The Dalston Mercury is to be awarded the prestigious Press Complaints Commission Gold Medal for Journalistic Restraint and Forbearance in the Face of the Almost Overwhelming Temptation to Make Smutty Jokes at the Expense of a Senior Politician Caught with his Trousers Round his Ankles.
This award, which has never been presented to any British newspaper ever – not even The Guardian – will be handed to the Mercury’s editor this week at a glittering ceremony in Leicester, which just happens to be the home town of one Mr Keith Vaz.
Who may or may not be an MP. We’re not sure. Don’t really know anything about the man, actually. Not a sausage. Or three sausages. Covered in baby oil, probably.
Anyhow, glittering ceremony, prestigious award, proper grown-up journalism, huge honour for this newspaper, recognition of our unwavering integrity and our refusal to wallow in the gutter like some other news organisations which just do not know where to draw the line. Not a line of cocaine, obviously. What do you mean cocaine? Who said anything about poppers? Not us. Absolutely not. No way Jose.
So, getting back to the point: Keith Vaz oiled up in a gimp mask ripped to the tits on Mescaline. No! Not that. That’s what we would absolutely never write. Not ever. Filth of that kind. Lurid speculation. We’re not The Mirror. We’re like, tragedy for the family, human frailty, hardworking and conscientious member of parliament, stuff like that. That’s our angle. That, and absolutely not thumping house music and Ricky Martin videos and items of crotchless rubber underwear smothered in industrial quantities of cherry flavoured lubricant…