In the newspaper business there’s a name for a story that makes your jaw hit the floor and your eyes pop out of your skull: ‘a marmalade dropper’. For instance, the disclosure that HM Revenue and Customs had misplaced the personal records of 25 million people was ‘a marmalade dropper’, as was the revelation that Lembit Opik was going out with one of the Cheeky Girls. However, I have always thought of this as a figure of speech rather than a literal description of the effect a particular piece of news produces. Until now, that is.
‘Darling,’ said my wife as I sat at the breakfast table munching a piece of toast. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Do you promise you won’t be cross?’
‘You haven’t been fined for not paying the Congestion Charge again?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that.
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