Now that Rebekah Brooks has resigned, we here at Stinque can better concentrate on the issue that has kept us wondering throughout this developing scandal which has already engulfed one of Britain’s most venerable institutions and looks set to engulf more, namely — Who Does Her Hair?

As the women of Stinque (and some Stinque men: you know who you are) can attest, a do like that does not come cheap. Though it looks like she just jumped out of the shower, scrobbled it quickly with a towel before running for a bus, such a coiffure can only be achieved after significant spendy-time in a Knightsbridge salon listening to cockney stylists whining about their boyfriends. Or even worse, taking the morning train to Paris so the only colorist who can really pull off that particular tone of hebridean ginge can breathe stale garlic fumes all over one’s tuck box from Fauchon.

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Hugh Grant tackles a weasel on the Beeb and shows why grammar school boys (weasel) can never win when confronted with public school boys who were once jolly good at cricket (Grant).

The scandal is now off and running. Grant makes some very serious allegations. That noise you hear is the sound of pols distancing themselves from Murdoch.

The question remains: what will HRH now read over cornflakes of a Sunday?

Hugh Grant: How I exposed hacking [BBC]

Hugh Grant revisits his role in News of the World’s demise [LAT]

Breaking: Arizona Voters to SB 1070 Architect: Papers, Please: Senate President Pearce Has Been Recalled.

“Cor, stone the crows! Did not see this coming.” David Brooks professes amazement in the pages of the New York Times. Senator McCain immediately booked on all Sunday’s talk shows. Governor Brewer has 15 days to set date for election.

Stinquer RML attending Duct Tape Expo and is unavailable for comment.

For as long as I can remember there’s been a News of the World. Not that I ever read it, or knew anyone else who did, it was just always there, mouldering in a corner, stinking of stale beer and cigarette smoke. When one bought cod and chips on the way home from the films on a Saturday night, as one doused them in vinegar and salt, the newsprint that came off on one’s hand was more often than not from News of the World. It fostered a working-class dream of upper-class scandals, exposing naughty debs and Lords cavorting with telly stars. It thrived on tits and bums, poofter vicars exposing themselves, MPs with a bit on the side, and sex-starved housewives luring innocent boys into their webs of shame. It came out every Sunday and, last I heard, cost two and six or, if you prefer, a half-crown.

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Tired of ranting nobodies? Sick of ignorant cry-babies? Weary of christianist fascists? Plus there’s nothing on TV?

Here’s something to soothe the savage breast.

Brazil’s Fanny Brice in a witty rendition of a Chattanooga Choo Choo. Seen here, released from the iron grip of Busby Berkley’s boring ’ography, CM’s charm and grace can be better appreciated. Hermes Pan lets her shine.

John Osborne’s fave movie star.

As is widely known, on average between four to five percent of men are likely to be homosexual. So far we have elected 42 Americans and one Kenyan. By my reckoning, since many were Republicans, that means we’ve had at least sixteen of my people in the White House. Some of our more distinguished men who love men include:

George Washington.

Well, I mean, look at him.

Had way too much fun up at Lake Ticonderoga as a twenty-something soldier. Fun which was repeated when, as leader of the continental army, he sat outside Boston for the better part of a year so he could hit the bars. War won (thank you, France), like any self-respecting gay pol he found an heiress to finance his public life and settled down.

Biggest achievement: White breeches.

Biggest disappointment: Failure to convince Congress that what the newly minted country most needed, apart from a strong centralized government, was hereditary knighthoods.

Best line: “Some things are better without teeth.”

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No, not Michele but her husband Marcus.

The big old queen next to Boehner in this heart-warming scene.

Matt Taibbi (I know, I know) burns down the barn in his account of Michele’s burning desire to become the dumbest woman in America. That she’s been amply blessed by nature may be true. But there’s no doubt that Marcus, described as her “strategist”, raises the game to a whole new level of arrogant ignorance.