Margate 2: This Time It's Personal

Sordel is confident that we all thought the same thing when we heard that the BBC's Resident Intellectual had obtained a super-injunction to prevent publication of the news that he had been unfaithful to his wife:

It's only to be expected when one is as irresistible as Andrew Marr.

It has often been observed that the mind is also an erogenous zone, and that Mekon-like pixie, whose high-domed cranium becomes only more disproportionate as time goes by, must have been beating them off with a stick these many years.

Nothing says amours like a Marr.

Indeed, one can only imagine that he sought the super-injunction not so much for the sake of his reputation as to protect the ladies of this island, who might be driven to self-destructive yearning at the discovery that - far from being permanently off the menu as previously assumed - this dish was, like sashimi fugu, a rare delicacy obtainable by the woman reckless and dedicated enough to attempt it.

Before you dismiss this, however, as mere tawdry Schadenfreude, a loathsome paddling in the neck of tabloid sensationalism, Sordel would like to raise in your mind an intriguing possibility.

Marr's wife, Jackie Ashley, is a journalist. The woman in the case is evidently also a journalist. Andrew Marr ... well ... he knows a great many journalists. Here is a man whose championship of the Freedom of the Press would normally be above suspicion.

Is it beyond possibility that this great mind, with his lofty view of the chessboard and ability to think many moves ahead, actually foresaw that if one wished to break the issue of super-injunctions, the only way to do so would be to obtain one and then voluntarily forego it?

Might it not be that at the very moment that strange fingers coyly fondled his Full Windsor for the first time, the plot hatched in that mighty brow which only now has come to full fruition?

Sordel says not that it happened thus, but how could it have happened else?