Booze run: shoppers making the most of whisky and gin price cuts at a London off-licence, 1965. Photo: Getty
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Nicholas Lezard: It’s one thing to have a reputation, another to have one that’s so undeserved

All over London, men who should know better are going on the lash and then claiming that they’d been with me, simply in order to remove all notions of their own agency or responsibility.

A month or so, or more, ago – I would rather not be precise – someone, I had better not say who, came round to the Hovel to enjoy a glass or two of wine.

“I can’t stay too long,” he said. Why, I asked. “Well,” he said, “I went out a couple of weeks ago or so and got absolutely smashed. I was so pissed I even fell over trying to get through the front door. Badly enough to have to use a makeshift walking stick for the next couple of days.”

I tut-tutted, saying that it was hardly the behaviour expected of a devoted husband and father. This world may be a vale of tears, and we should be allowed to mitigate the pain in any way at our disposal, but I disapprove of excessive drunkenness, or behaviour that vexes the reasonable; and in fact I can tell you exactly the last time I got pickled in such a way as to be noticeable to the casual observer: it was on 16 May, when I met up with the old British Telecom gang, and if that is not an excuse to pluck the gowans fine and hear the chimes of midnight, then I don’t know what is. And all I did then was act a bit tiddly and goggle in temulent indecision over the display at the snack bar on the platform of Sloane Square Tube station.

Anyway, to return to my friend. I also wondered (for there was something in the way he had imparted this information that had rung a faint alarm bell) what this had to do with me.

“Surely,” I said, “your wife had something to say to you the morning after, if not that night?”

“No, it was fine,” he said. “I’d told her I was going out with you.”

The emphasis, one of those slight but subtle emphases that can so much change the meaning of a line of poetry, was, in case you were wondering, on the word “you”. Not – though I grant it would have made the beginning of a much funnier and more complex anecdote – on the word “out”.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, she was expecting the worst,” he said. “Pretty much anything short of a call from a police station at 3am was going to be acceptable.”

Hmm. It is one thing to have a reputation; it is another to have one that is undeserved. And it is a more complex thing to have a reputation that is undeserved and yet that one would be hard-pressed to refute should this kind of thing ever come up in a court of law. After all, is not this very column in part predicated on the idea that not only do I, too, behave in a fashion that is contrary to prevailing medical advice, but boast about it without apology or excuse?

But it’s not like that, not really. The censorious will always have the advantage over the do-what-thou-wilt. For example: everyone, even the dictionary, thinks “Epicurean” means “self-indulgent”, or something along those lines, a calumny that has been around ever since the pious needed a stick with which to beat the atheist Epicurus, whose actual idea of a blowout was a plate of olives and a few pieces of cheese. It was when he answered the question “Do the gods listen to our prayers?” with the words, “I don’t know, I’ve got more important things to think about,” that alarm bells started ringing and rumours began to be concocted; rumours still going strong over a millennium later.

As it happens, this evening I am meeting for dinner a man who has been on the wagon for nearly 20 years; and yet, such was his reputation, that it is only in the past five that people have begun to let the notion sink in that he isn’t sinking a bottle of whisky every afternoon or, in John Peel’s memorable phrase, rubbing heroin into the roots of his hair.

It’s so much easier to rely on hearsay rather than get yourself up to speed with the facts, isn’t it? The other day someone on The Archers had a Martini (an almost unbelievable event in its own right) and the phrase “shaken not stirred” was trotted out, perpetuating the entirely erroneous notion that this is how the cocktail should be prepared.

Meanwhile, all over London, men who should know better are going on the lash and then claiming that they’d been with me, simply in order to remove all notions of their own agency or responsibility.

Look, I like the idea that people think of me as a fun person whose personality is so strong that no one is able to put a hand over their glass when I’m pouring. But I really do wish you’d stop doing this, lads. One day, someone’s going to get hurt. 

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Grayson Perry guest edit

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The economics of outrage: Why you haven't seen the end of Katie Hopkins

Her distasteful tweet may have cost her a job at LBC, but this isn't the last we've seen of Britain's biggest troll. 

Another atrocity, other surge of grief and fear, and there like clockwork was the UK’s biggest troll. Hours after the explosion at the Manchester Arena that killed 22 mostly young and female concert goers, Katie Hopkins weighed in with a very on-brand tweet calling for a “final solution” to the complex issue of terrorism.

She quickly deleted it, replacing the offending phrase with the words “true solution”, but did not tone down the essentially fascist message. Few thought it had been an innocent mistake on the part of someone unaware of the historical connotations of those two words.  And no matter how many urged their fellow web users not to give Hopkins the attention she craved, it still sparked angry tweets, condemnatory news articles and even reports to the police.

Hopkins has lost her presenting job at LBC radio, but she is yet to lose her column at Mail Online, and it’s quite likely she won’t.

Mail Online and its print counterpart The Daily Mail have regularly shown they are prepared to go down the deliberately divisive path Hopkins was signposting. But even if the site's managing editor Martin Clarke was secretly a liberal sandal-wearer, there are also very good economic reasons for Mail Online to stick with her. The extreme and outrageous is great at gaining attention, and attention is what makes money for Mail Online.

It is ironic that Hopkins’s career was initially helped by TV’s attempts to provide balance. Producers could rely on her to provide a counterweight to even the most committed and rational bleeding-heart liberal.

As Patrick Smith, a former media specialist who is currently a senior reporter at BuzzFeed News points out: “It’s very difficult for producers who are legally bound to be balanced, they will sometimes literally have lawyers in the room.”

“That in a way is why some people who are skirting very close or beyond the bounds of taste and decency get on air.”

But while TV may have made Hopkins, it is online where her extreme views perform best.  As digital publishers have learned, the best way to get the shares, clicks and page views that make them money is to provoke an emotional response. And there are few things as good at provoking an emotional response as extreme and outrageous political views.

And in many ways it doesn’t matter whether that response is negative or positive. Those who complain about what Hopkins says are also the ones who draw attention to it – many will read what she writes in order to know exactly why they should hate her.

Of course using outrageous views as a sales tactic is not confined to the web – The Daily Mail prints columns by Sarah Vine for a reason - but the risks of pushing the boundaries of taste and decency are greater in a linear, analogue world. Cancelling a newspaper subscription or changing radio station is a simpler and often longer-lasting act than pledging to never click on a tempting link on Twitter or Facebook. LBC may have had far more to lose from sticking with Hopkins than Mail Online does, and much less to gain. Someone prepared to say what Hopkins says will not be out of work for long. 

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