Jonathan King on Leveson: 'Dacre was mumbly and Steve Coogan needs a haircut'

Jonathan King, not as Lord Justice Leveson

Jonathan King talks to Madame Arcati about the Leveson Inquiry which is examining UK media regulation, ethics and practices in the wake of the phone hacking scandal. What does he think of Paul Dacre's performance in the witness box? Which newspaper editor has the worst hairstyle? And what does he hope to bring to the party if called to give evidence? Read on....


Q: Darling, you've applied to be a 'core participant' in the Leveson Inquiry - I may have missed it, but what's the outcome? Or if there is no outcome, when will you know the decision?


JK: The outcome was pretty rapidly NO, I'm NOT a Core Participant Victim (not yet proved to be a hacking victim, in the fairly narrow confines of the Inquiry description) but will hopefully be called as a Witness in the next couple of months.


Q: Can you tell us the gist of what you'd like to say to Leveson? For instance, would you mention how Andy Coulson at the News of the World rigged a photo of you in a park to make it appear you were ogling young people?


JK: Very much - the "Pervert in the Park" doctored photo is prime evidence of how one single witness for the NOTW (Editor Andy Coulson), denying they did it, was enough to convince the head of the committee examining it at the PCC (Les Hinton - then boss of News International, owner of NOTW) that the paper had NOT breached the PCC code. The executive "meant" to be in charge of my complaint was Stephen Abell - now Chairman of the PCC. My evidence alone could shut down the PCC.

I believe my entire prosecution is incredibly illuminating to the Inquiry regarding the relationship between Police and Media. Whether GOOD (Crimewatch) or BAD - my case shows how a case can be constructed and get to a conviction with no evidence - just one person's word against another's. Likewise the fascinating "Matthew Kelly" incident, just days before my appeal was due to be heard. I've had first hand experience. For example - how precisely did The Sun hear about my arrest (they were at my front door within minutes)? And was a photographer really strolling through Hyde Park at just the moment I was there being interviewed for a TV show?

Q: What do you think of Leveson so far? Do you think the judge should be careful of saying over and over again that he thinks most of the journalism out there is good and valuable?

JK: I'm thoroughly enjoying the Inquiry. Leveson himself has won a JK Best Supporting Eyebrows Oscar. But yes, his determination to be fair at all points, whilst laudable, is also illustrative of how the law suffocates truth with boredom, even if it doesn't intend to. I fear that the Inquiry might err towards condemnation and restriction of the media where it needs to focus on how the whole system has been broken.

Q: Which witnesses have especially improved or damaged their reputation as a result of appearing at Leveson?

JK: I seem to feel differently to everyone else. I'm a fan of Kelvin's, so I'm biased. I thought Richard Desmond was very good and quite funny whereas Paul (Dolly) Dacre was mumbly, irritated, truculent and snappy. I'm glad Steve Coogan won all that money - maybe now he can afford a decent haircut. Talking of haircuts, virtually EVERY Editor has ghastly hair. Richard Wallace of the Mirror is tonsorially extraordinary. Hislop was fun. Waxie Maxie is clearly not a well man. He dressed for a funeral, kept chewing and gurning, shifting and looking uneasy. I fear he won't be with us for much longer; such a shame. He's kept us all entertained for so many years.

Q: Will Leveson make much of a difference in the end?

JK: I don't think the Inquiry was intended to. It was set up by Spoonface Cameron to make him appear (in the media) to be strong and forceful (bombing innocents in Libya wasn't doing it). I think Leveson himself has every intention of improving things and he can if he doesn't allow himself to be steered into the wrong direction. After all, the horrendous crime of giving the parents of a dead teenager false hope for a few weeks (can anyone explain why that is SO dreadful?) may shock us all (in the media) far more than the inefficiency of our civil servants but the broken system needs far more than a Band Aid and the media is the least of our problems. The millions of our tax monies spent on an Inquiry might have been better wasted prosecuting football managers or paying banker bonuses.

Q: And finally, what's the Inquiry room like? Any BO?

JK: Far smaller than one thinks, no smells or farts but lots of computer screens - apt. The Royal Courts however are glorious - I'll turn it into a hotel any day if they'll let me. It's wasted as it is. To think, my lips have now sipped from the same glass as Hugh Grant, Paul (Dolly) Dacre, Heather Mills and the McCanns! And my buttocks have graced the same seat as Neville Thurlbeck. Isn't life a fascinating parade of excitement.

Thank you so much for your time.

The News of the World: Time to bring it back!

One of the joys of being me is that I can change my mind without shame. So while it is true I rarely ever had a good word to say about the late News of the World, I now say this: bring it back! I don't make this plea because I think it was especially brilliant: its absence simply draws attention to the sheer awfulness of the survivors.

The Sunday Mirror is a thin soup of nothing-in-particular and lame commentary - who cares what the pompous teeth-bearing TV newsreader Mark Austin thinks about anything? Its TV supplement Celebs is printed on nasty cheap bog roll paper and makes the Screws' Fabulous look like Vogue. The People may still interest a few pre-internet thugs who use ITV Teletext to find last minute holiday bargains. The Sunday Express at least has a short story - amazing. The Mail on Sunday is no substitute: its market is quite different and lacks the essential celebrity smut the Screws served up with a side dish of moral nosegay.

No, bring it back. What I need is prurient eye-anchoring to fill the 20 minutes I dedicate to breakfast cereal and two black coffees on a Sunday morning. If the Murdochs think the brand irreparably toxic then retitle the paper as part of the exorcism. The World might work. Yes, call it The World. Most of the staff could be brought back, even Carole Malone from her rhetorical hells, and saved a fate in Finland or wherever. Its return need not stop Twitter's @exnotwjourno2 from writing her Hackgate play.

I'm astonished James Murdoch didn't think of this himself. How much is he on?

Hackgate: The Sunday Times and the gigglers

I bought the Sunday Times for the first time in ages yesterday, thinking I might find contrition over Hackgate on every page. And how wrong I was! Chortles, chortles everywhere. The diktat from on high is plainly to laugh off the scandal, to treat it with amused patience. News International's many critics are not the enemy: they are source material for knowing giggles. Which brings us straight to AA Gill.

Dispatching him to review the parliamentary select committee's bungled inquisition of the Murdochs was a clever move. Such is Adrian's unstoppable eye for physical imperfection, he could mirth up Treblinka. Tom Watson, we are reminded, claimed £4,800-worth of food exes in one year (cue fattist joke); and the committee chairman's reaction to the pie splat was the 'horrified demeanour of a dowager duchess who has discovered a naked Zulu in her bath.' Ah yes, a naked Zulu. Foreign.

None of this gentle knockabout will have exacerbated reader-hernias, but the branded (ie Gill-ish) comic intention, harnessed to a practised prose power, was sufficient to maintain a virtual smirk. More to the point, this souffle propaganda posed no threat to Gill's long-term contract with the paper.

Close by was Adrian's pal Jeremy Clarkson who has already told readers that one of his best friends is Rebekah Brooks. Buried in his usual auto-throwaway shtick was his take on Hackgate: 'The people who knew the person who once met someone at a party who may or may not have illegally listened to Sienna Miller making a hair appointment.' Giggles! Renew that man's contract!

Over on the next page, an interview with Chipping Norton resident Alex James by Giles Hattersley lay in wait. Young Giles kicked off about Hackgate's Chipping Norton set - 'The Camerons, Rebekah Brooks and the junior Murdochs, all hanging out in the Cotswolds, being fabulous and powerful in... honey-coloured homes.' Y'know, bit like Dallas, but with the oil flowing copiously at Wapping. This was mild court foolery, licensed, liveried impudence. Yet the Sun would never have permitted it.

Boldest of all the gigglers was the anonymous author of the Wendi Deng profile, the 'Crouching tiger, hidden big hitter'. She was described as the 'quietly dutiful wife of Rupert Murdoch'; and readers of Private Eye's latest Murdoch pisstake, featuring Wendi and her reputed Anglo-Chinese joke pronunciation, will be interested to learn that she does indeed call Rupert 'Lupert'. Irksome pre-marital gossip was rehashed; even Murdoch's hostile biographer Michael Wolff got quoted without insulting epithet. We were told that the old man's habit of banging the table as he talks 'must get on [Wendi's] nerves at the breakfast table'. I don't doubt it.

Certainly the ST's Hackgate damage limitation strategy is cleverer than the Sun's, but then the market's different. A well-informed readership wouldn't tolerate express attempts to justify, extenuate or downplay journalistic illegalities. Instead, we get the worldly yawn veiled in toothless irreverence, the 'Oh yah, yah. Next!' treatment. The emperor's nakedness is observed without drama; the sense of a passing fuss about nothing in particular is implied in sundry asides. A case of hoped-for Hackgate death by wisecrack.

Put another way, the gigglers made their own case for the abandonment of press self-regulation. Pronto.

@ExNOTWjourno2: Mystery 'M' of Twitter who knows all about News International

Who is the mysterious @ExNOTWjourno2 who has been dropping prophetic cryptic clues on Twitter about the phone hacking scandal? I have no idea. But having once been myself an anonymous supplier of juicy nuggets, who fooled hundreds of gullible London hacks by dint of intimidating talent, I cannot but be intrigued. 'She' answers to Marie and signs off as M. So we're looking for a man who likes Sudoku.

Her bio reads: 'Journalist @ NOTW for last 5 years. Axed to save skin of Rebekah Brooks! Enough Is Enough Of This Horse Sh#t !'

'What is the Colour Of Justice?' she tweeted around 10am today. This afternoon we heard the news that the boss of Orange had resigned. Could Hackgate (and justice hue) have something to do with Orange? Enjoy the game if it's not a con!

Some tweeters claim that M with her capitalised clues has anticipated many of the major happenings in the unfolding scandal. She claims to be on a revenge mission ever since the Murdochs shut down the News of the World and made her redundant. Apparently she declined to sign a gagging order yet it's news to me that redundancy offers have been made to ex-staff. I could be wrong.

The news today that Hackgate whistle-blower, and former Screws showbiz hack, Sean Hoare, has been found dead in his home in un-suspicious circumstances, prompted M to write: 'RIP Sean.. Now i'm really going to go for the jugular... I Don't Feel I Can Continue.. Sean would want me too... This isn't right possums. This situation has spiralled out of control. I will ensure the people behind this pay.'

Of the select committee inquisition due, she growls: 'I have a front row seat for tomorrow possums.. It's going to [sic] ad a bloodbath. NI thwarted the first investigation.'

Another prediction? 'It's Only Monday.. You wait until Thursday.' I'm not sure Madame Arcati can take much more excitement.

Clemency Jopling and her erotic musings on Rupert Murdoch

Clemency Jopling of yesteryear

Delighted to see that the erotic fiction author Clemency Jopling has set up a blog called Clemency Jopling's Erotic Jottings: she vows to write 'about anything erotic that seems likely to amuse, arouse, or interest the reader.'

In dubious fulfilment of this promise, she naturally name-drops the less-than-nubile Madame Arcati in a posting on the Dignitas pin-up model Rupert Murdoch. Apparently I am a 'scarred and grizzled' veteran of Fleet Street - even if finding one wrinkle on my moist flesh would challenge the talents of the late hawk-eyed Helena Rubenstein - which I think may be misrepresenting my varied background. Like a humming bird I have dipped my beak in many a career bloom so that versatility is my key quality.

In her next work of fiction, she may wish to focus on a passionate liaison, that transgressively crosses the age divide, between an 80 year-old media mogul and his worshipful, flame-haired CEO, 40-something. The trauma of ED might be highlighted in graphic scenes of phone hacking vacuum pumping.

Those unfamiliar with Clemency's oeuvre may wish to immerse - Amazon. Her titles include Mr Biddulph Sees a Ghost (The Erotic Adventures of Mr Biddulph) and Mrs Smith's Academy IV: Zuleika's Correction.

Rupert Murdoch arrested: the words we dare not speak for some reason

The end of the News of the World: let me savour those beautiful words. Allow me to roll those delicious vowels and consonants over my tongue. Never did I imagine Madame Arcati would outlive the corrupt farrago that became the Screws. Of course, the Sun on Sunday, or some such, will serve as replacement, though its SOS acronym is perhaps too ironic to prevail.

Rupert Murdoch is lauded for his dark genius in pressing the nuclear option and distracting us for a few seconds as we mouth silent shock-horrors and wonder what will happen to Carole Malone and her 'hell' tropes. This is not genius but guile, though I must admit he caught me and the rest on the hop.

Actually his true genius is more subtle, entirely mercurial and located in an omission. We debate the heinousness of his past editors and journalists without ever entertaining the idea that he, Murdoch himself, should be arrested, tried, and if convicted, jailed. Every line of police inquiry should not end just at the point of executive control of corruption - such as with the Andy Coulsons or Rebecca Brookses - but should journey on to the fount, the inspiration - to the baby factory of journalistic nightmare. To Rupert.

Book after book by ex-Murdoch editors chronicle the same story: of a bullying, manipulative proprietor ever pushing back the boundaries of decency and legality in his Borg-like mission to reduce the world to a mindless form of voluntary moronism, with programme guides. Rebecca Wade nee Brooks became what we see today by imitation of her boss. She and others translated his desires via practical, modern-day methods. Did he ever give any thought to how stories were obtained as he licked his cash-fingers? The DNA of this hideous chapter in British journalism may be traced to Old Rupes and what he expected by way of results.

What he knew or didn't know precisely is neither here nor there. He was happy to shovel the profits even when, as years ago, he knew something was up. Now with his usual ruthlessness he dumps 200 staff on a heap. Some will make it to SOS of course.

But he remains at large.

Rebekah Brooks and Milly Dowler: Simple, just apply the Sharon Shoesmith test

The matter of Rebekah Brooks, chief executive of News International's UK ops, and what as editor of The News of the World in 2002 she may or may not, or ought to, have known about the Milly Dowler phone hacking outrage, bears an uncanny resemblance to the matter of former Haringey boss Sharon Shoesmith and what she knew or ought to have known about Baby P.

Brooks, nee Wade as editor of The Sun in 2007, was merciless in her persecution of Shoesmith, holding her to account because she was a highly paid executive presiding over a tax-funded, dysfunctional children's service. Personal knowledge was an irrelevance. In a fateful twist that involves a child-victim, Brooks now finds herself in a not dissimilar situation, trying to save herself by making a virtue of her ignorance when she presided over what was plainly a dysfunctional newspaper.

Surely, in deciding whether Brooks go now, or when she's pregnant next year (see the current Private Eye for more), we should apply the principle she championed against Shoesmith: take personal responsibility because she was there. Like Shoesmith, Brooks was on a huge, perks-fattened salary, in return for her management skills. Indeed, Brooks' salary and perks far exceeded Shoesmith's.

Like Andy Coulson at the Screws, Brooks raised the stakes and imposed a bullying staff culture which made failure a no-option. Cheating was an inevitable consequence of her mindless careerism and pandering to Murdoch. She was happy to take the credit for her newspaper when promotion was dangled before her, but not the debit when disgrace is the alternative.

So Rebekah, practise what you preached against poor old Shazza.

Hugh Grant, the former Screws hack and the haunted pub in Dover

The Castle Inn, Dover

It's certainly the most delicious media story of the year (to date). A major British actor bugs the hack who once bugged him. Their topic of conversation: illegal phone hacking. Part of the transcript of Hugh Grant's highly revealing taped conversation with former News of the World whistle-blower Paul McMullan is now online at the New Statesman website: click here.

Priceless nuggets include Andy Coulson's alleged complicity in phone hacking, the PM's unhealthy proximity to Rupert Murdoch moll Rebekah Brooks (who, as one witty Arcatiste has pointed out to me, looks more like Robert Plant every day) and how Murdoch wickedly plays his multi-media games with celebrity pawns - the Nicole Kidman/Moulin Rouge! tale is a thing of beauty.

Grant travelled to the Dover pub/hotel McMullan runs, The Castle Inn, where all was revealed; and he generously encourages readers to pay the establishment a visit. It sits on the corner of Dolphin Lane and Russell Street. Click here to read about the colourful history of the 18th century coaching inn: it is of course haunted, and the medium Derek Acorah will want to know about the 'creaks, icy blasts and apparitions' should he ever be called in for a spot of exorcism.

I only mention all this because I want to see Mr McMullan safe and secure in his new business, out of harm's way and solvent. He is a very important source for future scholars of the worst scandal ever to hit British newspapers. Long may he thrive.

Andy Coulson: 'Top News of the World exec approved illegal phone hacking'

Lawyers have secured startling new evidence that 'implies' that a senior editorial executive at the News of the World approved the illegal hacking of voicemail messages from the phones of Sienna Miller, Jude Law and others. The Guardian publishes details of these fresh claims and more: click here.

Former Screws editor Andy Coulson, who is now the Prime Minister's media boss at No 10, and others at News International, have always contended that only Clive Goodman, the Screws' former royal correspondent, used private investigator Glenn Mulcaire to hack mobiles.

The Guardian reports that Scotland Yard has had this new evidence in its possession for years but failed to investigate it. Only a few days ago the Yard gave Coulson the all-clear.

The paper also reveals that 'The new evidence discloses that it was Neville Thurlbeck who signed the formal contract paying Mulcaire £2,019 a week to work exclusively for the News of the World.' Amazingly, Coulson knew nothing of this, or so he claims.

More than 20 former News of the World employees have alleged to the Guardian, the New York Times and Channel Four's Dispatches programme that Coulson knew of the use of phone hacking at the paper - which he still denies. And more than 20 celebs are now in various stages of litigation against the Screws and Mulcaire over breach of privacy.

If the paper settles each of these claims as generously as it did Max Clifford's then it faces a £20m legal bill before costs.

The Sun makes up a story to suit a headline (so what's new?)

"10.7m Brits Don't Work (Including the ex-Prime Minister who helped to put them there)," screeches a Sun headline on page 2. Really? Brown is still MP for Kirkcaldy and Cowdenbeath on a basic annual salary of £64,857.85. As confirmed by the Sun on page 9. Goodness knows what Rupert makes of it all.

Oh, and Rupert's authorisation that Brown fucks off to run the IMF may be ignored.

Dominic Mohan: A Gemini mind forced to slum it at The Sun?

Dominic Mohan

The new editor of The Sun is a Madame Arcati-/Katie Price-style Gemini - and for that reason alone I offer him my congratulations. Mercury-dominated Gemini is the sign of and for the media: so I shall be expecting great things of him, such as the sackings of all his charisma-free columnists - all useless. The jury's still out on Gordon Smart (see below).

Too little time to do Dominic's horoscope properly, but I've managed something . He was born on May 26, 1969. Where is not clear. Every profile of him says he's "from Bristol". Does this mean he was born in Bristol? I am assuming it does. In any case provided he was born in that locality it makes little difference.

I have used astro.com for a rapid analysis so I can't be accused of shaping material by what I know. His Sun (not Sun) in the 10th House "promises honour, success, and prestige in adult life. Publicly you appear as a vital, proud, powerful person. Your individuality has the need to manifest itself publicly and often to foist its energy on others."

His Moon in the 2nd House explains his current red top focus: "Occupationally, you are going to be inclined to pursue money through popular activities. In any case, expect a fortune which holds variation and fluctuation. Try to orient your monetary dealings to the general public for you possess the ability to succeed when in touch with the popular masses." So, you see, it was all meant to be. He has found his calling.

A more curious feature of his chart is a disconnect between his brain power and station in life. A number of placements suggests a refined mind but one forced to slum it a bit. I'm sure editing the Sun will balance things out. "In a subtle fashion, fate may force you to become involved in activities that are not up to the level of your abilities," I read. Could this be that in his heart he cringes at the prospect of yet another front page Jordan cock-cunting tale or of whisking his troops off to Butlin's for some bonding with the working classes? I do not know. I can only wonder.

His Moon in Virgo makes him fairly easy to deal with (confirmed by people I know) and I doubt there will be many Rebekah-style hysterics. He is highly analytical and if he has a fault it is his indecisiveness. Presumably he has conquered this. For sure, this guy's a worker. He's a worm in the burrowing sense of the word.

If the mood takes me I may do a full horoscope to see how long he's likely to last.

Gordon Smart loses his Madonna Candy Hard-on

Celebration: A past and present coadunation of Madgestic sounds

Diddums! What did Madonna do to the Sun's Bizarre hack Gordon Smart? Forget to send him a freebie? Today he gives her a good rubbishing in the wake of Radio 1's decision not to playlist her new single Celebration. "Her Madgesty's last album, Hard Candy, didn't do as well as expected. Probably because it was rubbish," he scribbles in his best GCSE-level prose. "I'm also sick of the sight of her parading around in her undercrackers." Why, because she's 51? Rhetorically, as he attempts to stay down with the kids, he asks: "COULD this be the beginning of the end of MADONNA's reign as the Queen Of Pop?"

Oh Gord!

Oh dear. Was it only a year ago - on Aug 25, 2008, to be precise and four months after the Hard Candy release - that he had a waking wet dream over her Sticky & Sweet tour. "Madonna's energy and performance is incredible," he jizzed. "I doff my cap to a 50-year-old pole-dancing and double-dutch skipping mother. Without question, Madonna is still the Queen Of Pop. Long live the Queen." Get the Kleenex out.

It's hard (candy) not to laugh.

Rebekah Wade - You vill vear definable collars!

Someone at the Sun has forwarded me an email from editor Rebekah Wade upbraiding her scurvy staff for their lack of sartorial style. "You vill not vear jeans, boots or T-shirts," she screams. "You vill vear shirts with definable collars, nice frocks - see a Top Shop window display for inspiration." (It is true I have just embellished the detail here but I have captured the spirit of her message: I know how literal some of you are) Rebekah likes to use grown-up words like "monetise" because she's going up to management soon and then Dominic can take over properly and get the editor's salary he richly deserves.

Israel: Ross Kemp and Mrs Kemp

Book into the Carmel Forest Spa Hotel just south of Haifa, an 80 minute drive north of Tel Aviv. A remote, highish altitude (about 1,000ft up) shangri-la on Mt Carmel, set amid pine, much favoured by jaded celebs. Here, you do not sleep but have a "sleep experience" and this is aided by a selection from a Pillow Menu. My first facial is booked, a cycling trip is on the agenda.

At dinner last night, quite by chance, the subject of Ross Kemp [see earlier posting below] came up. A companion told me how the actor had been enthralled by all the fuss last year when his now estranged wife, Sun editor Rebekah Wade, had been briefly detained over night at a police station after a claim of hubby bashing. My dinner companion said: "Ross, who's a very sweet guy it must be said, marvelled at the media storm over the whole thing and would talk about nothing else. I got the impression that he was very flattered and exhilerated by it all. Of course, the problem in that marriage is that she's vastly more successful and driven than he is."

I'm not sure how one measures such matters: he is a household name, I'm not persuaded she is. Only a fellow journalist might try to measure their respective standing in the world. I think their marriage failure is due to much more interesting personal dynamics, but I'm not one to gossip.

Anyhow, I must go now for a Turkish steam experience prior to work on the wizened exterior (or not, as the case maybe).