As if the story of Madeleine McCann who went missing in Portugal isn’t harrowing enough, the British media seems determined to turn it into a branch of show business.
Every time a reporter comes on the news from the Algarve, they seem to say “The trouble is the police here just aren’t telling us anything. Don’t they understand we’ve got three bulletins a day, and a 24-hour rolling news channel? Quite frankly, Huw, there’s thousands of us out here covering this, you’d think they could at least hold a daily meaningless press conference with an inspector telling us they’re keen to interview someone but they’re not sure who, like we have in Britain.”
Almost every report ends “We try to find out more, but instead of answering our questions the Portuguese police say they’re ‘getting on with the investigation’.” And you expect them to continue “It’s almost as if they see solving the crime as more important than being on the telly. Oh well, that’s just the Portuguese way I suppose.”
For a while, it seemed every television reporter in Britain had gone there, and I still expect the newsreader to say one night “Police have indicated the kidnapper may have come from another country. So we’ve sent a reporter to one of those other countries – Mexico. David Smicklethorpe, you’re in Acapulco, what’s the mood out there about this case?”
Then an expert sits at the table to say something like “Many people are asking questions as to why the Portuguese police are proceeding so slowly.” Because if the investigation had been conducted by British police it would have moved much faster, so that by now they’d already have caught someone, whose face would have appeared on front pages over a headline “The most evil face ever including Satan’s”, and be well on the way to being convicted until 15 years later when it turned out he was a tadpole-collector who’d never been out of Wiltshire.
The newspapers can be more direct, snarling “What a daft idea to let the Portuguese investigate this case! But in these pro-European PC days all it takes is for a crime to take place in Portugal and we hand it straight to the Portuguese! Well is it any wonder they’ve got nowhere?! They’re too busy with siestas and religious festivals to solve crime! Who caught Doctor Crippin? The Portuguese? Where was Inspector Morse from? Portugal? Exactly!!!”
You can almost feel them wanting to publish a photograph and say “If you haven’t caught him yet, what about this bloke? We took his picture yesterday in Preston. Well, he looks weird enough doesn’t he? Well go on then you idle Portuguese coppers, get round there and dig up his lawn.” Then at the bottom it can say “Do you know someone who looks weird? Then take their picture and send it to us in an envelope marked ‘Suspect’.”
And the columnists are itching for a proper suspect, so they can write one of their pieces that goes “Some people call him scum. Well maybe I’m old-fashioned but that’s too darned soft. He’s not just any scum, like the scum in a washing-up bowl that’s been left for a week with a greasy frying pan in it. He’s industrial scum, from a toxic plant in the Russia that’s not even subject to EU regulations and regularly spills out sulphuric acid that kills all the fish. that’s the sort of scum he is.”
But in the meantime the reporters have to make do with stories such as the discovery of a trace of blood on the wall, discovered by sniffer dogs. Even that was presented on the news by telling us “British dogs have a level of expertise that doesn’t exist in Portugal”. And this was said in the slightly proud tone they might use to tell us a British boy is in the final of the World Draughts Championship.
The discovery was reported in The Sun as the news that “Last night three theories emerged about the blood”. It informed us “It could be Maddie’s”, or “It could be the kidnapper’s”. Or thirdly, it went on, “It could be from others”. It seems so simple now they’ve worked it out, like at the end of an episode of Miss Marple. With one bold train of thought they’ve narrowed it down to everyone in the world. Maybe they’ll follow this up by telling us “Amongst those who are other are no less than Angelina Jolie, Frank Lampard and Henry the Eighth, though Portuguese police have ruled out anyone who died 400 years before the block was built.”
The Sun has also done its bit by asking us to “Download our special poster”. And it can only help that alongside the missing girl’s picture is the logo of The Sun. Perhaps every company is trying to find ways of using this tragedy as a marketing opportunity. Someone might sponsor the police, so the reporters have to say “I’m standing here at the headquarters of the Axa Equity and Law investigation”.
And maybe television executives are in negotiations with the Portuguese police to maximise the potential for raising their profile, by making all future announcements live on Saturday evenings just before the draw for the lottery. Maybe they’ll get Davina McCall to do it in that reality TV way, gasping “And the DNA belongs to…” (a bass drum beats like a heart, we see the suspects’ faces, we see them holding hands). Until the name is announced, the police lead the convict to his cell through a flurry of fireworks and we all look forward to doing it all again with a new cast next year.
As if the story of Madeleine McCann who went missing in Portugal isn’t harrowing enough, the British media seems determined to turn it into a branch of show business.
Every time a reporter comes on the news from the Algarve, they seem to say “The trouble is the police here just aren’t telling us anything. Don’t they understand we’ve got three bulletins a day, and a 24-hour rolling news channel? Quite frankly, Huw, there’s thousands of us out here covering this, you’d think they could at least hold a daily meaningless press conference with an inspector telling us they’re keen to interview someone but they’re not sure who, like we have in Britain.”
Almost every report ends “We try to find out more, but instead of answering our questions the Portuguese police say they’re ‘getting on with the investigation’.” And you expect them to continue “It’s almost as if they see solving the crime as more important than being on the telly. Oh well, that’s just the Portuguese way I suppose.”
For a while, it seemed every television reporter in Britain had gone there, and I still expect the newsreader to say one night “Police have indicated the kidnapper may have come from another country. So we’ve sent a reporter to one of those other countries – Mexico. David Smicklethorpe, you’re in Acapulco, what’s the mood out there about this case?”
Then an expert sits at the table to say something like “Many people are asking questions as to why the Portuguese police are proceeding so slowly.” Because if the investigation had been conducted by British police it would have moved much faster, so that by now they’d already have caught someone, whose face would have appeared on front pages over a headline “The most evil face ever including Satan’s”, and be well on the way to being convicted until 15 years later when it turned out he was a tadpole-collector who’d never been out of Wiltshire.
The newspapers can be more direct, snarling “What a daft idea to let the Portuguese investigate this case! But in these pro-European PC days all it takes is for a crime to take place in Portugal and we hand it straight to the Portuguese! Well is it any wonder they’ve got nowhere?! They’re too busy with siestas and religious festivals to solve crime! Who caught Doctor Crippin? The Portuguese? Where was Inspector Morse from? Portugal? Exactly!!!”
You can almost feel them wanting to publish a photograph and say “If you haven’t caught him yet, what about this bloke? We took his picture yesterday in Preston. Well, he looks weird enough doesn’t he? Well go on then you idle Portuguese coppers, get round there and dig up his lawn.” Then at the bottom it can say “Do you know someone who looks weird? Then take their picture and send it to us in an envelope marked ‘Suspect’.”
And the columnists are itching for a proper suspect, so they can write one of their pieces that goes “Some people call him scum. Well maybe I’m old-fashioned but that’s too darned soft. He’s not just any scum, like the scum in a washing-up bowl that’s been left for a week with a greasy frying pan in it. He’s industrial scum, from a toxic plant in the Russia that’s not even subject to EU regulations and regularly spills out sulphuric acid that kills all the fish. that’s the sort of scum he is.”
But in the meantime the reporters have to make do with stories such as the discovery of a trace of blood on the wall, discovered by sniffer dogs. Even that was presented on the news by telling us “British dogs have a level of expertise that doesn’t exist in Portugal”. And this was said in the slightly proud tone they might use to tell us a British boy is in the final of the World Draughts Championship.
The discovery was reported in The Sun as the news that “Last night three theories emerged about the blood”. It informed us “It could be Maddie’s”, or “It could be the kidnapper’s”. Or thirdly, it went on, “It could be from others”. It seems so simple now they’ve worked it out, like at the end of an episode of Miss Marple. With one bold train of thought they’ve narrowed it down to everyone in the world. Maybe they’ll follow this up by telling us “Amongst those who are other are no less than Angelina Jolie, Frank Lampard and Henry the Eighth, though Portuguese police have ruled out anyone who died 400 years before the block was built.”
The Sun has also done its bit by asking us to “Download our special poster”. And it can only help that alongside the missing girl’s picture is the logo of The Sun. Perhaps every company is trying to find ways of using this tragedy as a marketing opportunity. Someone might sponsor the police, so the reporters have to say “I’m standing here at the headquarters of the Axa Equity and Law investigation”.
And maybe television executives are in negotiations with the Portuguese police to maximise the potential for raising their profile, by making all future announcements live on Saturday evenings just before the draw for the lottery. Maybe they’ll get Davina McCall to do it in that reality TV way, gasping “And the DNA belongs to…” (a bass drum beats like a heart, we see the suspects’ faces, we see them holding hands). Until the name is announced, the police lead the convict to his cell through a flurry of fireworks and we all look forward to doing it all again with a new cast next year.