The British Media in the Dock

As the Levenson Inquiry into press standards rumbles pointlessly on, I’m going to add my ten cents’ worth. First, it has to be said that David Cameron’s press officers must be dancing a jig right now. It’s the perfect time to bury any (more) bad news, as there’s nothing the British press likes better than gazing at its own navel. In England, we have the highest number of people under 25 unemployed in twenty years, and we are about to see changes to the state pension which will leave tens of thousands of women destitute in their old age. But never mind, we can listen to Sienna Miller talking about being made to feel that she was living in a video game.

The solution to the subject of press intrusion is really very simple. At present any fool who can afford a camera can call himself (and it’s always a him) a paparazzo.  If regulation is required, then that’s a good place to start. It’s clear also that the inquiry is talking to the wrong people. Picture editors should be in on the discussions. If editors can agree on set prices, then you wouldn’t get photographers risking their own necks as well as others to get the picture that will literally set them up for life. When newspapers and magazines pay £100,000 and more for the right celebrity shot, then clearly something has to be done. If there was an agreed ceiling on prices, this would go somewhere towards preventing paps from jumping out of bushes and bashing on car windows, as the McCanns described during the inquiry. And if editors can agree not to employ unlicensed photographers, that would be a step in the right direction. After all, we don’t allow just anyone to drive a black cab. Drivers have to pass a rigorous test.

Then there’s the subject of training. Many newspapers used to have apprenticeship schemes. These have largely been done away with, especially as local papers have been hit by the double whammy of the recession and the rise of the internet. The traditional route of starting off as a cub reporter on your local doesn’t really exist anymore. And believe me, it makes a difference. I’ve been a freelance journalist now for ten years and I keep coming across people who have little if any understanding of media law. In a situation like this, only the lawyers can win.

Colegate: the saga continues...

Doesn’t Ashley Cole have any real friends? Someone might want to tell him that the very worst thing he could have done was to marry Cheryl Tweedy. Ashley may be one of the finest footballers of his generation but his ability on the pitch is constantly overshadowed by his relationship with the former Girls Aloud singer. Mr Cole could open an orphanage, set up an animal sanctuary and rescue a burning building full of old age pensioners, but he would still be known as the man who cheated on Ms Tweedy.

It was interesting to see how little media attention Ashley Cole’s business venture with Jay Z merited. The pair plan to set up a restaurant along the lines of Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen, which trains unemployed youngsters. Perhaps Mr Cole has finally began to realise that no footballer can play forever, no matter how talented they are. Cole should look to David Beckham, who serves as a poster boy for all professional footballers as to how to extend your shelf life away from the pitch. Beckham has successfully lent his name to a host of product ranges and activities generating millions of pounds of income. He could quit playing for Galaxy tomorrow and not worry.

Ashley Cole is without doubt an attractive man but which clothing brand or designer would sign up the left-back now to be its frontman now, after his disastrous marriage? Meanwhile, the relentless PR machine behind Chezza the "Biffa" continues its onslaught...

Nothing New Under the Sun

I've just come back from Los Angeles, where I made a point of catching up with all the news shows. I can't help but be a little disappointed at this season's premiers. There's really very little to get excited about. Playboy and Charlie's Angels quickly bit the dust and it's not difficult to see why. Both could easily have been successful but lacked the courage of their convictions. (Hey, ABC and NBC, there are female showrunners now. Really.)

It's interesting to note that the most successful shows are all based on classic books or stories. Pan Am is William Thackeray's Vanity Fair in the air. Revenge is simply Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo with a sex change and set in the Hamptons. While Grimm and Once Upon a Time both use classic fairy tales from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves to Little Red Riding Hood.

Showrunners take note: if you want a show to stay on the air, mine the world's canon of literature for stories to adapt. So come on down! Let's play Fantasy TV shows! With the success of The Help, what about revisiting Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird? Let's see, Scout and Jem are now adults. While Scout has followed her father Atticus' footsteps into the law, Jem has just returned after serving two tours in Iraq. He is haunted by his experiences - and his unrequited affair with Calpurnia's  mixed-race son (yes, Calpurnia and Atticus had a secret love child, so that makes him Scout and Jem's half-brother).

Here's another one: what about Charles Dickens' Great Expectations meets Training Day? A rookie New York cop falls in love with the daughter of a Supreme Court judge, only to be cruelly rebuffed...
Or what about Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov as Mad Men meets The Kennedys? When a Senator is murdered all his sons fall under suspicion, including his eldest son who harbours political ambitions of his own...

See how much fun this is?