Richard Littlejohn – Why? Just Why?

Yet more textbook lazy journalism from Richard Littlejohn, the Daily Mail’s spleen-venter-in-chief, in today’s edition of the slyly racist Middle England comic. As the magnificent Kevin Arscott points out in his blog, today’s ‘Who do you think you’re kidding Mr Darling’ effort not only ticks all the boxes of idle formulaic tabloid journalism, it’s also a simple regurgitation of a piece he wired in from Florida two years ago. (The Mail led me to believe it was only the BBC who served us a diet of repeats.) I have no intention of writing an intelligent, nuanced piece about Littlejohn – Kevin’s already done that very well thank you – no, I’m more interested in a simple, mindless hatchet-job on the fat racist liar.



In a sense I suppose Littlejohn does his job perfectly. His sole purpose in life appears to be to induce rage in the reader, whether you share his nasty views or not, and he achieves this by endlessly railing against ‘The PC Brigade’, ‘The Feminazis’, ‘The Elf & Safety Nazis’ and so on, while at the same time effortlessly managing to incorporate the simple trick of being a complete twat. There are so many aspects to his being that cause my blood to reach boiling point: his racist idea-feed to the BNP; the hypocrisy of bemoaning immigration when he lives in Florida; the blatant fabrication of stories to fit in with his nasty, ignorant agenda; the harping on about ‘liberal media’ when most of it is bullied around by Murdoch and Dacre; the constant lazy catchphrases (‘You couldn’t make it up!’); the obsession with homosexuality (why is he so interested in something that supposedly has nothing to do with him?); the fact he made Michael Winner look like a hero when he called Littlejohn ‘an arsehole’ on London Weekend Television. But most of all I just hate his fat, stupid, racist face.

I don’t claim that this item is balanced or clever in any way. I’m not pretending to take him on, issue for issue, to point out the folly of his ways – others have done, and will continue to do that far more eloquently than I can. No, I just don’t like the nasty little worm, his poisonous views or the festering dungheap of a newspaper he writes for.

I feel slightly better now.



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