Matthew Norman's Media Diary

Monday 27 September 2004 00:00 BST
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Exactly a year after that hilarious row erupted between Philip Hensher and Tracey Emin, the traditional battle between artist and critic has taken a gentler twist. Last September, Philip made the allegation (one he later withdrew under legal pressure) that Tracey had responded to his dismissal of her work by sending him Peter Rabbit statuettes and incontinence pads.

This autumn's exchange involves the Sunday Times book reviewer Christopher Hart and Graham Norton. A cursory reading of the review suggests that Christopher wasn't wild with Graham's autobiography, So Me. "A laborious extension of Norton's telly persona: ignorant, spiteful and barely raising a laugh," ran one of the more ambivalent bits. "The gawping, grotesque mask of the spangly-suited presenter..."

While admiring the restraint and heroic refusal to overstate his case ("everyone is degraded on Norton's show, but women especially... this consistently de-humanised, degraded view of humanity...), you do begin to wonder whether Christopher tends towards the censorious when it comes to Graham's brand of humour.

Eschewing china figurines and sanitary goods, the gurning grotesque has sent Christopher a note simply reading "cheer up!", and a cheque for £500. At time of writing, the cheque remains un-banked, but, even so, the gesture sets an intriguing precedent for any reviewer who decides they could use a tax-free monkey.

In this light, I wish to my add my twopenny-worth (more correctly, my fifty-thousand-penny-worth) by declaring that So Me, which makes the juicier efforts of the Marquis de Sade read like the Reverend W Awdry, is the product of a stupefyingly degenerate and repugnant mind. If Graham is nearing the end of his cheque-book, 10 unmarked, non-sequential £50 notes will do perfectly well.

* From one high-camp comic icon, we move naturally to Gerald Kaufman, who continues to chair the Commons media select committee with such calm impartiality.

Some years ago, on these very pages, Gerald confided that work of mine on a rival publication had driven him away from that newspaper to this one. An obsessive commitment to fair play obliges me to drive him back (via a pit-stop, with any luck, at a Press Complaints Commission tribunal).

We begin the process by considering Gerald's remarks upon the recent 40th anniversary of The Sun. "It is, without doubt, the most influential newspaper published in Britain today," he gushed. "No newspaper gets everything right all the time, but The Sun comes close." How very, very true. And how nimble of Gerald to sidestep the trap of appearing a dementedly sycophantic outrider for a PM desperate to retain The Sun's support.

Of course, even The Sun makes the odd, tiny, error of judgement, such as the gratuitous front-page outing 18 months ago of Gerald's Labour colleague Clive Betts, which it justified, inevitably, on "security grounds". And, if Gerald took a more relaxed line then than when Peter Mandelson was outed on Newsnight, well, no doubt there were compelling reasons unconnected with any visceral loathing of the Beeb, or the urge to secure a low-rent holiday cottage two millimetres to the south of Rupert Murdoch's colon.

* Meanwhile, an even more senior News International henchman contributes to the unending struggle to be Mr Murdoch's top-ranked British placeman. The frothingly right-wing American economist Irwin Stelzer treats readers of Prospect magazine to a doomy preview of a Gordon Brown premiership, foreseeing soaring taxes, a public spending famine, and anarchy. Fears had mounted that Mr Murdoch was fatigued with running Britain. What a relief he is taking up the reins once again.

* With the dust barely settled on Jimmy Young's exquisitely graceful departure, Radio 2 is at it again. Although Desmond Carrington only recently turned 80, management decided to move him from Sunday afternoons to a less prestigious Tuesday evening slot. When an executive took him to lunch in Edinburgh to break the news, Mr Carrington fought a rearguard against the misconception that his style verges on the archaic. "I will not take wine with you," he thundered, and stalked out in a huff.

* Regardless of any difficulties at The New York Times, the American passion for journalistic accuracy lives on. With O: The Intimate History of the Orgasm out there in November, a US magazine did an hour-long phone interview with the book's author, Jonathan Margolis. Then the fact-checker e-mailed, demanding sources for 12 points. He supplied them one by one, and one by one she rejected them. The University of Berlin was not good enough, every book mentioned was inadequate. "We really need peer-review literature or fact-sheets from major organisations," she explained. Margolis then cited an interview with a consultant cardiologist at Guy's Hospital. "I can't take a statistic from a person. Persons mis-remember stats all the time." Still, it was worth the agony. Glamour will be running the piece, "15 Things You Didn't Know About Your Orgasms", over a full quarter-page.

* It seems there may be something in the criticism that the Man Booker judges have been a shade esoteric in picking their short list.

Late last week, the Books Etc store in Bayswater, west London, had not one of the six in stock, while a nearby Waterstone's had only Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty. This never happened in 1999, when Gerald Kaufman led the panel. Is there a case for making the old darling, with his more populist literary tastes, chairman in perpetuity?

m.norman@independent.co.uk

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