Cliff Edge

So, the latest to take a tumble off the PR cliff edge that is the widening "Jim'll Really Fix You" sex abuse case is the publicist Max Clifford; now more famous than many of his former clients. An arch proponent of the 'kiss-and-tell' news story - and how apt is that description now? - Clifford first sprang into the national consciousness with the lurid but untrue, "Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster" headline. (Freddie Starr, oh dear...)

Since then he has launched, re-launched or buried careers and been involved in spinning or concealing the activities of such well-loved and reputable public figures as Pamella Bordes, Mohammed Al-Fayed, David Mellor, Derek Hatton, Rebecca Loos, Jade Goody, Doctor Gillian McKeith (or, as Ben Goldacre said, "to give her full title, Gillian McKeith") and John Prescott's secretary, Tracey Temple.

Through a combination of publicity stunts, cover-ups, smoke, mirrors, distractions and outright lies he has made a highly lucrative living as the person you would least like to share a secret with. So it makes you wonder where this latest outing in front of the press cameras is leading.

Given his calling and his track record, if I was the police I wouldn't believe a word of it.

For the love of Paed...

Let’s look at the facts – or failing that, let’s leap to a few conclusions. First, Jimmy Savile seems to have been a right wrong ‘un. Quickly thereafter the Feds knock on the door of the nation’s favourite go-to paedo, Gary “do-you-wanna-be-in-my-gang” Glitter and before you know it, nature-lover Freddie Starr is engaging lawyers.

Bloody hell, we thought, who knew? Then the whispers… John Peel and his ‘Schoolgirl of the Year’ competition and of course the BBC (who in the main appear to have employed or otherwise paid lots of dosh to the majority of the accused) gleefully touted the unsubstantiated ‘Tory-peer-who-shall-remain-nameless-but-it-was HIM’ story. In the oh-so-apt Twitter phrase, *facepalm*.

And now, just as it seemed to be settling down, The Hairy Cornflake, Dave Lee Travis is having his collar felt and all of a sudden it’s the Seventies in flashback. Flowers, flares and fanny could have been the mantra of the post-pirate DJs and ‘popsters’. Jonathan King had some sort of fling, around the time Chuck Berry was singing about his ding-a-ling.

Aargh, I need mind bleach! It’s everywhere! Every famous person I remember from my childhood is in the frame. If I was Simon Bates, or Mike Read, or Noel Edmonds, I’d be getting out the Cillit Bang and making sure all my records were scrupulously clean. (I’m betting David ‘Kid’ Jensen is starting to regret that chirpy nickname now.)

And what of poor old ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris… Even as I say his name – and, dear God, please don’t let this be true – you can’t help yourself imagining a dark room, a hand on the shoulder and a gentle “don’t worry, I won’t hurt you…” before a new talent is subjected to the Old Grey Whistle Test.

In the Seventies (thanks, Marilyn French) all men were declared rapists. In the Noughteens (I'm baggsying that word) we’re all paedophiles, guilty whether innocent or not. Careers will be wrecked and reputations ruined as this most emotive of accusations turns good lives bad and idols into monsters. Once you pin on the paedo badge you’ve branded somebody for life.

Kangaroos in bondage, Rolf? Noooooo!

So what can we expect over the weekend? Were you paid by the BBC in the seventies? Have you ever had a hit record? Did you appear on Top of the Pops? Have you ever presented a show in which children were featured? If I was Rolf Harris I’d really be shitting myself right now… If only those Two Little Boys could talk?

So, what did Jimmy fix for you?

I go away for two weeks and you're STILL all talking about Mr Savile's predatory sexual tendencies in tones of horror and surprise and guess what? Out of the wormy woodpile ooze more and more of the allegedly abused, fuelling more and more calls for inquiries and prosecutions (and compo, obviously) and more and more demands for – yet again – the government to fix things for you, to make it all pretty and nice and happy again. 

The BBC is tying itself up in knots and injunctions are being prepared to stop anybody delving where delving might uncover something secret, dirty… something old and dusty and long forgotten. But what do you want? Do you not remember the 1970s, when all men were declared to be potential rapists? Have you not noticed how few jobs you can hold today without having a criminal records check? Are we already at the point where all men are potential paedophiles? 

The prurience of the human race appears to resist all attempts to set boundaries. So long as that unhealthy curiosity is aimed at high profile members of society and stoked up by the gutter press, spewing semi-literate, baying-mob fodder you all feel secure and smug in your little bubbles of bile. But just look at what you’re really doing. 

Incapable of exercising moral restraint yourselves you call for MORE state control, which will result in MORE suspicion with little evidence. There will be MORE legislation, leading to MORE lawyers; nobody can believe that’s a good thing. Where there are more lawyers there is usually less justice – you get the trial you can afford and wealthy criminals do far less time. 

And what are you really getting outraged by? What age is too young? Stop the countdown when that vein in your temple starts to throb: sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…? You might want to check your geography (or your preferred century) before you decide. And what else is ‘wrong’? At what point does an admiration for stockings and suspenders (‘full webbing’ in military parlance) tip over into unhealthily kinky? One person’s light, playful restraint is another’s full-on bondage. Anal, anybody? 

Because, once you go down this road everything will be codified, classified and criminalised. Youthful indiscretions and experiments will stay with you forever. Two fifteen-year olds are caught in flagrante delicto - when he’s forty, will it still be on record that he had sex with a fifteen-year old? Not very many years ago this sort of thing would be controlled at a local level. A few stern words, parental correction, the odd threat… an occasional precautionary beating or a running out of town. 

Now, just like jobs, the economy, education, welfare, care, transport, agriculture, planning, policing, justice, arbitration, opening hours, drugs, driving, families, health and bloody safety etc, you want even our social mores to be dictated and regulated by increasingly unelected and sub-competent governments; because you can’t even be bothered to do the slightest thing for yourselves any more… like voting. 

Would you wanna be in his gang?

So, before you all start with the righteous indignation and the holier-than-thou proselytising, have a good long look at whatever it is gets your engine going behind closed doors. And you know who I feel sorriest for? Gary Glitter. All the poor fella wants is to be left alone. He just wants to lead a quiet life and have kids