The big thing about Justice Malala is that he never asks sweetheart questions. Last week, just before the dog and pony show known as the General Election, he ran an interview on his five-star show The Justice Factor with the deputy chairman of the Independent Election Commission, the urbane and modest Terry Tselane. Inevitably, the question of Pansy Tlakula came up. She is the boss of the whole show and is an object of some concern to various people. Like Caesar’s wife, she has to be above suspicion and suspicion is the order of the day. Hence an enquiry into her conduct which is ongoing.
Malala was distressed by this and questioned Tselane on the effect this might have on the electoral commission’s moral status. Tselane took the uppercut modestly on the chin and returned the serve (one day I want to be a real sports writer with a collection of metaphors) with a modest ace, just missing the net. Malala, in Gerrie Nel mode, insisted that the issue be addressed. With due modesty, Tselane urbanely declined to provide a verdict in advance of the court case suggesting, modestly, that Malala keep his eye on the ball instead of insisting on a penalty shoot-out so early in the game.
Meanwhile, back in Northern Ireland, the whole bloody mess of the IRA’s amateur civil war is well on the way to starting all over again. Evidence from embargoed interviews has incriminated Gerry Adams, the Sinn Fein leader, in a nasty political assassination in 1973, carried out on his orders. While ambiguous in many ways, the evidence for the accusation resulted in Adams’s four-day incarceration in the Belfast police station where he was exposed to hard interrogation. Not the Abu Ghraib sort of hard, but vigorous, insistent and long-lasting. One session ran for 17 hours. And then there was the food, which was so bad that he didn’t eat for a couple of days.
Not that we saw any of this: instead both BBC and Sky ran footage of the demonstration by Loyalists waving Union Jacks and yelling a lot, outside the jail. Their demo, which, unlike ours involves no dancing, blocked the three armoured Land Rovers that were escorting the released and as yet uncharged Adams back to his home.
As is their democratic right, the Loyalists sat in the road. The convoy blew its sirens. The Loyalists yelled and swore, unaware that Adams and yet another convoy of police Land Rovers had left via the back door. Way to go, hero of the Troubles!
And then along came Beauty School Cop Outs, a new series on MTV. This is a reality television show and showing the reality of eight young British people of most genders who qualify for a training programme in the beauty industry.
These laaities are all about |20 and come from a variety of employment backgrounds, such as bouncers at nightclubs. The men are mostly powerfully built model-quality chaps with vast areas of their huge bodies covered in tasteful tats. One is reminded of lizard scales, but then one has hostile views of tats in general.
The ladies enjoy hair extensions and tight blouses. Make-up is all over their faces. They talk a lot, especially to the camera.
One said: “People who go out bright orange with bad eyebrows annoy me.” Another confided: “Some people say I look like Barbie. I take that as a compliment because Barbie is the perfect woman.” Watch this next week.