Thursday of her very own book, How to Be a Woman. Now, ordinarily her columns make me chortle, snort (oh come on, you do it too) and occasionally laugh so hard a little bit of pee comes out, so imagine the mad dash for some Pampers that ensued upon hearing the news of her having her very own book.  Anyway - in typical disorganised fashion I had yet to buy it, which I remedied yesterday afternoon, as obviously I couldn't go to her very own book reading without having read it - how else would I laugh knowingly and nod sagely at the right parts next Thursday?


Naturally I pounced on it like Rebekah Brooks on an advertiser as soon as I got home.  So far it's exactly as expected; the writing is sharper than Picasso's pencil, and the humour is closer to the bone than Gregory House's scalpel but more than that it really gets you thinking about there being no guidebook on being a woman; just to clarify, by this I mean a guide for women on how to be a woman, rather than those with...ahem...aspirations.  She tackles everything from marriage to what to call our mammaries and a fair few other 'm's in between.  It's not so much a guidebook as a recollection (and a bit of rant - you can see why I like her) of the pitfalls and potholes of her own becoming a woman, but nevertheless the bumps along the way are ones that all our teeth have rattled over.

While we're on the subject, a general guide to being a grown up would be marvellous too.  Is there anyone else out there who is still waiting to become a grown up? For example, by the ripe old age of 28 I fully expected to have been a child star and be able to wolf whistle (for hailing a cab in NYC of course.)  Admittedly these are two of the more frivolous talents, but there are other life skills that, far from feeling I "missed out" on, I rather feel I ran and hid in the toilets when, for example, The Underwear Ironing Masterclass was being held.  And more disturbingly I still don't really want to learn (I still ask my Mum why on earth she irons dishcloths.) 


Mind you though, there are plenty of things I would love to be able to do - making do and mending are high on the list, rather than spending a small African country's GDP at the dry cleaners each month...alternatively I could just not hang out with people who spill things on me, or not hang out with...myself.  If I chat to my friends I am amazed at their ingenuity and their skills at this stuff - well, that's not quite true, I think if I'm fair, we all have different skills.  Whereas I admire my best friend's financial savvy; her books are always balanced and her account is always in the black, I don't envy her (admittedly infrequent) forgetfulness when it comes to adding water to pasta.  Other friends are amazingly tidy and organised, but couldn't wire a plug to save their life*. 


So that's my blog for today - no moral, no rant; if anything just a request to the publishing company John Wiley & Sons - please bring out a Being a Grown Up for Dummies Guide, it'll make a 28 year old child very happy.


*Oh yes, neither could I - do you now see why I need a guide?!