Royal invitation to a food frenzy

MOST of the tabloid newspapers now provide a useful column called 'Soap Update', summarising current plots in soap operas for viewers who may have missed an episode: 'Michelle, in hospital after the shooting, is reflecting on her future . . .'

It has always been my intention that this column should, every few months, fulfil a similar function for Independent readers with regard to the Royal Family, many of whose episodes are, as a matter of policy, excluded from this newspaper. When I planned the service, however, I had no idea how closely my 'Royal Update' would come to match, in tone and narrative content, its model.

For here is the latest bulletin: 'Charles has complained about the extravagant spending - an alleged pounds 160,000 a year - of his estranged wife, Diana . . . However, to his dismay, Diana became a heroine after saving a drowning man . . . Meanwhile, it has made the front page of one newspaper that Edward has had sex with Sophie. And Fergie is considering an offer to play Boadicea in the new Ken Russell film . . .'

Now watch on. Some readers, protected from such harsh realities by their purchase of this newspaper, will believe that the bits about lifesaver Diana and Boadicea Fergie are lumbering satirical inventions. But it is a strict rule that my 'Royal Update' contains only widely reported newspaper stories, and ones that have - a necessary distinction - been shown to have some basis in fact.

The 'Soap Update' columns are always presented without comment, however fantastic the narrative. But Ken and Deirdre have no constitutional significance. These latest plot developments in the House of Windsor call for analysis.

A few years ago, American media commentators coined the phrase 'feeding frenzy' - which was soon imported to Britain - to characterise modern journalistic practice. It derives from the nutritional etiquette of sharks, piranhas and bluefish. Many have subsequently misunderstood it to refer merely to the viciousness and efficiency of destruction. In fact, the tag is rather more precise. The point is that attack-fish: a) first detect a weak or sick victim, b) are made more excited by the excitement of the other fish in the pack, and c) at the climax of the frenzy, may begin to eat each other.

This is how some persist in seeing the treatment of the Royal Family by the British press. But I would argue that many of the events represent a different phenomenon. We might call it 'food frenzy'. Here, a person, institution or company begins to display what seems to be a desire to be eaten, starts to behave in such a way as to attract attack-fish. The Conservative Party has been sending out bite-invites for at least the last six months. The Royal Family - and particularly Diana, Charles and Fergie - represents a similar food frenzy.

For how much of the recent coverage can truthfully be blamed on the press? Prince Edward can probably complain about a feeding frenzy, if only because, here, the sharks are picking on a minnow who has done little to encourage them. The Sun splashed on page 1 that his girlfriend, Sophie Rhys-Jones, had 'driven her E-reg blue Fiesta out of the (Buckingham) Palace grounds at 8am . . .', having 'arrived nearly 12 hours earlier, with

an overnight bag'. This bizarre tone - reminiscent of evidence in a Forties divorce case - was sustained in the photographer's comment that: 'I saw the lights blazing in Edward's apartment until after 10pm.' Well, good Lord] What a wild life these toffs lead] Unless, of course, they were trying to tell us that Edward likes to do it with the lights on.

To apply the bride-spotting reporting methods of the Seventies and Eighties - Will they? Won't they? - is hypocritical and silly, for it implies that nothing in the nature or reputation of the Royal Family, or in their relationship with public and press, has changed. But it has. The news that the Duchess of York might appear as Boadicea in a Ken Russell film has an awful plausibility, and reflects the down-grading of expectation about the royals. And the extent of the shift is shown by the other protagonists in the food frenzy. The Prince of Wales is openly engaged in a media war with his wife. A Mail On Sunday interview, a new biography, a speech about the importance of manners and grammar are all calculated tilts at re-ingratiation. But the prince, new to the game of manipulation, is poor at it.

For his newspaper interview, he summons Roy Hattersley. The idea apparently was that Hattersley is a well-known republican, but when most people characterise Roy Hattersley, 'republican' is probably not the first word to jump into their mind. He has the public manner - though not the private views - of a fawning Establishment panjandrum. The chosen rehabilitative biographer is Jonathan Dimbleby. This looks clever - for Dimbleby was once known as a left-wing firebrand, and, even now, has a wife on hunger strike. But his present public image is that of a crawler, whose resumes of the guests on Any Questions? are the yukkiest thing on radio since Simon Bates's 'Our Tune'.

But for the prince to build himself up as a serious man - via sympathetic audiences with Hattersley and Dimbleby and lectures on sin and syntax - is one thing. To attempt to diminish Diana - who gained the public's sympathy after the separation - is far riskier. There must have been smiles around Highgrove at the eagerness of last week's papers to pick up stories, which must have come from somewhere, of Diana's extravagance. We can guess the media advice given: depict her, in a recession, as a spendthrift addicted to beauty treatments. But it always seemed more likely that Diana would be admired by her fans for making her husband pay for his unbeautiful treatment of her.

And, as it turned out, the princess did not even have to risk this 40-60 call. The press somehow learnt of her saving a drowning man by the Serpentine some days earlier. In fact, objectively, she had stopped her car to watch someone else perform a rescue in the water, but the headlines were not bothered with such niceties. Poor Charles. To the old political adage that it is unwise ever to get into a pissing competition with a skunk, we can add another: never get into a leaking contest with the Princess of Wales.

So it is sensible, when you see someone being grilled these days, to ask: which came first - the barbecue, or the 10lbs of prime hamburger meat left tantalisingly lying around? The story of the royals is more food frenzy than feeding frenzy.