The Mandelson Memorandums

There is an old joke in the inky trade that involves two journalists meeting up in a pub for a drink.

It may sound far-fetched, but bear with me.

One hack says, “I’m writing a novel”, and the other replied, “Neither am I”.

It underlines the centrality of the deadline in the life of the Fourth Estate.

Well, as this journalist has created two novels, I find one world occasionally intrudes upon the other.

In the past week, I have observed, from my vantage point in Dún na nGall, the inner workings of the New Labour aristocracy unravelling in glorious technicolour due to the DOJ document dump on the other side of the Pond.

The jaw-dropping furore has centred around the close association of Peter Mandelson with the deceased sex trafficker Jeffrey Epstein.

It is hard to underestimate the slimy Brits’ power and influence in the New Labour Project.

A grandson of Herbert Stanley Morrison, it isn’t hyperbole to characterise Peter Mandelson as the éminence grise in Tony Blair’s inner circle.

Indeed, he could be a poster child for Perfidious Albion in the 21^st century.

Based on what is now known, Epstein’s kompromat operation on Little St. James in the Caribbean is so horrible it would be unbelievable in a novel.

It is again too contrived for a work of fiction that Mandelson has been undone, in part, because Starmer considered him the ideal candidate to be a Trump Whisperer in the Oval Office.

The connection of Mandelson to Israeli asset, Sir Robert Maxwell, and a pantheon of Zionist benefactors is also in the public domain.

Anyone who, at this stage, discounts the possibility that Epstein was running a honey trap operation for Mossad hasn’t been paying attention.

We know this stuff because of the dogged work of many determined journalists.

Consequently, only the powerful and guilty should be applauding the catastrophic job cuts at the Washington Post last week.

That newspaper has a special place in the hearts of all those who value the Fourth Estate.

Here is mine on the movie starring Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks that told the story of how the Post told the world about the Pentagon Papers.

The Washington Post is, of course, now owned by Jeff Bezos.

Moreover, his company just paid $40M to Melania Trump for her documentary.

As ever, the money must be followed.

Always…

Creatures like Mandelson can hide in plain sight in part because they develop close convivial relationships with the media.

He is quite clearly a textbook example of what Canadian psychologist Robert D. Hare identified in his clinical work in the 1970s:

Charming, manipulative, and with a complete lack of empathy.

When Mandelson was appointed as the UK Ambassador to the States, it was hailed as a smart move by Jon Sopel, a colleague of Ms Maitless on the News Agents podcast.

 

 

“Mandelson is a class act”.

Again, all of this would be too contrived for a novel.

That art form has to be believable for the reader, and all of this stuff is too bizarre for the fiction section of the bookshop.

When I created the character of Prime Minister, the Rt Hon Rupert Stafford- Critchlow in Native Shore, I had to banish any mental image of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson.

I did so because I wanted my literary creation to be believably authentic.

Starting to see the problem?

Writing a novel isn’t easy, especially when you also inhabit the world of journalism.

However, the latter can yield up a motherlode of material for the novelist.

Ok, I’m away back down the word mines in Dún na nGall.

Just remember that what spews out from the Daily Radar regarding their favoured nativist sports franchise at Ibrox and the club formed by Irish immigrants isn’t’ journalism.

Moreover, I don’t reckon the obedient ones in the Stenography Corps would have the creative talent to write a novel.

Although, in fairness, that short story in 2010 about the billionaire from Motherwell was pretty good.

Have a great week!