I was disgusted last night to find the way that the Ten O'Clock News covered the John Leslie case. If you were only half listening, you would be forgiven for thinking that he had personally broken the rail speed record and parachuted across the Channel.
He really is a minor celebrity. When the story broke, Jimmy and I were en route to meet up with my sister and family. The newspaper billboards screamed "Ulrika 'rapist' named". Pauline had bought a Standard, out of curiosity, and informed us who it was. "Who?" we both said. Subsequent conversation revealed we were not alone in not knowing who he was. I suppose Pauline, being retired, has more of an awareness of daytime TV 'celebrities'.
Of course I know that there is a presumption of innocence until proven guilty. I also know that there is a problem of women falsely claiming to be raped. But sod it, the statistic prove over and over again that a very small proportion of rape suspects are ever charged, and, frankly, when I hear how his life has been ruined, my heart doesn't bleed for him. This lionisation actually turns my stomach.
The news that he may sue for libel amuses me. Truth is a defence for libel; civil suits are decided on the balance of probability, not beyond reasonable doubt.
If you dismiss my views just as those of a militant feminist, when I heard of the accusations against the Hamiltons, whom I absolutely detest (remember in my formative years Neil was right wing Tory MP for the constituency neighbouring where I lived, and where many of my classmates lived), my instinct immediately told me it was complete baloney.
