Vince Cable spankathon

The prominent news story regarding Vince Cable’s admission to two young women journalists posing as constituents, that he is declaring jihad on the dark overlord of all that is unholy, Rupert Murdoch, has had me weeping uncontrollably into my cereal even more than one might reasonable expect of someone who voted Lib Dem in the last election.

That’s not to say I’m holding it particularly against him. He reminds me far too much of the kind of cuddly grandfather figure you’d find in bad 80’s sitcoms for me to be able to muster any kind of vitriol towards him. And let’s not forget, whilst the previous Labour government were feasting on the gushing jugular of cash being created from thin air by the banks during the pre crisis days, this was a man who was predicting exactly what was going to happen. He called it, and that, in my opinion at least, gives him the fully earned right to strut into the middle of the house of commons and expose himself to each of the benches in turn, so a moment of indiscretion should be taken lightly.

Yes, the boasts about being able to bring down the government are cringeful and if he genuinely believes that then he needs to be institutionalised immediately. But this was a guy talking to two, supposedly admiring young women. If in that position there’s not a man on the planet who would be able to resist embellishing and flourishing the details of his power and influence. Put in the same situation I would probably have revealed myself to be single handedly bringing Africa off it knees whilst rescuing frightened puppies in my spare time. I’d have almost certainly gone on to nod in the direction of my crotch before stretching my arms apart in the manner of an exaggerating fisherman.

So it’s not the man himself that has me longing for a bottle of whisky, locked room and a shotgun. Nor is it the substance of what he said. A war against Rupert Murdoch and fierce, unending and if necessary self-sacrificing opposition to his unchecked poisoning of the world, like a syphilitic ape pissing in the village well, is exactly what is needed. In a time when the newspapers are essentially vehicles of expression for those with quantities of money so staggering that it’s frankly impolite, the plurality of the media and the opinions expressed within it needs to be protected as staunchly as possible. And to me this applies especially when the opinions splattered onto the world like a wet fart are as knuckle draggingly ignorant and physically nauseating as those espoused by the nasty, racist and hate filled organs of Rupert Murdoch (and naturally, The Daily Mail).

It is the fact that the sting operation against Cable, which appears to have so spectacularly backfired on the Telegraph, has led to the final say in the Ofcom investigation being handed to the grasping, sweaty hands of Tory culture secretary Jeremy Hunt (of hilariously mispronounced surname fame). C/Hunt’s links to BSkyB, his un-minuted meetings with them and expensive dinners are all documented in an article on the link below, and it will come as no surprise when the decision is called in favour Murdoch’s empire. http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2010/dec/22/conservative-links-murdoch-private-meeting?INTCMP=SRCH

This will be far from a death blow to British media, who should be proud of the independence and fair minded approach of institutions like the BBC (doubly so because they piss off The Daily Mail). But it will certainly be a step in the wrong direction whilst aiding an organisation that uses it’s might to push an intolerant and ignorant agenda.