The Majesty of the Press.

Rebekah Brooks may be gone but her glory days as editor of The Sun, Britain’s biggest selling ‘newspaper’ won’t soon be forgotten.

Whether it was swilling pints in the pub with the lads, printing the names of accused sex offenders, brokering deals between her boss and prime ministers, or arranging back-door access, Rebekah’s networking skills were legendary.

And lest we think that the stupefying awfulness of Britain’s tabloids has been somehow exaggerated take a look at Rebekah’s handiwork. (There will be a prize for anyone locating the source of a recent post here at Stingue)

Alright, alright (UK spelling, thanks very much), so she’s not the only one responsible but as I think we’ve already proved (not ‘proven’ for god’s sake because it has been proved), rule #1 is — Blame the Woman.


@JNOV: Brava, diva!

And your prize is…

A fabulous night out on the town (Sandy Eggo) with our own dear noje. Dinner at Phantom followed by a performance of Aspects of Love performed by members of the 6th Fleet (backstage tour optional). Then on for a nightcap at Norma’s where Elaine Paige will regale you with songs from the ALW songbook. To be returned to your 4 star hotel via stretch limo where you will be left on the curb with a peck on the cheek and an overwhelming feeling of loss.

@Benedick HRH KFC: I’ve already experienced that overwhelming feeling of loss when Nojo told me I could sleep on the couch. No thanks. Now Silent Creative Partner wouldn’t be a bad consolation prize, unless there’s more to that partner thing than I realized.

@Benedick HRH KFC: Don’t I know it. Hey — if baked and I have another sleepover, are you coming?

darling, you may want to rephrase….

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