Privacy is not just an issue for the rich and famous ? anyone's indiscretions can be round the world in seconds
?The argument about injunctions and tweeting has, so far, been largely about the rights of the rich and famous. For them, there is virtually no privacy left. The Telegraph uses a cheap trick to trap Vince Cable, and the Press Complaints Commission, for once, gives them a gentle tap on the knuckles. Andy Gray of Sky and that other bloke exchange some private male banter and away they go.
It's not just people you've heard of. There's nothing to stop anyone tweeting that they've just seen the milkman going into Mrs Farnsbarns at number 29 and he hasn't come out for half an hour ? That could be instantly in Anchorage or Adelaide, or more likely among the tweeter's followers, perhaps a selection of interested people in the neighbourhood. "Just seen Jim Figgis buy a case of Prosecco and 24 cans of Special Brew. Party time! Are you invited?"
"Went past the Pettigrews' house, overheard blazing row. Calm down, dears!"
Or, "overheard Martin Arbogast say he fancies Penny Trusslove. Should this man still be a teacher?" This kind of trivia will be instant public property.
This kind of micro-intrusion can be round the world in seconds, and right now there is nothing whatever to stop it.
?What is this obsessive desire to keep in touch? The other day we were travelling down from York, and got into a spat-ette with a young woman with a London accent parked in one of our reserved seats on a packed train.
"Ar ca' move, she's in my sea'?" she said, as if we were to blame for another woman nicking her reservation. Anyhow we sorted that out, but were punished.
She spent the entire two hours on the phone engaged in conversation of limitless triviality: is a Burger King better than a Big Mac?
What some bloke had said to a friend of hers. Where was a good place for cheap make-up?
We were praying for her battery to run out, but it didn't. Even in the brief intervals when she wasn't talking, her hands were caressing the phone until she thought of someone else whom she could apprise of the hot news about her favourite alcopop.
What causes this neurotic madness?
?It's been a busy week, and lots of fun. I found myself imaging how Piers Morgan might write it up in his diary. He knows around a thousand times more famous people than I do, so it might be a bit of a stretch. All events did take place.
"Monday: to Dinner by Heston Blumenthal for lunch. Heston is an old mucker ? well, I've seen him on TV more times than I can count ? but sadly he couldn't be with us on the day. Apparently he's studying what happens when you put a Yorkshire pudding in the hadron collider at Cern in Geneva. But I know he'd have welcomed us with all his charm ? the old scallywag! Brilliant scoff, by the way, top table, and the staff could not have been more gracious to us.
"Wednesday: Barack Obama dropped by to give a speech to parliament in Westminster Hall. Barack and I go way back ? I once stood quite close to him before he gave a speech in Philadelphia ? and you can bet there would have been plenty of man hugs if we'd met! But I could see that the world and his wife wanted a big hello, so I stood back and let them catch some of the guy's fabled charm, the old rascal!
"Evening: launch of Steve Bell's new exhibition at the Cartoon Museum in Little Russell St, London. Steve and I have been oppos for years (actually I do know him, quite well) and the old rogue gave a big shout-out to Michael White and me! Way to go, Steve! We're sharing a platform at the Cheltenham literary festival in October, and I dread to think how many beverages will be sunk after that gig!"
?A fortnight ago I mentioned Harold Macmillan's reply to the news that Ed Muskie had pulled out of the presidential race after crying when his wife was accused of drunkenness. Asked what he would do if the same was said of his wife, Lady Dorothy, Macmillan replied: "I would say, 'you should have seen her mother.' "
Rob Shepherd of the BBC tells me that he actually said it to the British ambassador in Vienna, who had snapped at him during a late session when his excellency was desperate for bed, and Macmillan wanted to yarn on into the night.
Julia Langdon recalls another remark he made to Lord Carrington, who had told him about an American congressman who had murdered a woman with whom he was involved, and put the body in his boot, or trunk. Some of her nightie was left sticking out, so the police stopped and arrested him.
"Could have happened to any of us," said Macmillan.
?A fine crop of mad labels today. Birdie Johnson bought a compass to help him on his hiking trips. The label warns: "Always wear protection when using hand tools."
Paul McEvoy got a Frisbee for his children, marked "choking hazard". His kids make a lot of noise, he says, but none of them have mouths that big.
Helen Kay went to the butcher's stall at Reading market, and found they had a sense of humour. There was squirrel for sale, marked "may contain nuts". Catherine Packer bought a slow cooker at Robert Dyas, which came with a set of recipes, including one instruction, "add baby aborigines". She assumes they mean aubergines.
Robert Treggiden bought a car alarm for �19.99, marked "car not included", which is bonkers enough, but surely the ultimate example of neurotic lawyering is the message on a DVD of the Just William children's televison series: "PG. Contains outrageous behaviour that could be copied." David Walter says: "As far as I can tell, this is not meant as a joke."
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