Closing the Screws is a bit like impounding a car instead of the hoons who thieved it, crashed it, and are back down the park, on the swings, with their white lightening. What an illuminating week. And a weird one. I learned, again, that Twitter is a fantastically entertaining place to follow a developing news narrative and yet, still, a deeply flawed one. NI learned, apparently, at last, that some shit does stick, and several hundred reporters learned they were soon to be out of a job. Plus ça change? And all that before I remember David Morribund and Johann Hari, both of whom I overlooked last week because I was swimming in the sea off Mallorca. More of them later... First though, I spent much of the week remembering a time in a London university library three years ago, when I was researching the Screws for an article we were writing on media ethics and privacy. The piece followed an interview we had done with Max Mosely (after chasing him into a Portcullis House toilet) during his, then quite public, campaign against Screws' practices. I should note, I found myself peculiarly sympathetic for Max, despite my numerous prejudices. I continue to believe that no matter how weird and wonky were Max's private pleasures, they remained his business (and, perhaps, his therapist's) but not mine. I mention Max because my research in the library concentrated on the recent history and dealings of the Screws and its reporters. After Rebekah Brooks left the paper in 2003, the Screws has had two insipid and ineffectual editors. I think that's fair comment given that Andy Coulson resigned after the original Goodman hacking case, and Colin Myler presided over the Mosley affair (and others) with striking uncertainty. I think this is significant for two reasons. 1. It poses intriguing and alarming questions about the priorities of the everyday tabloid editor. Coulson claimed that he was unaware of various hacking stories. Indeed, because of where they appeared in the paper, he would have paid them no attention. Surely there was never an editor who knew everything about each and every one of his stories, but for Coulson to be so unaware suggests that his attention was not properly focussed. If it were my paper, I think I would feel (and look) like a bit of an arse if I had no idea what was being published under my name each week. Not all of these hacking stories were minor and insignificant. This lack of focus seems endemic. It's easy to think of other editors (yes, you, Mr Moron), all recent, who have had to backtrack from daft nonsense published under their watch. Where else could their attention be? My point, simply, is that if you edit a newspaper, the editorial function should be your primary focus. If it isn't, you're a crap editor, and deserve to lose your paper. 2. Point number two: culpability. Presumably, by closing the Screws, NI (like a surgeon with a gangrenous leg) is hoping to loose the limb and the infection with it. The surgeon doesn't have a gangrenous leg, obviously, he has a patient with a gangrenous leg... never-mind. However, just as I find it challenging to believe that Coulson had no idea (he hasn't, after all, used the one believable defense... sorry, everyone, it appears I was hopelessly incompetent...), I find it challenging to believe that Ms Wade, Master Murdoch, and maybe even the old man, were as unaware as they claim to have been. Just as Big Dave surely thought to ask, "er, Andy, these hacking rumors, there's nothing in them is there?" Master Murdoch must surely have demanded the same knowledge from Ms Wade et al... Surely? I can't believe otherwise and I doubt many others will. That's the problem with sepsis... maybe the other leg will have to go, and the waist, the torso... we'll be left with a Murdoch head in a jar... Weird week. On which note, I grow bored of the Screws story (or, indeed, any story where people start to mention the 'court of public opinion') and move on to something really disturbing... The David Milliband Reality Tour This short video, which no doubt you all saw long ago, is sad, depressing, weird, funny, existentially disturbing and, I think, quite damning. That politicians treat media interviews like this reflects badly on both parties. That Mr Miliband can sit in a room across from a fellow human being, maintain that peculiar robotic expression and parrot this rubbish belittles his claim to leadership (most days I can think of a cogent, intelligent answer when asked a question, a prospective national leader aught to be able to surpass me). That the You Tube video went viral and exposed this frippery is another triumph for this magical little technology we all, increasingly, take for granted. And as for Johann Hari, well, I have no quotes to hand...