THE THINGS THEY SAY
The heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself — Plato
So. Farewell then Widders
Ann Widdecombe, a musical tribute
NEWS YOU MAY HAVE MISSED
STOP PRESS: Staff on the Hold The Front Page website, which covers the regional Press, consider this to be a matter of interest. Just thought you’d like to know.
Over and gout…
CROOKALIKE*
FARAGE COUNT
One is full is full of rubbish and the other is, er, also full of rubbish. Yes chums, Count Binface is squaring up for a by-election battle with Naughty Nigel Farage who has had problems with a few dodgy Postal Orders.
The Daily Drone advises the voters of Clacton to VOTE BINFACE and bring back someone sensible to Parliament.
WE RAISE OUR LIDS TO THE NOBLE COUNT!
*Allegedly
The night our noble Sir Osbert brought the chapel house down
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Milord, Your Oldie cartoon – Osbert Lancaster, obviously – brings to mind that curious chain-smoking genius from another world who sat among us every afternoon while he composed his pocket cartoon to adorn the Express's front page.
Once those little squibs contained sharp social commentary, coming from the mouths of his chief heroine Maudie Littlehampton and her upper-class cronies, but by the 1970s the jokes were maybe wearing a little thin. Still, it was an honour to have this bow-tied knight of the realm calmly working away at his desk while the daily rage and noise went on around him.
One day there was a compulsory union meeting, maybe – probably – about money, and the space around his desk was commandeered by reporters, subs and snappers all eager to have their say on the latest management outrage.
Suddenly, like a porpoise breaking surface, Sir Osbert rose from his desk with his arms outstretched.
“My fellow wage-slaves…” he began.
This was the millionaire author of 45 best-selling books, set designer of 25 productions ranging from the Covent Garden Opera House to the Old Vic and back again, and creator of many other lucrative publications.
But in that moment this crusty old gent from a world so very far removed from the Ink became one of us. He brought the house down.
Yrs to a cinder,
C. WISLON
Little Hampton
Nosex
Lookalike? You should have gone to Specsavers
BURNHAM STARMER
Keir Burnham and Andy Starmer . . . are they by any chance related? Those same pudgy features, the same donor specs. Just the silvered Brylcreemed hairstyle to distinguish elder from younger, says a correspondent masquerading under the name ‘Rick’.
Look Rick, we know who you are. You are Lobby Lud, currently lurking on Brighton seafront in a tea-coloured mac, and we claim our crisp oncer.
What a load of bollocks, you lot live in the past. I’m off to watch Whirligig — Ed
NAUTICAL BUT NICE
Izzard’s latest book floats His Lordship’s boat
LORD Drone’s good friend and former colleague BRIAN IZZARD has found the time to write another book about boats (in joke — he calls them ships.)
His latest offering, Houdini of the Sea, is about Charles Lightoller who is known primarily as the most senior officer to survive the sinking of Titanic, but that was just one chapter in his remarkable story.
To avoid the cotton mills of his native Lancashire town, a 13-year-old Lightoller joined the crew of a four-masted sailing ship, and he would remain at sea on various ships until 1920. During his 30-year maritime career and beyond, he would survive four shipwrecks, a Zeppelin bombing, a duel with a U-boat and a perilous motor-yacht mission to Dunkirk, ultimately emerging as a hero of both world wars.
The book’s blurb says: “Compiled using extensive research, including previously unseen family information, Houdini of the Sea is the extraordinary tale of a man who escaped death many times over.”
Lord Drone has read the first few pages and reports: “It’s a rattling good read.”
Houdini of the Sea is published by The History Press (£22.99) and is available from Amazon for £22.49 HERE
Will this do, Clint? — Ed
NEW TODAY
Only the churlish would begrudge the Mail celebrating the Prince Harry case with champagne. Vindicated, they certainly were. It was a great and significant victory for a free press and a humiliating kick in the teeth for the ‘claimants’, the ankle-tapping gainsayers at Hacked Off and assorted shits such as Grant and Coogan. Now we all know: Inference Isn’t Evidence. Paul Dacre’s measured reaction subbed it down: ‘The truth is that this trumped-up action - which has cost well over £50million and wasted a huge amount of valuable court time — should never have been brought to trial. That it did, raises profoundly disturbing questions about the conduct of elements of the legal profession.’ (My italics). Meanwhile, on a completely different matter: why isn’t Harry’s brief, flamboyant barrister to the stars David Sherborne still not a KC. Just askin’.
BREAKING: Lord Drone denies that a statue of Mr Justice Nicklin is to be erected in the Art Deco foyer of the Grade II listed Daily Drone building in Walton-on-Thames.
More evidence, if it were needed, that Britain’s bonkers welfare ‘system’ is totally out of control. Official stats reveal that more than 100,000 people with ADHD are being paid disability benefits without any requirement to look for work. That’s an increase of 40 per cent since Labour came to power. The figures show that the government has approved an average of 40 personal independence payments (Pip) a day over the past two years in which ADHD is cited as the main condition. The rise, from 71,528 in July 2024 to 100,207 in April this year, is being driven by a surge in the number of young people claiming the benefit. More than half of claimants for the neurodevelopmental condition are aged between 16 and 24. Nearly two thirds of young people cite ADHD, autism, depression or anxiety as their main disability, up from almost half in 2020. Of all those claiming Pip for ADHD, about four in ten are receiving the top rate of daily living and mobility allowances worth up to £194 a week. This is paid on top of most other benefits and comes with no requirement to seek work.
To SW19 for the tennis. I was lucky enough to see the Auger Aliassime v Djokovic five-setter. Oh, I say! (© Mail subs) What a match. Like most ladies of taste and discernment, I’ve always been a Federer gal (chance’d be a fine thing) but you’ve got to hand it to the Spartan Serb: to triumph after more than five hours at the age of 39 was very special. By the way, have you noticed how robotic the ball kids have become? I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that they aren’t pupils at Tiffin or Sacred Heart, Hammersmith after all but come out of some humanoid lab in Shenzhen.
How fickle is the world of politics. People are already predicting that Andy Burnham’s popularity will decline the moment he takes over at No. 10. In fact, says The Telegraph, it’s already happening. A recent YouGov poll suggests the PM-in-waiting’s net favourability rating has fallen to –11, down from +9.
Phew! What a chiller. As another heatwave prompts further attempts to fry eggs on the pavement outside the Albion, news of how the uber rich are demonstrating how cool they really are. They’re going all in on ‘snow rooms’,
says Guy Trebay in The New York Times: indoor winter wonderlands set at frosty temperatures with white flakes falling gently from the ceiling ‘to create the feeling of being inside a snow globe’. Petrochemical billionaire Mukesh Ambani has one installed in his Mumbai skyscraper, Mohammed bin Salman’s 440ft superyacht is equipped with one, and now they’re cropping up all across America and on all the flashiest yachts for anyone with more than $130,000 to shell out.
Don’t know what this tells us about the country we live in but it must be something. Only 9 boys named Roger were registered in the UK last year out of the 300,000 born. That’s a 10% drop over 10 years. There were 5,957 registered as Muhammad, a 60% rise in 10 years.
A 32-year-old oarswoman has become the first American of her gender plus the youngest and fastest to row from the mainland to Hawaii 2,400 miles away. Kelsey Pfendler set out from Monterey in California in May. She paddled into Honolulu 43 days later.
Speculation that one of the Drone’s so-called columnists is Count Binface, the mysterious candidate taking on Nigel Farage in the Clacton by-election, has been dismissed by Lord Drone. A spokesman said: ‘Our HR department has been all over this and says it is just media fantasy. Anyway, I read that this Binface fellow is a comedy writer in disguise. I’m serious when I say none of our writers is intentionally comedic in any way.’ Meanwhile, Reggie in the Drone’s Post Room muses: ‘Binface, eh? It’s more likely to be one of the Haitches. But none of them has a funny bone in their body either.’ QED — Ed.
Fathers who raise daughters often become more aware of fairness and bias, which helps them become better bosses. According to parents.com, bringing up kids teaches skills such as listening, problem-solving, and patience. These traits also make for thoughtful and supportive managers. When dads model respect and emotional awareness at home, their children — and their co-workers — benefit from stronger, more compassionate leadership, says Parents.
A great grandfather has been named as the world’s oldest water skier. Bryan Murray won the title at Lake Kereta, Auckland at the age of 94 years 318 days. Bryan, who has two children, six grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren, first tried waterskiing in 1955 after a friend of his installed a motor on their open fibre glass boat. He said: ‘People tell me that I am an inspiration to everyone no matter what their age is. It encourages me to know that I am leading the way for others to keep active.’
WorldCupWatch: There was global disgust at Trump’s ‘cheating’ in getting a red card rescinded but at least it brought the world together, says Marina Hyde in The Guardian. The last time this many people cheered on the Belgian resistance it was 1914 and the Germans had just crossed the Meuse. ‘Still, we shouldn’t be surprised,‘ she says. ‘FIFA has long been a festering cesspit of corruption. As for Trump, his cheating at golf is legendary: caddies at Winged Foot in New York, where he is a member, are so used to seeing the president kick his ball back onto the fairway that they call him Pelé.
TalesFromTheBackwoods: It wasn’t all sweetness and light on Independence Day in the US, I can reveal. Vandals used fireworks to blow up 13 portable lavatories in Billings, Montana, at the height of the celebrations. A spokesman for Porta Potties, the company which owned the loos, said the mischief-makers must have come from over the state line in Wyoming because Montana fireworks aren’t powerful enough to cause such damage.
HeadlineOfTheWeek: Emma Corrin’s Long And Horny Nipples Take Over Fashion Week — Metro.
It’sOnlyMoney: The party of the people is buying more Jags to ride around in. A new contract uncovered by the TaxPayers’ Alliance shows that the Government Car Service is purchasing £237,864.06 worth of Jaguars for delivery no later than October 31. Just in time for Burnham. The TPA’s Rhys Hurley says: ‘With the country’s debt mounting, this gold-plated contract must be torn up. Ministers need to stop using the money of hard-working Brits in this way and start spending a bit more time on their own two feet.’
OldJokesHome: What’s blue and smells of paint? Blue paint.
AIThatsYerBot: OpenAI has released its most capable Artificial Intelligence model yet — GPT-5.6 — to the public weeks after the Trump administration delayed the rollout over cybersecurity concerns. The US government has approved the release following additional testing.
LeftInACab: (All new, most genuine): Mannequin (full size); bonsai tree in clay pot; street map Minsk, Belarus; broken denture in tissue; 10 live (just) butterflies in plastic zip-up bag; pair Rigby & Peller ladies’ panties, not unused; textured photo with a rhinestoned image of Jesus; dictionary Cockney rhyming slang; striped elastic snake belt.
The Infernal Intern
By Heidi Highgate
My answer to the question everyone was asking on Monday morning? Did I hell as like.
You see, I’m not really interested in the World Cup but I am a fan of Instagram. Couldn’t live without it. So the tale of goalkeeper Josimar José Évora Dias has me captivated. Apparently, this 40-year-old hunk is a hero in his native Cape Verde because his performance against the mighty Spain enabled them to progress into the next round (or something like that). But, to me, the real story is that his 50,000 Insta followers have increased to 17 million, which isn’t too shabby considering Cape Verde’s population is under 500,000. And if he wants a hand monetising all those new fans, I know just the girl who can help.
School careers advisers: who’d have ‘em? They never tell you there’s good money to be made decoding the calls of zebra finches. As I struggle (unpaid!) to become a journo, Julie Ellie, a researcher at the University of California, Berkeley, has won $100,000 for progress toward interspecies communication. She identified the 11 core calls of zebra finches, including introductory calls and distress signals. There’s more: $10 million awaits someone who is first to crack two-way human-animal communication. Jeremy Coller, the billionaire financing the research, thinks we will cross that threshold by 2030, aided by advances in AI (inevitably).
Are you up with ‘meet-cute’, the moment where two lovers first catch each other’s eye? The Hollywood rom-coms have nothing on real life, says Caitlin Moran in The Times. Take actor Alan Alda (I looked him up: he was in M*A*S*H). He was at a party when a huge rum cake was dropped on the floor. Alda and the woman who became his wife were the only ones to get down on their knees and start eating it. And when Matt Damon once jumped over the counter in a bar to escape fans harassing him, the barmaid swiftly put him to work making cocktails. Two years later, they married — or ‘tied the knot’ as the cliché-ridden media said of Swifty’s wedding.
Men can be so nasty, bitchy even. As Emma Raducanu has to withdraw from Wimbledon because of a leg injury, someone called Giles Coren in The Times, sceptically accuses her of ‘perfectly timing’ the stress fracture. Sarkily, he suggests that, had it happened a few days earlier, it would have ‘interfered with her extremely lucrative work for sponsors Uniqlo and Evian, the launch of her new “Garden of England” scent range, or her exciting paid partnership with Tesco.’ I feel for Emma.
Poor men. They’re baffled and bemused by us girls’ fixation with our handbags. Mine’s a Miss Lulu, which I love, but it’s never going to worth a fortune, like some. One collector of rare and valuable bags – from coveted Chanels to hankered-after Hermèses – recently banked a whopping £500,000 in a one-day sale. Last year, the original Birkin bag, designed for Jane Birkin by Hermès, sold for more than £7 million. They’re part of the booming ‘collectibles’ market, says Imogen Tew in The Sunday Times. For instance, a very rare Lionel Messi football card could top £1 million and in February a highly sought-after Pokémon card sold for £12.5 million.
TheRestIsNibstory. 1666. Gravity discovered as apple falls on top physicist sitting under tree in Big Sky County. Breakthrough prevents people falling off edge of planet for rest of time. Boffin, who had IQ of 190, publishes laws of motion and law of gravity this week in 1687. Also discovers calculus and method of fluxions (but you knew that, didn’t you?). Also had dog which set his lab on fire (you didn’t know that, though did you?).
And now chums, a quick word from our sponsor who kindly pays our bar bills
In memory of our dear late pal John ‘Mullers’ Mulcock whose catchphrase, shouted loudly across the office, was: ‘Powder it!’ (No, me neither — Ed)
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
DISPATCHES FROM
THE FRONT
By RICHARD DISMORE
OFF THE SPIKE
WITH TEL
RANDOM JOTTINGS
By ALAN FRAME
STAND AND DELIVER
By Hermione Orliff
NEW
The fevered debate over Britain’s welfare black hole is only going to get noisier and will continue seriously to harm this Labour government. We all acknowledge the need for welfare but the way it is administered is a scandal. Now, we are told, the poor old taxpayer forks out more than £25 million a week on benefits fraud. According to the Department for Work and Pensions (and they should know), claimants, who failed to declare cash, investments and other money tucked away in their accounts, received a record illegal haul of £1,325 billion from the system in the last financial year. This has leaped by more than one third in four years, says The Telegraph. Under current rules, any savings held over £6,000 will limit benefit payments, while any more than £16,000 will stop them completely. Typical of the rip-off we’re all funding is one woman who claimed more than £40,000 in Universal Credit over five years by falsely claiming she had no money – when she in fact had more than £40,000 in two savings accounts.
How prescient do we have to be? Whimsically, the Haitches tend to file Artificial Intelligence intelligence under the heading AIThatsYerBot for reasons which made more sense at the time. Now we learn Michael Burry, the investor whose bets against the market ahead of the 2008 financial crisis were immortalised in the book and film The Big Short, is convinced the AI bubble is about to burst. According to Kevin Dugan in The Wall Street Journal, Burry has taken short positions – which will give him big payouts if their price plummets – on a range of stocks and funds exposed to AI. They include the chipmaker Nvidia and a broader semiconductor index. Burry reckons a recent announcement by Samsung and another South Korea tech giant, SK Hynix, that they are spending $500 billion on a chip-building hub marks ‘the beginning of the end’.
There’s something awfully wrong at the top of police forces in this country. Leadership is either plagued by ‘nepotism and bias’ or almost absent altogether. A government-backed report by former Labour Home Secretary Lord Blunkett and Lord Herbert of South Downs, chairman of the College of Policing and co-chairman of the independent Police Leadership Commission, says there had been 78 investigations into chief officers since 2018. A total of 47 involved chief constables, covering cronyism, nepotism and abuse of position for sexual purposes or corruption. They stress there is also lack of leadership through all ranks. Lord Herbert makes the point: ‘Fifteen years after leaving Sandhurst, a colonel in charge of 1,500 people will have undertaken 72 weeks of leadership development. Chief superintendents in the Metropolitan Police are likely to have had just two or three weeks.’
Kirstie Allsopp‘s quite right, you know, for condemning BAFTA’s use of ‘passing’ to record the untimely death of Penelope Keith. It really is a dreadful, twee euphemism. ‘Dame Penelope did not “pass”’ the broadcaster wrote on social media. ‘She was not a car or a bottle of ketchup.’ Allsopp also points out that the actress’s own family had used the word ‘died’ so why not BAFTA? Then another user, obviously a bit of a twat, weighed in by saying that ‘death sounds like a brutal dark finality’. Allsopp replied: ‘Which it is.’
Pour ralentir le vieillissement du cerveau, apprenez une nouvelle langue, conseille Anna Bawden dans The Guardian.
Eine neue Studie hat ergeben, dass Menschen, die zwei Sprachen sprechen, Gehirne haben, die etwa sechs Jahre jünger sind als die von Menschen, die nur eine Sprache sprechen. Esta diferencia aumenta a siete años más joven para quienes hablan tres idiomas y a trece años para quienes hablan cuatro. (Smart arse — Ed).
The New York Times, a fine newspaper indeed, regards itself as an organ of record, an arbiter of taste. The website Below the Fold has scrutinised and analysed everything it has published this century. It’s handy guide to what and whom the Times considers important. Obits, for example. The 10 people with the longest write-ups include Pope John Paul II, Ronald Reagan, Henry Kissinger and Arthur O. Sulzberger. Whom he deemed worthy of a longer obituary than Queen Elizabeth II, Nelson Mandela or Mikhail Gorbachev? Publisher, chairman and chief executive of, er, The New York Times, of course.
Why is it, when something goes wrong, we women always have to take the blame? When Germany ‘crashed out’ — © Mail Sport Subs — of the World Cup someone called Lothar Matthäus, said to be a former captain, was quick to blame the players’ wives and girlfriends. He said: ‘I really don’t know why they should be there. They could have been flown in for the quarter-finals when the team had actually accomplished something.’ To be fair, Lothar might have a point. His girlfriend didn’t fly out to watch him lift the World Cup in 1990. Mind you, she wasn’t born until 1999.
A celebrated broth gently simmers on the stove in a restaurant in Thailand. No one knows the precise recipe but the family of chefs simply adds ingredients – fish sauce, soy sauce, chunks of beef, sachets of Chinese herbs – to taste each day. As they have for the last 52 years. The concoction, the backbone of the eaterie’s signature beef noodle soup, has been gently cooking all that time watched over by the same family for three generations. Current guardian, Nattapong Kaweenuntawong, says: ‘We never take vacations. I can’t leave the broth alone for long.’
Don’t want to worry you as another heatwave looms and Tomasz Schafernaker & Co get their knickers in a twist but it’s going to get a lot worse. The Met Office has just warned that, by 2056, there could be nine days in a row with temperatures above 40°C (104°F), with some places hitting 45°C (113°F). In just 30 years!
What’s going on at Mail Online? Who’s in charge of the clattering train? Only asking because the breaking story about Prince Harry losing his case against Associated was bylined: Sam Greenhill, The Chief Reporter and Martin Robinson, Chief Reporter.
Thought you’d like to know that a huntsman spider found in Queensland, Australia, has been crowned the fastest in the world. It achieved a top speed of nearly 3.6 metres a second, according to a global study of arachnid sprinting prowess. Currently, the official world record is held by the Moroccan flic-flac spider (Cebrennus rechenbergi) which can hit speeds of 1.7 metres per second when it is startled, using a rolling-tumbling motion. But some experts regard this as incorrect, says New Scientist.
TalesFromTheBackwoods: Among the Red Arrows, parades and fireworks which have marked the US’s 250th anniversary let’s not forget Mark Heinz belting out ‘The Star Spangled Banner’… on a chainsaw. It is a tradition which started when Mark, who lives in Wyoming, had neighbours who overdid their July 4 celebrations with deafening fireworks. His daughter ran in complaining that they were being obnoxious. ‘Obnoxious?’ he said, ‘I’ll show them obnoxious’ and marched out with his chainsaw. For the technically minded he used his new flagship saw, a Stihl MS 500i this year. He confided: ‘I upgraded from my previous model, the MS 261, because of the special anniversary. It’s Stihl’s first fully fuel-injected model and cuts like an absolute beast.’
NMPKT (Independence Day Special): Americans spent $9 billion on food at celebrations this year; $2 billion went on fireworks; there was a 52% rise in emergency hospital treatments.
GoldenOldie: Gyles Brandreth, who is rehearsing for a show at the Edinburgh Fringe this summer, recalls watching Vanessa Redgrave doing a final run-through of a Noël Coward play. Throughout, she wore a large white table napkin over her head: you couldn’t see her face. When Brandreth queried her attire, she assured him it was only for the rehearsals. She explained: ‘It’s so that, at no point, can I see the director. If I so much as caught his eye, I couldn’t go on. I can’t stand him. He’s utterly useless.’
WorldCupWatch: The standard of the telly box commentary has been woefully short of the marvellous action on the field. Take Danny Murphy on the Beeb. When Oscar Bobb came on for Norway against Ivory Coast, he said wistfully: ‘I used to have a cat called Bob. He jumped in the back of a Royal Mail van and we lost him. Sad really.’ Then, during the Spain-Austria game he provided an important update: ‘He didn’t actually die. We did get him back six or seven weeks later. Unfortunately he’d gone feral and we couldn’t reintegrate him into the home, so he ended up living with my friend’s parents in Preston.‘
ClichéCorner (SWIJDT?): ‘England believe football might finally be coming home after 60 years of hurt’. — Sun.
UntouchedByHumanSub: Skegness Coastguard called out after reports of people in the water - Lincolnshire Live.
LeftInACab: (All new, most genuine): Pair Grays Shield hockey shin pads; electrical harness; gum shield; snooker cue in case; pair antique brass kitchen taps in sack; four That’s What I Call Music CDs; hardback copy of McNae’s Essential Law for Journalists; packet of wetwipes; B&Q paintbrush set (assorted sizes) plus four sheets of sandpaper; a locket.
The publisher of Yorkshire Post and Scotsman Iconic Media stayed in profit in the nine months after it was bought by Media Concierge once extensive one-off costs are taken into account. (Press Gazette)
Reach has hit 40,000 digital subscribers across its 15 titles with premium paywalls as it targets 75,000 by the end of the year. The Manchester Evening News, Liverpool Echo, Wales Online and Express all now have more than 5,000 subscribers. (Linkedin)
Sky's US parent company Comcast has said the broadcaster will become part of separately-listed NBCUniversal in a year under a spin-off plan designed to separate the business services, wireless and broadband parts of Comcast from media. (Sky News)
This year's Orwell Prize winners include BBC Panorama, Daily Mirror and London Centric. (Orwell News)
The Supreme Court has declined to take up former Harvard law professor Alan Dershowitz's case alleging CNN defamed him with its coverage of remarks made during President Trump's 2020 impeachment trial. (CBS News)
Sky News Sunday morning presenter Trevor Phillips is reportedly going to join CBS News as a global affairs correspondent. (The Guardian)
Journalists recognised in the King's Birthday Honours list include: Sir Don McCullin CBE made Companion of Honour for services to photojournalism, Al Jazeera anchor Sohail Rahman given an OBE for services to journalism and charitable fundraising and journalist Barbara Chandler given an MBE.
NIBS
The shape of things to come
THE Daily Express’s new editorial cuts will enhance the newspaper’s coverage at home and abroad with equipment at the fingertips of journalists who are breaking down the old barriers such as overmanning and duplication of jobs, according to a Drone drink tank.*
Now the combined News Editor/Reporter/Night Editor and Chief Sub role will bring readers more in-depth stories faster than ever before, says owners Retch.
*Do we mean think tank? — Ed. No — The Subs
So.
Farewell then, Norman Balon
By PAT PRENTICE
Although he revelled in being the Rudest Landlord in London, Norman Balon, who supervised the motley staff of the Coach and Horses in Soho, was sometimes far different.
On my first visit to the pub, I unwittingly stood in front of a precariously-balanced black and white TV that was broadcasting tennis on a high shelf behind the bar.
Deeply menacing noises came from behind me as a couple of Maltese heavies ordered me out of the way because they were watching.
Before I could rashly respond that this was a pub, not Wimbledon, a tall, solid, lumbering man appeared from the doorway, noted the protesters, then went behind the pumps and pointedly reached up and changed channels to the cricket.
Nothing was said, as he nodded and quietly served me my pint of Burton Ale.
The Coach became a regular stop-off on my evening trips between Fleet Street and my Richmond home, as it was for many other hacks, spooks, spivs, luvvies, musicians, artists, pickpockets and literary miscreants.
Years later, after I moved to Greenwich to follow the Telegraph to the Isle of Dogs, my visits to the pub continued.
On one New Year's Eve, I told a newly-arrived landlord in Greenwich Marketplace that I was on my way to Norman's.
He had told me that he knew Norman well, a claim I wasn't sure I believed, and asked me to pass on his regards.
When Norman left his chess board later to go behind the bar, I passed on Vince's regards.
Norman's eyes watered and he disappeared upstairs.
Soon afterwards he came back, carrying a plastic supermarket bag containing a book and several mugs honouring the Rudest Landlord in London.
He urged me to keep two and pass on the rest to his old friend, with his wery best wishes.
And with eyes still watering, he thanked me wery wery much and shook my hand.
Nevertheless, the Softest Landlord in London he certainly wasn't, and his reputation was well-deserved.
Norman Balon, landlord of The Coach and Horses, Soho, died on May 31, aged 99.
Blown out by Hurricane
He quit our crazy golf game — to play World Title match
By GEORGE DEARSLEY
Snooker genius Alex Higgins could be belligerent and downright rude. But occasionally he could also be charming.
It was 1982, and I had been sent by the Daily Star to do a feature on the then-new trend of snooker stars wearing flamboyant, floral waistcoats. Higgins, pictured, was an early adopter.
I had been waiting in the lobby of the (now demolished) Grosvenor Hotel, in Sheffield for four hours. Messages to Higgins’ room and to his agent went unanswered. Then I spotted him getting out of a lift.
“Alex, could I have a word?” I asked.
In a typically Irish reply, he said: “Do you play golf?” "Sure," I lied.
Higgins took two clubs from reception, and we went to the hotel’s famous crazy golf area. While putting through tunnels, over bridges and around gnomes, he generously answered all my questions.
However, I began to worry because one of the most important matches of his career – the World Snooker Championship semi-final – was looming, in just 45 minutes.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the Crucible?” I asked.
“Let’s play on,” he insisted. And so we did.
Ten minutes later, he just stopped and said “Fuck it.” Then he whacked his ball as hard as he could into the horizon. And off he went.
He won the match, (against Jimmy White) and the final, (against Ray Reardon), his second World title. The Hurricane died in 2010, aged 61.
The question I failed to ask Hockney that might have cost me millions
CHRISTOPHER WILSON had a memorable meeting with David Hockney by that famous Hollywood pool during which the artist made a few pencil sketches of his young interviewer. Wilson’s one regret was that he was too polite to ask for the sketches, which he now reflects could be worth millions.
Sharon Ring’s tale of her family’s Holocaust ordeal
SHARON RING, wife of the late, lamented Phil Walker, has written a moving account of her family’s life in the Holocaust during World War 2.
It’s a rare account of Jewish survival in Berlin and adds a completely new aspect to the history of the war as it focuses on Mischlinge which is the German word for mongrel, half-breed, mutt, usually used about dogs but the Nazis cruelly took it to describe men, women and children with mixed Aryan ancestry.
Mischlinge by Sharon Ring is published by HarperCollins for £16.99 in hardback, and is available on Amazon in all formats HERE.
Fangs for the memory
By GEORGE DEARSLEY
Photographers are often given Mission Impossible assignments by their desks, and none more so than staffer Ken Bingham, working for Sport Newspapers.
His boss wanted him to illustrate a story about an East German woman called Bertha, who claimed she spoke to her late husband via his false teeth, kept in a glass by her bedside.
Unable to fly abroad, Ken thought he had bitten off more than he could chew.
But fortunately, he solved the problem by borrowing his mum’s dentures to pose as the psychic gnashers.
I couldn’t resist sending the story to Press Gazette’s Dog Watches Dog column, which had Ken, who died in Spain in 2016, chomping at the bit.
But it was the tooth and nothing but the tooth.
That’s enough tooth gags, George, I’ve nothing left for the headline — Ed
Straight from the horse’s mouth, how George got
thrown out of racing party
Wherever he goes GEORGE DEARSLEY makes friends and here’s a pic of him getting up close and personal with a yellow pillar box.
Yellow? we hear you ask. George is currently soaking up the sun in Northern Cyprus where they do things differently with post boxes.
Anyway, to get to the point, most of us have been thrown out of the smartest of places. In George’s case the defenestration occurred when he and photographer Peter Wilcock visited the Curragh racecourse on a mission for the Daily Star.
After getting their story they heard the sound of corks popping at party so they joined in but, you’ve guessed it, the intrepid pair were evicted by a famous trainer.
STILL STANDING (JUST)
The World’s Greatest Lunch Club celebrates its 100th anniversary
JOY and jubilation came to Covent Garden as the World’s Greatest Lunch Club celebrated its 100th meeting. Sadly its numbers were diminished since the palmy days when eight (subs pse check) of us sat down for a glass or two of lunch.
Three members managed to stagger to the Boulevard Brasserie. Pictured above are, from left, Alastair Mcintyre, Alan Frame and Roger Watkins (Miss).
Languishing at home suffering from a variety of ailments were Dick Dismore (hernia), Terry Manners (bad leg) and Pat Pilton (knackered).
Absent friends who have passed to the Great Nosebag in the Sky include Craig Orr, Terry Evans, Ashley Walton and David Eliades.
Glasses were raised to their memory.
CHUMS WE HAVE LOST
Paddy Clancy, 82
ANOTHER big figure from old Fleet Street, former Daily Express reporter Paddy Clancy, has died aged 82.
Clancy, who was well known in his native Ireland for his broadcasting work, died on Friday, 23 January at Sligo University Hospital surrounded by his family.
He is survived by his wife Bernie, two daughters and a son.
The Irish Taoiseach Micheál Martin said Clancy was "an enormous presence in Irish journalism for over six decades. His distinctive take on RTÉ's morning paper round up was essential listening.
"His reporting and columns were essential reading for many years in the Sligo Champion, Donegal People’s Press, Irish Sun and Mirror."
Retro Rambleshanks, author of the acclaimed Drone series Yesterday Once More, writes: Ashley Walton, LOTP, used to tell of the time when, as a new reporter, he was sent by Night News Editor Mike Steemson to fetch Paddy Clancy and fellow Irishman Mike O’Flaherty back to the office from The Cartoonist where they were ‘resting’.
‘How will I know them?’ he asked. ‘Easy,’ says Steemson, ‘they’ll be standing at the bar wearing just their underpants.’ And so it came to pass. When Ashley returned to the office Steemson asked what the response had been. ‘They said to tell you to go fuck yourself,’ reported Ash. ‘Oh, good,’ said Mike, ‘they’re coming back, then.’ And so, fully clothed, they were.
James Mossop, 89
One of the great sports writers, James Mossop of the Sunday Express, has died aged 89.
Jim covered ten World Cups, eight Olympic games, dozens of world title fights, major golf tournaments and Formula One races.
He started his career on the North West Evening Mail and developed a passion for journalism that never waned. He spent most of his career on the Sunday Express before joining the Sunday Telegraph.
Alex Montgomery, former chairman of the Football Writers’ Association, said: ‘He was the very best of journalists, an outstanding football writer who had to be read and who was on so many occasions in a class of his own.’
The family, who are having a private funeral, have set up a tributes page.
CONTRIBUTE HERE
The Drone is particularly sad to announce the death of one of the funniest men in Fleet Street, Express sub-editor John Mulcock.
Mullers, as everyone called him, died on 18 October at the age of 81.
Drone editor Alastair McIntyre said: ‘Mullers was a great and dear friend and our joint insanity helped to keep us both sane during crazy and stressful days on the Express in the Noughties. I grieve for him.’
Tony Boullemier said: ‘A top sub and an extremely funny man. If he wasn't firing off a quip, he was saying something that you just knew was leading up to one.
‘And when political correctness spread over newsrooms in the 90s, he was one of the last journos to ignore it.’
John Mulcock, 81
TIMES READERS’ LIVES TRIBUTE
Ivor Davis, 87
ONE of the big stars of the old Daily Express, West Coast correspondent Ivor Davis, died on Sunday 29 March surrounded by his family in Ventura, California. He was 87.
The Express assigned him to cover the Beatles in 1964 when the toured America for a month. His wife, Sally Ogle Davis, died in 2012, and they had two children Gideon and Rebecca. In 1969 Davis co-wrote Five to Die, the first book ever published about the Sharon Tate-LaBianca murders, and covered the trial for the Daily Express.
As a foreign correspondent, he traveled throughout the western hemisphere covering riots, floods, earthquakes, and politics.
As Editor-at-Large for Los Angeles Magazine, he and Sally wrote more than 100 major magazine and cover stories. In 2019, he wrote about his journey with the Manson Family title Manson Exposed.
Davis was the best selling author of books about his travels with the Fab Four —“The Beatles and Me On Tour” and three books about his experiences with the Charles Manson murder case. His latest book is “The Devil in My Friend —The Inside Story of A Malibu Murder”— about a friend who turned out to be a murderer.
John Smith told the Drone: “Sad news about Ivor Davis, and farewell to another of Fleet Street’s greats. Our paths often crossed when I was New York correspondent for the Daily Mirror back in the sixties.
“He was fiercely competitive when chasing a showbiz story, but always amiable and cheerful company, ever ready to give me guidance when coping with the Hollywood scene that he covered so brilliantly for so many years.”
David Eliades, 92
THE Drone is particularly sad to report that David Eliades, who manned the Daily Express foreign desk for many years, has died at the age of 92 at his home in Switzerland.
There was more to David than just journalism. He was an author too and one of his works is still playing to audiences at various locations in Italy.
Stephen Bacon, 79
Stephen Bacon, one of the great Daily Express lawyers and a thoroughly nice man, has died. He was 79 and had been suffering from prostate cancer.
Stephen practised for 11 years in Manchester chambers before joining Express Newspapers from where he retired as head of legal. He later became a media law consultant mainly for The Times, The Sunday Times and The Sun.
Stephen leaves a wife, Felicity, who is a retired Express features sub, and a daughter, Cleo.
Compton Miller, 8o
Richard Compton Miller, the last of the gossips from the great days of Fleet Street has died at the age of 80. He had been in hospital with pneumonia when he caught an infection and had also been suffering from Parkinson’s Disease.
The funeral is on Tuesday December 16, at 1.30 at the Temple Church, Middle Temple.
Peter Grosvenor, 92
PETER Grosvenor, long-standing literary editor of the Daily Express, has died two months short of his 93rd birthday. He joined the Express in 1962 when Beaverbrook was still alive and taking more than a passing an interest in his newspapers. He remembered one call in particular when the Beaver informed him: "Mr Grosvenor, we have more readers in the Social AB class than any other paper. So it's a very important job you do Mr Grosvenor.” There would have been a hint of menace in the Beaver's delivery.
Gaiety at Eighty for Tony
IT was nosebags all round for the Class of 1970 when former Expressman Tony Boullemier took his old friends out to dinner to celebrate his 80th birthday.
Adding to the entertainment was Kelvin MacKenzie, who got married for the third time earlier this year. He confided that each time he marries he moves a junction or two of the M25. He is currently at Junction 11 and he confessed that he is currently considering Junction 16.
Pictured at the Queen’s Head in Weybridge, Surrey, are Kelvin MacKenzie, Julia Boullemier (Tony’s daughter-in-law), Alastair ‘Bingo’ McIntyre (appearing by kind permission of Lord Drone), Chris ‘Lady Bingo’ McIntyre, Craig Mackenzie, Lesley MacKenzie (Kelvin’s wife), Tony ‘Monsewer’ Boullemier, and his son Richard ‘Ric’ Boullemier.
Lord Drone is honoured for 20 years of his Fleet Street organ
LORDING IT: Drone as imagined by Scott Clissold of the Sunday Express
THE Daily Drone is 20 years old? Shurely shome mistake. Believe it or not it is true and to mark the anniversary His Worship Lord (Bingo) Drone was presented with a magnificent caricature hand-tooled by Scott Clissold, talented cartoonist of the Sunday Express.
The ceremony took place in front of disinterested diners at the Boulevard Brasserie in London’s Covent Garden, the venue for numerous drink-sodden gatherings of the World’s Greatest Lunch Club.
The brasserie is a favourite with WGLC members not just for the excellent cuisine but also for the fact that Le Patron provides old-age pensioners with half-price food.
Lord Drone gave a long address of thanks to gently sleeping members which can be summed up as “thanks awfully chums”. He left shortly afterwards in a sedan chair after proffering his fondest thanks to Roger Watkins (chairman), Terry Manners, Dick Dismore, Alan Frame and Pat Pilton for their generous gesture. (Will that do M’Lud? — Ed)
CRICKETERS IN THE FRAME
DAVID RICHARDSON, pictured above in sunglasses, has been clearing out his loft and come up with a few sporting pix involving Daily Express journalists. But who are they?
My brain scan and cognitive test proves that I’m as sharp as Trump
By IAN BAIN
I failed the Montreal cognitive test, the one that Donald Trump claims to have passed four times. So the Medicines for the Elderly Department, which I believe used to be called the geriatric unit, sent me for a brain scan. Three weeks later they called to say the report was in.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked.
“We’d like you to come in for a chat,” they said. “Allow for two hours and bring your wife.”
“My wife’s a psychoanalyst and would have to cancel patients.”
“Ten o’clock on Friday,” they said.
We were met by a cheerful staff nurse who immediately handed Sharadha a questionnaire to fill in. Did I have mood swings, etc.
“So, the scan results…” I ventured.
“You’ll be seeing the doctor when we’re finished here,” the nurse said.
I was getting a little alarmed, more so as she demanded multiple examples of my forgetfulness and homed in on my driving. Earlier in the week a friend who came to dinner asked in too jolly a tone if I thought they might take away my licence. Until that point I hadn’t.
“Before we start,” said the nurse, “can I just ask if you've given power of attorney to your wife... or anyone else?”
That was my rabbit-in-the-headlights moment.
“Now don’t get upset,” she said, “because you’ll need to focus on this next exam.”
She got out her stop watch. This was the Montreal test on steroids, the dreaded ACE-III.
“All the words you can think of beginning with P… Go!” The first was easy — panic. That was just one of seemingly countless individual tests. My fear of failing must have fuelled a mental agility I didn’t know I had.
Then it was into the doctor’s office for a joint interrogation after which I dared to ask “er… the brain scan…?”
“Oh that was fine,” said the doctor. “Very good for someone of your age.”
PS: Spurred by terror, I score 96 out of 100 in the ACE-III test.
EXCLUSIVE
John Osborne hated gossip writers but the play he wrote lampooning them was an embarrassing failure
John Osborne was one of our most successful playwrights but he hated gossip columnists such as William Hickey with a vengeance. So he wrote a play attacking them. Former William Hickey editor CHRISTOPHER WILSON, writing exclusively for the Drone, said the battle came to a head on 5 May 1959, the opening night of The World of Paul Slickey, the much awaited follow-up to Osborne's blockbusters Look Back in Anger and The Entertainer.
The play didn’t go well. The audience booed and actress Adrienne Corri, raced downstage throwing V-signs at them and shouting "Go fuck yourselves!"
Among those booing loudest was Noël Coward, who later wrote in his diary, “Never in all my theatrical experience have I seen anything so appalling — appalling from every point of view!”
Farewell to the Great Eliades
CHEERS DAVID: Raising a glass to David Eliades are, from left, Kim Willsher, Alan Frame, Geoff Levy, Gill Martin and Chris Williams
By ALAN FRAME
Before David Eliades joined the Daily Express in 1963 he worked briefly one floor up on the SX. Until, that is, the ghastly old lecher John Junor called him in and said: ”I’m afraid we shall be parting ways” to which David replied: “Sorry to hear that, where are you going?”
That was one of the many stories told when friends of the great man celebrated the 92 years of his life in the St Bride’s Glee Club, more formally known as the Humble Grape wine bar at the rear of Fleet Street’s parish church.
The event was hosted by David’s widow Lamar, pictured, who had travelled from Lugano with her daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren who took in their stride the sight of old hacks drinking vast quantities of fine wine.
Kim Willsher arrived straight from the Eurostar that had brought her from home in Paris. She told of David persuading Nick Lloyd to splash on the news of the Chernobyl disaster (we led the way on the appalling effects of the fallout which lasted for decades) and ensured that she had a well-deserved pop at Nick in the process.
One of David’s great gifts was in encouraging young female reporters, in spectacular contrast to the likes of Mike Parry, and it was no surprise that so many of them were there to raise a glass to him; Liz Gill, Gill Martin, Melanie Whitehouse, Gill Swain and Jo Gourlay. Louise Court would have been there had she not just lost her father Monty, former news editor of the Mail and editor of Racing Post.
Sadly David Richardson wasn’t well enough to make it from Languedoc but his daughter Lucy dashed down from her job in the City to read a message from the old boy.
Two distinguished former Express defence corrs were there, John Ingham and Michael Evans who excused himself after a mere three hours to write a piece for The Times.. Chris Williams came down from Glasgow, the indomitable Kate Hadley from Cambridgeshire, as had Esther Harrod, and David’s goddaughter Emma Freemantle from Herefordshire. Somehow I made the seven miles from Gipsy Hill and David Wigg the three from the King’s Road.
It was a great show of the affection we all had for David; Sue Peart, Maureen Paton, Caroline Hendrie, John Burns, Jeremy Gates and Geoff Levy all shared their memories and if I hadn’t ended up in the Bell with Williams, Willsher and Ingham I might well be able to recount them.
Thank you Lamar, and most of all thank you David. You were a star!
The things they used to say on Boulevard of Broken Dreams
By PAT WELLAND
With nothing better to do, I’ve been re-reading a couple of books about the Boulevard at a time now seen – as one of the authors remarks – “as remote as the Byzantine empire”.
From political commentator Alan Watkins’ excellent A Short Walk Down Fleet Street, two conversations between Jack Nener, “a foul-mouthed bow-tied Swansea boy” who was Mirror editor 53-61, and his deputy, Dick Dinsdale:
1. “What we need on this paper, Jack, are a few Young Turks.”
Nener: “I can see we could do with a few new faces about the place, but why in fuck’s name do they have to be Turkish?”
2. “The sub-editors, like most people who work long shifts in unchanging company, had a number of catchphrases, or joke sentences. One of them – it comes from the film of Tom Brown’s Schooldays, rather than from the book itself – was: ‘Flashman, you are a bully and a liar, and there is no place for you in this school.’
Nener was overheard asking: ‘Who’s this Flashman, then, Dick?’
‘Flashman? Flashman? I don’t think we’ve got any one of that name on the paper, Jack. Is he a reporter or a sub?’
‘I don’t give a fuck what he is, but get rid of him fucking quick. He’s a bully and a liar’.”
3. From Matthew Engel’s equally enjoyable Tickle the Public – 100 years of the popular press: “There is a story that around 1926 John Logie Baird went into the Express office anxious to show his new invention (TV, as any fule kno) to the editor (Beverley Baxter). Baxter, in keeping with the paper’s reputation for percipience, sent down the message ‘Get rid of that lunatic. He may have a knife'.”
GONG BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
AH, this fair takes a chap back to the old days when a bollocking from Sunday Express editor Eve Pollard earned the victim a medal.
This little gem was found in the effects of the late SX executive Phil Durrant by his widow Helen.
She said: ‘I have a lot of stuff to sort that was being stored. I found this with a safety pin on the back to wear as a badge, in Phil's stuff!'
Former Sunday Express exec Peter ‘Stewpot’ Steward told the Drone: ‘I don't know why everyone on the Sunday Express during Eve’s reign of terror didn't get one.’
Henry Macrory remembers that the 'badges' were created by the late Sheila Copsey.
The day I was told to rewrite Tom Stoppard’s copy (and share his ancient typewriter)
JOHN SMITH remembers a mad day at the Bristol Evening World in the 1960s when a gas explosion rocked the city. Tom Stoppard was one of several reporters sent to cover the drama. Trouble was that young Tom was not a news man and wrote far too much. Consequently a frazzled chief sub told Smith to rewrite the Bard’s lyrical prose.
The Night Howls
Two members of the Daily Express news sub-editorial team fill their time after returning from the pub late at night in the 1980s. If memory serves, this was the final of the Arthriticson Howling Contest which involved shouting HERE DOWN PLEASE! in the manner of Foreign Sub Jack Atkinson, an aged Ulsterman. By the look on the face of Lord Drone, left, he has received a high score from adjudicator Mr Robert ‘Algy’ Smith.
We thank you most kindly, as the late Mr Arthriticson would have said.
Fleet Street in the mist
Looks eerily quiet, doesn’t it? This slightly moist pic of Ludgate Circus taken from the foot of Fleet Street dates from 1972 and found by Terry Manners in his dusty drawers.
The photo was snapped by City copper PC Lew Tassle walking home after his beat in EC4.
He would have been standing outside the Albion so one can’t help wondering whether he had slipped into the pub for an out-of-hours snifter. Just about everyone else did.
PC Tassle often displays his pictures in the wonderful Spitalfields Life website which opens a window to how London used to be.
ALLAN HALL, of this parish, has written another book, which will be published next January but can be preordered today.
He told the Drone: “Conceived in delirium, written in Berlin, edited in Bavaria, printed in Cambridge — The Duck Press is the incredible story of the kidnapping of one Kelvin Calder MacKenzie! AND it's NOT self-published! (Spoiler alert: Kelvin survives.)
“Other than that, it’s a bit of a romp featuring a grieving father who lost his only son at Hillsborough, a gay crimper called Desmond, a Saaarf London villain named Vic, a Sun femme fatale, a fired Sun hack, a compassionate detective, a man-eating lizard called Cecil and the biggest beast of them all, Keith Rupert Murdoch. Sun staff in the book are sometimes real, sometimes fictional characters.”
The author pledges to squander all royalties on strong drink.
Allan Hall is retired now but was formerly a crime reporter at the Daily Mail, chief reporter at the Daily Star, US editor for The Sun and US editor at the Daily Mirror. He is the author of 30 books on crime, mysteries and the paranormal, including the bestselling Monster about Josef Fritzl.
NEW BOOK ALERT
Inside story of the kidnapping of Kelvin MacKenzie (up to a point)
WE’VE GONE BANANAS, READERS!
Swim’ll Fix It for the Donald
FRUIT AND NUT
The cheesy grins say it all. Lord Drone’s magnificent organ has staggered to the rescue of Donald Trump as he waits for his Nobel Peace Prize. We sent our columnist Helena Handcart (Mr) to dress up as a banana and hand the President the 10 metre swimming certificate (s)he won in the 1950s.
The Halfwit in the White House (what’s left of it) looks well pleased with the gift, doesn’t he readers?
FLEET STREET GOES TO WAR
An atmospheric picture from 1915 showing men queuing in Fleet Street to sign up to fight in the First World War. It makes one wonder if any of these brave lads ever returned from the killing fields.
This pic was submitted by Tom McCarthy who spotted them on a social media site called Old England in Colour, which features colourised photos.
RUPERT THE RUTHLESS
Rupert Murdoch was a ruthless operator from an early age, says Andrew O'Hagan in The New Yorker. The media tycoon's first job in the UK was a summer placement at the Birmingham Gazette, arranged for him by his father through the chairman of the paper's parent company, Pat Gibson. The editor, Charles Fenby, later recalled that he took young Rupert under his wing, befriending him and showing him everything he could about the business. "And what did he do? He wrote a filthy letter to Pat afterwards saying I should be fired."
MURDER!
(Of the Engliẝh language)
HERE is an excellent example of how language changes over the centuries.
It is a report of a murder case from 1674. Sixteen people died when someone poisoned boiling meat with rat poison.
Good job they eventually invented sub-editors. Thanks to the best of that particular breed, Terry Manners, who discovered this gem in the Bishopsgate Institute.
Poignant story behind these three cobblestones buried in memory of DX showbiz writer Ian Lyness in the land he loved so much
By BRIAN EMSLEY
THESE three cobblestones have been interred bearing messages in fond remembrance of former Express showbiz writer, and my friend, Ian Lyness.
The Drone ran an obituary four years ago after he died aged 70 in Colorado, where he lived with his American wife Catherine. But he suffered terrible homesickness for England.
Ian had asked me back in 2011, after first getting lymphoma, that his ashes be scattered in Hadley Wood, near High Barnet. But when his ashes were sent to me by his widow they were blocked by UK Customs for paperwork reasons and ended up in a lockup in Utah. His wife had by then relocated to Maryland.
A profound patriot, Ian would be turning in his urn that he could not rest in England especially when masses of illegal immigrants pour in with no paperwork. So, to honour his request, I and another chum buried cobblestones in the wood, messages penned on them. One of his favourite films was I’m All Right Jack, hence one of the messages.
He was a great supporter of King Richard III, who as a teenager, commanded the Yorkist army that crushed the Lancastrian army on the same spot at the Battle of Barnet. So, I hope Ian’s happy!
A MONOCLE-POPPING MOMENT AT THE EXPRESS
Do you mean us, Annie?
WHAT-HO! Express subs Alastair ‘Bingo’ McIntyre, Bob ‘Algy’ Smith and John ‘Bertie’ Brooks enjoying a refreshing glass of supper in the 1980s
MUCH has been written on these pages about the madcap Dronery on the Daily Express during the 1980s and 90s and our man TERRY MANNERS has found more evidence.
He writes: While browsing yet more publishing archives I came across this revealing quote from an interview with a local councillor for Salisbury, named Annie Riddle, pictured, in the December issue of the digital magazine Inside Salisbury.
Sounds fascinating, eh?
Talking about her time as a sub-editor in Fleet Street, she says: “When I was at the Express. There were a bunch of young lads there, four of them, they were very good, but they used to push it.
“They had this thing called the Drones Club and would pretend to be characters out of Bertie Wooster with the monocles and this would go on for the whole shift…
“Fleet Street was very male-dominated then. Heavy drinking was the norm but there was a lot of fun and I worked with some really clever people.”
Who could she be talking about, I wonder?”
(Drone editor dives under nearest desk)
Who the hell is that man gatecrashing our quiet lunch? McEntee? Nuff said
MAIL diarist John McEntee really put his foot in it when he arrived late at a lunch to celebrate his cousin Catherine’s 50th wedding anniversary with husband Mick.
So when he saw all the guests sitting at dining tables he wasted no time in addressing the assembled company.
But there was a hitch as the former William Hickey editor admitted.
He said: “l arrived late and all were seated including the happy couple their children Gareth and Andrew and two grandchildren plus childhood friend Majella Sullivan and her husband Nick. The upstairs room was chocka block with about 60 covers.
“Before the food was served and without Catherine I dashed to the front of the room banged a wine bottle with a spoon and called for silence.
“Addressing the throng I described growing up in Cavan with my cousin and how wonderful it was to be here with her family and friends marking her splendid milestone with Mick.
“I called for a toast just noticing out of the corner of my eye the lovely Catherine with her head in her hands. Returning to my seat nothing was said. Then during the dessert course I noticed that the room had emptied down to three large tables containing Catherine's invitees. Behind me were dozens of empty tables.”
Catherine explained: “They weren't part of our party. They were just people I don't know having lunch.” Doh!
DRONE PICTURE SPECIAL
My chum and colleague Ivor Davis, famed West Coast reporter for the Daily Express
Ivor Davis drives a robot in his car in pursuit of a story in 1984
BY PAUL HARRIS
THE death of Ivor Davis made me think of my life as a photographer from Barnstaple, North Devon, where I lived for 29 years too frightened to try and compete with Fleet Street.
In 1975 I sailed with my car to South Africa where there were lots of jobs as many white families were fleeing the country because of the fear of war.
I ended up in The Rhodesia Bush War but it was Terry Fincher who got me to Hollywood and Ivor Davis who enhanced my career in California.
DOLLY DANCING WEATHER
MIDSUMMER MADNESS AT THE DAILY DRONE
SLIPPERY SLOPE: News subs try to pop out for a livener between editions forgetting their bells are a giveaway
BY MORRIS AUSTIN
An exciting new pastime has been introduced for journalists affected by a major shake-up in the world of online newspapers: morris dancing.
A new troupe, the Drone Dollies, will soon be cavorting on the greensward and pub car parks of rural England.
The group is made up of journalists employed by Lord Drone. A spokesman explained: ‘Following the recent decision to reduce the World’s Greatest Online Newspaper publication a bit, His Lordship was concerned that his staff would become more bored and fractious than they already are.
‘Morris dancing seemed the ideal way to prevent the devil making work for idle hands, as it were.’
The Dollies intend to perform a mixture of Hersham Gay Morris and Heckmondwike TipToe. In some cases the dancers’ white silk hankies and traditional pig bladders or balloons on sticks will be replaced by elbow crutches, walking frames and mobility scooters.
*Morris Austin is not related to Austin Morris, writes Fiesta Ford
ATTA GIRLS: Members of the Women’s and Fashion Dept cease their incessant backbiting to strut their stuff
HIGH FLIERS: Elite Drone Back Bench team showcasing some nifty moves as the first edition deadline looms
Ace Star reporter George is the only journalist to be banned from writing for the Sunday Sport … possibly
By GEORGE DEARSLEY
The recent furore concerning newspaper mogul David Sullivan reminded me of an unusual claim to fame in my journalistic career. I believe I may be the only journalist ever to be banned from contributing to the Sunday Sport.
The ban was imposed by the then editor Drew Robertson, whom I had upset by writing an innocuous piece in the trade journal Press Gazette, the content of which has dissolved in the mists of time.
Robertson was later sacked in 1990 for running an adverse Press Council adjudication under the headline BOLLOCKS TO THE PRESS COUNCIL. Around that time, the Sunday Sport had also caused uproar when it snatched a picture of television actor Gorden Kaye as he lay injured in hospital after a car accident. Robertson went on to form his own media company and, among other things, has done sterling community work throughout Derbyshire.
An old friend of mine — Ian Pollock, ex Daily Star — took his post, leading Journalists Week to write the classic headline BOLLOCKS OUT – POLLOCK IN. My ban was immediately lifted and Ian commissioned me to write many pieces for the paper, including a full, graphic, no-holds-barred account of a man, who underwent a sex change operation to become a woman.
Another assignment concerned a TV ad about a giant hedgehog, which flattened cars on a country road. I had to interview the hedgehog. Them were t’days.
DRONE PHOTO NEWS
What goes around comes around: Young bloods Press ganged into reporting on the 1969 Troubles
By GEOFFREY SEED
FOOTAGE from the recent attempted pogrom in Belfast was enough to remind old hacks of how grim it was in the early days.
From memory, the Daily Mirror placed this ad in Press Gazette when young shavers like me were flown in for four week 'tours' to help out the permanent guys.
The Daily Mail's Belfast office was run by Ted Scallan and John Thorne, later of the BBC. I joined them periodically, soaking wet behind the ears, between 1969 and 1972 when almost a thousand people were killed —soldiers, police officers, civilians.
Stories could be filed until about 3 a.m. and six hours later, the whole bloody business started all over again.
I left newspapers for television in '74 but returned to Northern Ireland to film in the 'H' Block dirty protest and later, to produce three Panorama investigations into the British State's secret involvement in running terrorists.
All good clean fun. If nothing else, these experiences provided material for when I dyed my hair grey and began writing political thrillers.
CAPTAIN KIRK’S COCK-UP
HISTORY NOTE: In the early days of Star Trek in the 1960s, Press photographers snapped Captain James T Kirk, of the starship Enterprise, played by actor William Shatner, helping out behind the scenes by arranging his favourite rocks on distant planets.
Polite caption written by T. MANNERS
BAD TASTE CORNER
So. Farewell then, Hatters
LATEX AND LAMENTED: Roy with his Spitting Image alter ego
Lord (Roy) Hattersley, politician, journalist and writer who was deputy leader of the Labour party for a decade, has died aged 93.
He was a good chap who regularly visited the Daily Express’s London offices in Blackfriars clutching his weekly column to present to the editor. We speculated that he spent the rest of the evening enjoying a fish-and-chip supper ‘washed down’ by a pint of light and bitter.
Editor at the time was Rosie Boycott who was brought into turn the Express into a left-wing paper. Fortunately the readers seemed not to notice but they would have been furious if they had found out.
Life on the Express was like that.
ONCE MIGHTY PAPER POSTS £53m LOSSES
At the going down of The Sun we will mostly remember Kelvin’s great front pages
By JAMES BALL, writing in The New World
WHEN, in July 1995, Tony Blair controversially flew halfway around the world to give a speech to Rupert Murdoch and his top executives, he was not doing so to gain the endorsement of The Times. It was The Sun – then the most influential media outlet in the UK, and the tormentor of his predecessor Neil Kinnock – wot Blair wanted to win over.
Blair’s decision to woo Murdoch at the exclusive Hayman Island resort in Queensland, Australia, came with political cost. Murdoch had broken the print unions to move his operation to Wapping, and The Sun’s vile false front page the day after the Hillsborough disaster just six years earlier was still a relatively fresh memory.
Kelvin MacKenzie, who had run The Sun as a feisty, sometimes funny but mostly desperately racist, sexist and homophobic battering ram against Labour, had only departed as editor the previous year. Many within the Labour movement were appalled to see a fresh-faced, electable Labour leader even giving Murdoch the time of day, let alone flying to a private island to see him.”
But now The Sun is surely setting, just like its proprietor. Its readership is much diminished, its political power is all but used up, and it doesn’t even make money any more. Last week it announced losses of £53million in the previous tax year, up from £18million the year before.
Where once the paper was at the heart of the national conversation, it now barely reckons in it. Stop to think for a moment: what’s the last Sun front page that you can actually remember?
The truth is that newspapers as a whole have less power in 2026 than they did in the 1990s – in the internet era, there is simply a lot more competition for our attention. This has shown in their sales: in 2010 the Sun was the UK’s top-selling paper, shifting around 2.9m copies a day, a comfortable 800,000 copies ahead of the second-place Daily Mail.”
“Part of the cause of the Sun’s woes is the phone-hacking scandal, for which it is still paying compensation and legal costs more than 15 years after the scandal broke. The newspaper made a profit of £103m in its last accounts before the phone-hacking revelations, but has failed to ever turn a profit since – with cumulative losses totalling £1.3bn over the last 15 years.”
“The question is how much longer the Sun itself lasts. Insiders believe it is safe for so long as 95-year-old Rupert Murdoch is alive – but after that, it could easily be put up for sale, or even shut down entirely.
©The New World
Changing face of Fleet Street
This is how the Street of Shame looks like at the moment. This pic, taken last week from the top of an N551 bus in the early morning, shows the progress of the works to build new law courts and an HQ for the City Police.
Also promised is more seating (handy if you’re too pissed to get back to work) and wider pavements (which will make the gutters a little bit farther away).
These admirable developments are, of course, too late for us old timers, but a big vote of confidence in the next generation of drinkers.
The Daily Drone is published, financed and edited by Alastair ‘Bingo’ McIntyre with contributions from the veteran journalists of old Fleet Street, Manchester, Glasgow, Welsh Wales and the worldwide diaspora. Dedicated to scribblers everywhere.
©Lord Drone, Whom God Preserve 2005—2026
