All Rather Ugly

November 25, 2008

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Many years ago, in the infancy of his career in the law, Blade acted for a gentleman who wished to sue his daughter for libel. Unusually, this was a libel claim which would be heard in the county court. It never got there, the judge taking such a dim view of it at pre-trial stage that the parties – whose animosity was as remarkable as the existence of the legal proceedings between them – were persuaded to settle.

Now, years later, we have the spectacle of a leading barrister, part-time judge and best-selling memoirist being sued for libel by her mother. Constance Briscoe, whose book Ugly soared high in the book charts, paving the way for Beyond Ugly, its sequel, finds herself in court having been sued by her mother, Carmen Briscoe-Mitchell. The case is making headlines, as, for example, in this story in the Times, one which doesn’t stint on the lurid allegations being thrown back and forth in the august realms of the Royal Courts of Justice.

Unfortunately, even those who welcome a return of the amateur theatrics of the libel action are likely to shake their heads in despair at this one. How on earth does it come to such a pass that a mother and daughter end up in court? What has prevented them, to date, reaching a settlement? To litigate is one thing but to step into the witness box quite another; that both were prepared to do so shows an uncommon depth of feeling.

One which just might end up in a book – anyone for a mother and daughter joint-authored account of the trial, perhaps called The Ugliness Is Over Now?

Meanwhile, The Ugly Book could do with a boost up the Amazon ratings, so Blade is alerting readers to its existence here.

 

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From the inside of the maze, ethically outwards

February 9, 2012

Curious times in the media; strange days at The Times.

Would ‘Dacre Cards‘ – the system of licensing journalists proposed by Daily Mail editor Paul Dacre – have prevented the embarrassment now palpable at the Times over the NightJack story?

Times editor James Harding’s evidence to the Leveson Inquiry seemed heartfelt and contrite, albeit that the paper’s former long-serving and much-respected lawyer, Alastair Brett, seems to have been, er, rather dropped in it. Clearly, mistakes were made with regard to NightJack by young reporter Patrick Foster who, once he had hacked into NightJack’s account and thus discovered his identity, then embarked on a quest to expose it via legitimate methods. This, as Inquiry counsel Robert Jay QC put it, was “rather like working from the inside of the maze out”.

But had Foster been licensed via a Dacre Card, would this unsavoury episode in the Times’s history have been avoided?

We suspect not. A raft of laws were in existence at precisely the time when many News of the World journalists seemed to believe that they were entitled to hack any phone they liked. Those laws forbade them from doing so, and yet made no difference. Aside from the obvious objection to them – that they will squeeze out freelancers and citizen journalists – Dacre Cards would simply amount to something to circumvent.

What is really required is an ethical shake-up, from top to bottom. Society generally – not just journalists – needs a sense that some things are just plain wrong.

Supreme Court on Twitter

February 6, 2012

Something remarkable happened today. Yes, the Supreme Court launched its Twitter feed. It even has a Twitter policy, one of caveats, disclaimers and little by way of illumination but regardless: who would have thought that the successor body to the House of Lords would stoop to engage with the world of tweets, hashtags and retweets?

We look forward to the day when court business will be conducted via Twitter. Meantime, check out this link for an excellent blog on the Supreme Court.

Not so right said Fred

February 2, 2012
fred hat

So Farewell, then, Sir Fred Goodwin.

Now you are just Fred.

Not Right Said Fred, but plain Fred.

The Forfeiture Committee did for you.

No one had heard of it before,

But Dave said it had to act, and it did.

Trouble is that no one knows what to think.

Is it ‘Alas, poor Fred‘,

Or ‘Hurray! Sir Fred is dead!’?

We don’t know.

Do you?

By A. Mob, aged 1,378 and a half.