The Grand Romance taking place amongst the denizens of the Fourth Estate
Why have we turned our backs on love? This time of year there is no more beautiful place than Britain. As aged leaves wither on old English oak, Keats’s season of mist and mellow fruitfulness is upon us and elderly Sunday Telegraph readers yell at their long suffering wives over tepid tea and the cryptic crossword, thoughts invariably fall like leaves from the tree of romance, love and the dark embrace of the winter that is to come. Unexpectedly, quite wonderfully there is a love story being played out in the midst of the most hyped trial of our times. Eight honorable persons of the journalistic profession find themselves cruelly maligned at the Old Bailey, the highest court in the land. Their crime? Merely doing an honest days work with the tools at their disposal. Their rewards? Well, a packet-load of mullah from the well oiled hands of Mr Murdoch which is most certainly a certifiable offence if the communists in charge of the assault on free speech are to be believed. The result? Well, that is a bit unexpected . . . and a tad bit wonderful. You see whilst we the British have consistently turned our backs on the fruits of love and romance since the post-sixties slide into degeneration and deviancy, a very real love story is being played out in Court Twelve of the Old Bailey. The romance of the rich and powerful and the downright good. I speak of none other than the love affair between Mr Andy Coulson and Ms Rebekah Brooks.
I must admit that times in this trade can often wear me down like a decrepit dachshund missing its masters leg. I feel the fatigue of this great nation as we spiral down yet further into a maxed-out credit account of poor policy, worse planning, benefits for the needy and abject gayness. Why not then celebrate what is beautiful, tantalising and pure when it concerns the great and the good from our intellectual intelligentsia? The “revelation” last week that Ms Brooks and Mr Coulson experienced a transcendent love affair lasting at least six years should have come as a welcome rosy glow of sunshine to all those who hope and believe in a better Britain. That such talented journalists and fecund minds should have met eyeball to eyeball over a photocopier or some such office device, planned out weekend trips to Paris or brunches in Battersea gastropubs via Blackberry Messenger; made love, sweet sweet love as the voicemails of such “luminaries” as Hugh Grant or a missing thirteen year old schoolgirl were mined for all they were worth (albeit totally and utterly legally I might add), should this not fill our hearts and minds with the abiding presence of romantic bliss in all our lives? If Coulson and Brooks are capable of such passion and emotion who can say we are not all capable of such carnal and completed love? It is a mystery to me why those on the side of the right in public life refuse to play this angle as regards to “the story” - Andy and Rebekah are roll models for crying out loud! They met and fell happily and faithfully in love whilst fighting the forces of collectivised socialism that Blair and his ilk imposed upon us. What’s not to love?! Sadly the “conversation” regarding the “phone hacking” trial has largely revolved around who-did-what-and-with-whom and did it invade the privacy of private (and highly vulnerable) citizens. This is a shame, albeit one that could only have been expected coming from the convoluted pit of public discourse that has emerged in this country since The Beatles, Harold Wilson, Twiggy and Ken Dodd told us that love was a thing to be laughed at; that it was a “trick” designed by “squares.” That instead of love we should all of us - man, woman and child - resign ourselves to lives spent strung out on acid and masturbating to Top Of The Pops. I ask you gentle reader - for the sake of all that is right and hopeful and old fashionably romantic to reject this cold cynicism. Believe in love! Believe in Andy and Rebekah! Give hope to the NOTW Two! For if we turn our backs on this pair of star-crossed media executives who may or may not have hacked the phone of a murdered teenager we are truly giving in to our worst fears - especially regarding the nature of the ginger community that Ms Brooks is a part of.
In my darkest moments - waking as I often do, heart pounding at 4 AM to check my Twitter feed, I fear for the worst. I fear for them . . . the darlings. Whilst hoping beyond hope that the Great British public will give love a chance. As the trial goes on and more skeletons are unmasked can we at least not listen to our heartbeats and sense the love between this pair of cutesters? I know I for one (blissful romantic as I may well be) am looking forward to hearing more excerpts from love letters exchanged; more details of Valentines gifts from Ann Summers given. Words can not truly express the magic, the chemistry, the utter love and connection between these two so I will let music do the talking. A.C, Beks - this one’s for you.
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