“I’m delighted the Mail brought this matter to our attention so soon after it was broadcast so we could take action. I would never have known about the distasteful antics of those two hairy bullies otherwise.” – Doreen, Dorset, Daily Mail Online comments.

Imagine a few days ago you’d handed me a pen and asked me to write a list of five sentences I would never – ever – use.

Ignoring the paradoxical irony of the request, my list would probably have looked something like this…

1) “I’d definitely tune in to a Mark Zuckerberg talk show.”
2) “That South African guy is absolutely right.”
3) “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Douglas Coupland.”
4) “If you’re serious about moving this relationship to the next level, I really think you should set up a blog.”
5) “In Russell Brand’s defence…”

…

And yet.

…

In Russell Brand’s defence, the Mail on Sunday can go fuck itself. And so can the Daily Mail.

Let’s review the facts, such as they are, of the ’scandal’ that is currently the top story on the BBC’s website and TV news bulletin (beating ‘UN urges end to DR Congo conflict’ into second place).

On Thursday 16th October, Russell Brand (he of Big Brother’s Big Mouth and Forgetting Sarah Marshall fame) recorded his weekly BBC Radio 2 show with Jonathan Ross as guest co-host. During the show, the hilarious duo phoned Andrew ‘Manuel from Fawlty Towers’ Sachs, who was also supposed to be a guest on the show.

Sachs didn’t answer his mobile phone and so Brand and Ross, quite predictably, left a string of voicemails, joking that Brand had slept with – sorry, “fucked” – Sachs’ granddaughter, a burlesque dancer and topless model who is currently performing with a group called The Satanic Sluts. Brand had fucked her, it turned out, on three separate occasions, according to her subsequent comments in The Sun.

Two days later, after being cleared by BBC editors who played the clip to Sachs over the phone for his approval (it was “a bad line” he later said), the show was broadcast with a warning that it ‘contains strong language’.

And then – nothing.

Nothing for eight days, unless you count the two – count ‘em – complaints to the BBC over Ross’ language.

And then, picture the scene. A week after the original broadcast, at the Mail on Sunday’s editorial meeting…

Peter Wright (editor MoS): “So what have we got for tomorrow?”

Hack: “Fred Bassett in colour!”

Wright: “We have that every week – what’s our big front page splash?”

Hack: “The Great British Pub Quiz on DVD!”

Wright: “News! We’re a fucking newspaper aren’t we? A Sunday Newspaper! Our front page is supposed to set the news agenda for the week! What’s the fucking news?”

Hack: “Hang on, boss, I’ll call the work experience girl who monitors the BBC for gaffes. I’m sure there’s something in the last week of tapes that we can blow out of all proportion.”

As I write this, since the MoS’s front page splash, OVER 27,000 complaints have been received by the BBC, Gordon Brown and David Cameron have weighed in, Andrew Sachs has said – generously- that he’s not going to complain to the police, his granddaughter Georgina Baillie has hired Max Clifford as her publicist and has called for Brand and Ross to be sacked, Brand has resigned.

STOP. JUST FUCKING STOP.

Point one: it’s a non-story. Graham Norton makes distasteful crank calls to members of the public all the time on Channel 4 and no one cares. See also Phonejacker and every Radio 1 DJ since the beginning of time. Yes, it wasn’t nice of them to discuss someone’s sex life on air but, Christ, the girl (stagename: Voluptua) calls herself a ’satanic slut’. Where’s the real harm here?

Should a producer have edited out the call before broadcast? Possibly. But that’s a tough editorial call. It’s a late night comedy show, starring Russell fucking Brand. And Sachs had agreed to be a guest on it. If anyone should be fired, it’s his agent.

Two people complained on hearing the broadcast. Neither of them was Manuel or Voluptua. Which brings us to:

Point two. There are only two classes of people who should be allowed to complain about TV and Radio programmes – even programmes that licence payers pay for. They are…

1) People mentioned in them

2) People who have actually watched or listened to them

That’s it. No one else. Not fucking Mail readers retweeting the manufactured bullshit dittohead outrage of their voice of middle England overlords. Not opposition leaders hoping to win over the elderly, not Prime Ministers who should be steering us away from fucking  recession. Not Gerald Cunting Kaufman (in fact, no one called Gerald, full stop), not other tabloid newspapers, not Guardian columnists and not Fawlty Towers fans.

And even those who pass the first two tests should only be allowed to complain if they were offended by the content of the broadcast. Reasons not to be allowed to complain include: because Andrew Sachs is 87, because Andrew Sachs played Manuel, because Andrew Sachs is 87 AND played Manuel, because you’re a reactionary dickhead, because you’re jealous of Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross.

Ah, yes, that last one’s the biggie. And it’s really the nub of all of this, isn’t it?

Lots of people – 27,000 and counting – don’t like Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross, not because they don’t find them funny (that’s what the off switch is for), but because Brand and Ross get paid £200k and £6m a year respectively by the Beeb. And, for those 27,000 people, this episode is the perfect excuse to stick the boot in, especially at a time when the majority of them are worried about their own jobs and - paging Mail readers - the plummeting value of their homes.

Mix in an old national hero (Manuel!) and a couple of sexy topless pictures of his granddaughter (pictures that were published in both the Mail and the Sun) and you’ve got middle England outrage gold.

So Brand resigns – with just a burgeoning Hollywood career and commercial radio / Channel 4 deal waiting in the wings to fall back on, the BBC gets fined by Ofcom and – inevitably – a producer or two gets the boot. Who’s the winner here? Not the licence payer who is still paying Ross to do nothing while he’s on suspension (he won’t be fired) and will also take the hit for the cost of the BBC’s Ofcom fine. Not Andrew Sachs who comes out of this looking like a confused old man…

Producer: “Mr Sachs, I’m just phoning to play you a clip to see if it’s OK to broadcast.”

Sachs: “¿Qué?”

Producer: “A CLIP. ABOUT YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER.”

Sachs: “¿Qué?”

Producer: “Ok, listen to this…”

Sachs: “So sorry. Is… bad line.”

Producer: “A bad line is no excuse you old fool – it’s a recording of a message that has also been LEFT ON YOUR ANSWER PHONE.”

Sachs: “¿Qué?”

Producer: *Slap* “I’m so sorry, he’s from Barcelona.”

So, if not the licence player or the alledged victim, qui bono? The Mail, certainly, able as it is to claim front page victory over the evil BBC; Georgina Baillie, absolutely, given that her phone is now ringing off the hook with offers to appear on ‘I’ve fucked a celebrity, get me out there’ and suchlike. And Max Clifford, who will sit between the two, making money hand over clammy fist.

One of the jokes that Ross made during the broadcast was that Andrew Sachs might be so upset that he would kill himself.

As I look up at this grotesque winners’ podium and see The Mail, a wannabe page three girl and Max Clifford standing there, laughing and spraying Champagne over each other, while everyone else in the crowd huddles together, drenched to the skin by a hailstorm of liquid bullshit, I can’t help but wonder if suicide might be the answer for the rest of us too.

Oh look, here comes Piers Morgan.

*Click*

*BANG*