In Fleet Street mythology, Bridget Rowe was once a monstrous chthonic* character whose pathetic attempts at emulation of the Kelvin Mackenzie-saurus - the unreconstructed scrote par excellence - finally led to her downfall at Mirror Group at the hands of (ironically) her anti-idol some time in the late '90s.
In the evolutionary history of women in senior management journalism, she was some hideous throwback to a reptile-like lineage who, in mutated Godzilla style, rampaged over all and sundry - man, woman and cancer victim. The very sight of her vast, glazed white choppers - aesthetically, tusks - was enough to turn any decent sentient life to stone. These were not fangs for the aid of digestion but some sort of genetic trope (or topos) for the impregnation of horror in the beholder - all the more horrible when framed by those Joker-style carmine-slapped lips whose slime and lipstick trails led to all sorts of interesting places.
This Medusa of Misery is not heard of these days - she is never mentioned in best editor lists, you will not find her wretched name in any book index. No memoirs, no Tina Brown-style reinvention, no longed-for TV fame; not even an honour from HM or PM. True, in 2004, she wrote a guest column for Press Gazette but this only served to confirm her uncharacteristic good judgement in not pursuing a writing career. Nothing followed. It's as if even the Street of Shame dare not remind itself of her one-time regnancy (or existence). She was last seen flogging T-shirts at Ascot about two years ago.
Do you know where this creature has gone to ground? Did she perchance mount a horse that carried her over the rainbow? Do you have something to tell me about her? Madame Arcati is all ears.
*Pertains to a thing of the underworld
PS I've remained intrigued by Stephen Glover's 1998 investigation into the curious case of the 130,000+ phantom "sold" copies of Rowe's The People which nonetheless were recorded as sales in 1994 - a case not resolved so far as I know. Ancient history in tabloid terms but worth thinking about - for those who care about such matters click here.
16 comments:
Presumably, from what is said on the Jacque (sic) Evans management website, she "took her expertise to radio and television," along with a group of other non-entities. She is also described there as a "Spontaneous, witty and charismatic broadcaster and journalist," - a rather more fulsome description of her character...
There's that story about her dreaming Jilly Cooper was about to die, in the early 90s, so she got her hacks to doorstep the writer. Then she had a dream Princess Anne was pregnant and made it a splash. The last thing about her was she went off to the opera with David Montgomery, when he was CEO of the Mirror, and she fell off her chair or something.
I remember her sacking a writer for being pregnant - the case was settled when a load of hacks turned up to the industrial tribual hearing.
Amanda Platell could tell you a pretty tale or two but you don't like her either, do you Madame?
Dear old Death Rowe. My parents used to invite her round for dinner because they had to and her teeny weeny jockey husband would sit in the corner getting drunk.
<< Dear old Death Rowe. >>
The lethal injection is due tomorrow.
She turned up (like the proverbial bad penny) unannounced at a UKIP London regional committee meeting on Jan 5th 2009, on the grounds that she has promised to help Nigel Farage with press during the forthcoming Euro elections. Several members of the committee objected to her presence and she was asked to leave. Draw your own conclusions!
Thank you for that info. If you'd like to contact me in confidence by email, please do. I'd be most interested in more, er, colour.
How can I write in defence of Death Rowe?
Well....I met her when we were both teenagers on holiday in Cornwall and - memorably - we landed up exploring each other in an old-style bathroom in a 5 star hotel in which our respective families were staying.
The bathroom steamed up wonderfully - and caused an alert at the hotel reception desk - because we wanted to keep down the sound of what we were up to.
She was a lovely, willing and adventurous girl who later dumped me at Victoria Bus Station (note that pathetic detail) during September 1965 because I was being boring as I went off to the US for a scholarship year.
My fear was that she would arrive at one of the newspaper titles on which I subsequently worked and either seek to exact total silence from me or be inappropriate and insist that we should finish off what we had never quite managed to achieve in that hotel bathroom.
On reflection, if the two of us had been able to give each other the seeing-too on that holiday that we both needed, then our lives/histories and the welfare of others might have been immeasurably improved.
I fumbled with inexperience, so what did I create?
I suppose I should frame your contribution as the first to suggest that Rowe is something more than a monstrous caricature. Even I must concede that there may have been a time when she underwent the usual rites of passage - anal or vaginal or whatever - before the crass certainties of adulthood took over.
If it's any comfort, I very much doubt that she would have turned out better had you and she consummated your youthful curiosity. She was a bad 'un from the start, it's just you didn't notice.
you do know she is now the press officer for a certain UKIP prospective parliamentary candidate now......
Farage? I could Google but can't be bothered.
Heard she now owns a clothes shop in Westerham called Zebra Zebra
She does indeed. Oxfam with tooth whitener.
She is a very nice person worked hard and did very well. Do I sense total jealousy¡¡ you have to be ruthless in business
A nice person? Are you on Tramadol or something? Even her best friends would describe her as an outrageous bully - at least she was as a magazine and newspaper editor. Why do you think Private Eye dubbed her 'Death' Rowe? She should be ashamed of herself - certainly she's better off in her nondescript boutique in Kent where 'immigrants' are thin on the ground.
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