COMMENT
Every time I leave the country something seems to happen. Boy, did it ever this time. On Thursday afternoon I was sitting in my un-air conditioned room in Budapest's elegant hotel Gellert, where the temperature was only a few degrees below the 36 it was outside, when Sky News announced that the NoW was to be sacrificed at the alter of capitalism. Already it is clear what is going on.
Allow me to look inside the mind of James Murdoch:
"Well, Dad told me to cut it loose, and I couldn't care less. I hate newspapers as much as dad loves them, but he loves the idea of controlling BSkyB even more. So with all the advertisers jumping ship and polls of the public indicating no one is going to buy it again, it was already dead in the water. Never mind. Dad can have a "son of NoW", a "Sun on Sunday" or whatever, so he'll be happy, and we'll soon me making millions again. Not that that matters too much. Our family's still making billions from our other holdings, so who cares? Dad also told me to be nice to the big-haired one. Knows too much, apparently, even about us. Christ! Can't let all that come out. Me? I've never trusted redheads. In fact if I could put a contract out on her I would, but I suppose it wouldn't look good having her die in a car crash right now."
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