The royal topless photo “scandal” rumbles on. And we see the Streisand Effect in full force. It is, to be sure fairly distasteful that a paparazzo expended a great deal of effort to take photos that he shouldn’t really have done, because his subject was in a private place. But the levels of outrage being expressed by the media outlets is hilarious. The Poisoned Carrot himself, Nicholas Whichall, is almost apoplectic with rage. The tone of his reporting suggests that even looking at these pictures is positively treasonous. Whatever: all that’s happening is that the continued overwrought coverage is simply making the whole thing worse.
Then the government wade in to compliment the press on showing such restraint in not publishing. This has nothing to do with high-minded moral rectitude more than it does a creeping fear of pissing in the water as Leveson gets ready to publish.
The lesson is: it’s all about a pair of breasts. Everyone seems to have lost their sense due to the fact that you could see a duchess’s shirt potatoes in some grainy photos in a tacky French magazine. If you want to stop it, make it unprofitable to do it: prosecute the scummy pap for voyeurism and fine the magazines until they squeak. But that won’t happen, so we might as well shut up and ignore the whole pathetic spectacle.