You will, I am sure, be unsurprised that Becky Redtop’s “solution” to the Newscorp hacking investigation was to blame most of her colleagues. And equally, nobody can be amazed that Tony Blair’s office has confirmed he advised her on how to handle the hacking crisis. It’s not hard to see where, therefore, Rebekah Woodentop got the idea.
There follows a World Sloggoscoop obtained accidentally by the mobile I own dialling all the numbers of Becky’s phone in my pocket while I was engaged in my daily exercise of Bavarian thigh-slapping last Tuesday. I publish it here only with great sadness and in the interests of road safety.
RB: So anyway yeh right, wassappenin’ Tone?
TB: Oh you know Becky, this n that. I was wondering you know, well actually Rupert demanded really hahaha, that I talk to you about you know your little difficulty at the moment.
RB: Yeh, sabummer. But I’m working on, you know, my friend at City Hall. I think he can fix it for a reasonable sum.
TB: Aahh rrright, only you know, aaah, not so sure that’s the best route to take. Er, are you…
RB: Shaggin’ ‘im? Well of…
TB: Nononononono Becky that’s aaah too much detail darling, no, I was you know, wondering whether you might, you know….er, do a little blamestorming?
RB: Blamestorming?
TB: Yeeerrz. You know, say you never trusted that Les chap in the first place. That sort of thing. It’s sort of like the opposite of creditpilfering really.
RB: Creditpilfering?
TB: Yes quite. I mean hey, you know me, I’m a straight sort of chap. So once dear old Mo Mowlam kicked the bucket, I took all the credit for the, you know, final solution to the Irish Troubles.
RB: Er, but they’re not solved are they?
TB: Good God no, but when that comes to light, you see I’ll blame Paisley or Peter Hain, whichever one dies first. But hey, look, you see I think what you need to do here is be tough on the crime, and tough on the causes of the crime having been, you know, not you.
RB: Right, sweet, Smart. So like I stick it to Les Hinton?
TB: Quite so. And anyone else you think sounds credible, or you don’t like, or is in your way. That sort of thing.
RB. Oooohkaaay. But, er, what if nobody believes me?
TB: Well look, hey, nobody believes me either but that’s never held me back. Adopt a child or something. Visit oh, I don’t know…um, you know, an AIDS hospice, that worked for the People’s Princess. Say you’d give it all up tomorrow because you love your husband so much. Or be nasty about me if you like…that always plays well. Just don’t, you know, accuse me of anything, or I’ll have to have you killed.
RB: Sure, sure Tone…I’m hearing you on that. So you really fink, you know, I can get off?
TB: Depends on the judge really sweetie. But hey, look, if I can pervert justice about weapons sales, lie to Parliament, duff up the Attorney General, start a war and then get a fortune for managing the peace, well, hey, look – what’s a little naivety about privacy invasion between friends in the, you know, greater scheme of things? No….don’t answer that: just blame the others and say you didn’t know.
RB: But how could I not know?
TB: Because you were waging the war on terror fearlessly. Because it was a matter of survival, of defending the country you love. You weren’t like that horrible moron Piers, OK? Slurring our fine fighting men in Iraq, men who were only ever fighting for world peace. No, you were right there alongside our chaps…
RB: Shaggin’ ’em….
TB: No Becky, not exactly. You were, you were…their very own Florence Nightingale. There with them in spirit.
RB: Right. Got it. Well thanks Tone.
TB: Don’t mention it. And I mean, don’t mention it. Otherwise I will have you killed.
RB: Natch. You have my word.
TB: Well good – we understand each other, because you have my word too. And the two words, hey, you know, sort of add up to a zero sum game. So ciao for now love.
RB: Great Tone. Thanks.
The Slog 