The trickiest thing being one of those journalists occasionally on the receiving
end of a juicy smear is knowing what to do with them.

What, for instance, should a semi-respectable hack do when a one-time Downing Street official said – shortly before Tony Blair left office – that, for all his cockiness, a leading Blairite minister was surprisingly modestly endowed? This information, I was told, had been double sourced – as if concerns over veracity were the principle obstacle to publication. (It wasn’t, as far as I’m aware, a fact offered for my personal benefit). In the end this unverifiable but tantalising nugget of political gossip – gleaned during a very expensive meal which produced little else of substance – was duly filed away under ‘u’ for unusable.

On a more chilling occasion, political journalists were being phoned during last year’s summer of Labour self-loathing by a Brownite with hitherto undisclosed details of the sexuality of one recalcitrant MP. On that occasion the feral beasts of the media – whom I read in the blogosphere are spineless lobby drones through which Downing Street exercise complete authority – again kept their counsel and that morsel stayed away from the newspapers.

I can’t help think of these moments as reports reach the wires of Tony Lloyd’s performance to the parliamentary Labour party. He said: ‘I know I speak for everyone here when I say the actions of Damian McBride were utterly reprehensible to the Labour party.’ There was, apparently, a loud roar of approval with Labour members banging the desks. Ra ra ra.

But you barely have to walk more than a few metres from the Commons chamber before you are accosted by some MP or another offering a political or personal trashing of someone. I wish I could claim a tax credit for every time an MP was flatly accused by another ‘honourable member’ of being an alcoholic.

Labour don’t have the monopoly on it. Tories do it to their frontbench rivals. Select committee chairs do it to their recalcitrant members. Even researchers do it about their bosses. And so it goes on, down to council ward level. Candidates whisper about the conduct of ethnic minority councillors. Male candidates hint that wannabe women politicians won’t be able to keep their commitments.

There’s a positive well of bile for any journalist that wants it. It’s a hoary old dilemma. By keeping these things secret, are we the media collectively protecting politicians’ back? Or watching out for the reputation and integrity of someone less able to defend themselves than the likes of No 10?

So what chance, post McSmeargate, of any meaningful change?

Frankly, it’s low. The adversarial nature of today’s political system is so deeply ingrained that there is little I imagine that might wash away a deeply systemic problem with British politics.

Union dues

The curious role of Unite in the saga over Red Rag could revive questions over how unions spend their money. It’s always seemed odd how so little attention is paid to an organisation with an income just shy of £100m, of which £80m goes on administrative costs. Quite where it all goes is a mystery, even after looking at the annual returns filed to the Certification Office. Not on the 1.6 million members, seems to be the answer. My only real experience of union spending comes from TUC conference. It always comes as something of a surprise the extent to which the unions – and not just Unite – fund receptions and lavish meals in fancy restaurants – for hacks. They have even been known to pay for the hotel rooms of favoured journalists. Whether that’s quite what union members expect when they sign up is another thing.

Expense accounts

The parliamentary fees office is not alone in receiving a claim or two in its time for pornographic movies. Newspaper expenses departments will also admit to having seen dodgy films claimed as part of their journalists’ hotel bill. Just as MPs will soon face an expenses clampdown, so too have journalists. Those at the coalface today have little hope of matching our predecessors’ exuberance. One foreign correspondent in a far-flung corner during the 1980s boldly put the purchase of one camel on his expenses. Rather than refuse to pay – newspaper expenses departments were far more gentlemanly in those days – the managing editor gave the individual concerned a choice: sell it and return the money, or bring the animal into head office when he returned. The correspondent in question chose neither. On his next expenses bill, he filed a claim for ‘camel funeral’.