Septicmania is a reality threatening invasion of the public consciousness caused by factoids distributed through the medium of the newswires. It was fatal before the invention of the Internet.

A outbreak in the

You could earn yourself a cool £4,000 a week advising the colossus of the parliamentary scene. Every week.

You might imagine that you need specialist qualifications to take up this magnanimous offer; psychiatric training perhaps, though the present

I love investigating celebrities, and I’m chastely puritanical,

I twat on Twitter and with privacy I’m economical;

I’ve learned to speak at conferences, colloquia and seminars

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“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence”. Leonardo da Vinci.

Post-Leveson, the Dead Tree Press has been keen to show that, unregulated, they can expose much wrong doing in our world that could protect

The notion that sex in some circumstances is degrading harks back to ideas of racial purity, eugenics even. Some sexual acts can be degrading, both to men and women – but it is never the act

Across the globe, a new variety of ‘spiritual’ leader is arising to cheers from the grim faced populace. The ‘moral’ guardian. We have no truck any longer with men in long black dresses, with books full of unbelievable

Conveniently adjacent to the £1,000 a week furnished floating homes in the new womb of journalism, Canary Wharf, and within touching distance of the engine of our ‘booming economy’, the money men of the priapic Shard, lies an area of

There is an air of jubilation around this morning – or an attack of the vapours – depending on whether you are standing in the King’s Arms in Doncaster, or Lentils-R-Us in Islington. ‘The People’s Army’, that seething

So peace finally reigns in the old ‘Muppet show’ studio ‘D’ at Elstree, from where the BBC broadcast the local election results during the night.

They were short handed – one of their senior editors, Jasmine

When we lived in the ancienne poste house in the centre of the village, built into the metre thick walls of the bastide, one of the delights was sitting on the terrace in the morning sun listening to the

Little Catherine rode a tidal wave of ‘right-on’. From the ‘Wigan Mining and Technical College’ through a degree in Social Work, naturally, she diligently applied herself to every cause close to the heart of her left wing masters.

You are too late. Should have called in earlier. She’s already left.

She has jetted off to sunny Glasgow to attend a seminar on Moral Panic.

She thinks Marrakech would have been a better idea

Nothing is sacrosanct on Twitter, no detail of intimate life too delicate to explore; except death. There is no #death hashtag. It has to be masked – #dyingmatters.

No surprises in the etymology – the word