I won’t write about Twitter or superinjunctions this week except to say that no broadsheet newspaper could have given such prominence to a story of a footballer’s grubby affair had it not been able to do so under the pretence of discussing the ‘profound legal implications’.
I won’t write about Twitter or superinjunctions this week except to say that no broadsheet newspaper could have given such prominence to a story of a footballer’s grubby affair had it not been able to do so under the pretence of discussing the ‘profound legal implications’. My advice to footballers is to avoid lawyers, but instead to marry people with spectacularly high-minded journalistic tastes. That way you can conduct orgies in full view of the paparazzi outside Chinawhite while your wife is back in Cheshire reading Apollo or the New York Review of Books, entirely oblivious to what’s going on.
I certainly don’t want to live in a country where the alleged behaviour of Dominique Strauss-Kahn might be downplayed out of deference to the powerful, but nor do I much like a place where prurience is presented as a virtue. So this week I have switched off the television and watched my laptop instead.
When I tell you that what I have watched is in Danish, with subtitles, lasts 20 hours, contains no famous actors, is shot largely in Copenhagen during the hours of darkness and deals with questions of death, guilt, betrayal and local government, I am conscious that I am not really winning you over. However, The Killing deserves its reputation as one of the most remarkable television crime thrillers ever made. Even at £1.89 for each one-hour episode downloaded from iTunes (Luddites may prefer the DVD boxed set, at £38.93 from Amazon), you won’t grudge a penny.
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