Fiona McCade: Look at me - I have nothing to hide

Published on Tuesday 10 May 2011 17:38

BEFORE I start, I want to state once and for all that I am not having an affair with Jeremy Clarkson. Nor am I fooling about with any Premiership footballers, well-known actors, or indeed anybody with a household name.

I feel it's worth getting that out of the way, just in case anybody ever accuses me of taking out a super-injunction to keep it all quiet.

In fact, if I were a misbehaving celebrity and I wanted to protect myself from the unforgiving glare of publicity, I'd avoid going down the super-injunction route. From what I understand, a super-injunction is only more super than an ordinary injunction because it's so very, very super-secret, it's not even supposed to exist. But precisely because it's not supposed to exist, you have to tell people - ie: journalists; lawyers; everyone in all media, everywhere - that it exists. Then you have to tell them every little detail, so they know what details they're forbidden to report.

So, the very super-ness of a super-injunction means way more people end up knowing about it - and knowing way more about it - than if it were just a mere injunction. Doesn't sound so super to me.

Besides, super-injunctions are like red rags to the bulls of cyberspace. Take one out and immediately there will be several million people itching to tweet their opinions on who it's for and why it's there. This is good for free speech, but obviously hellish for any innocents whose good names get bandied about while the internet detectives are trying to track down their prey. Right now, some famous people are suffering unwarranted attention, simply because others are trying to keep us all in the dark about their indiscretions. This is a state of affairs - or not, depending on whom you believe - that can't go on much longer.

So, what to do if you're a well-known face with something to hide? Go one step further and take out a hyper-injunction? (Yes, they exist. They're so hyper-secret, they can't even be discussed with parliamentarians, media, or even lawyers, which begs the question: if even your lawyer doesn't know you've taken out a hyper-injunction, who can you discuss it with?) Or just give up, keep your head down and maybe try to behave better?

With impeccable timing, just as the super-injunction furore reaches a peak, Max Mosley, the ex-head of Formula One, has failed in his bid to persuade the European Court of Human Rights that newspapers should be forced to warn celebrities when they intend to publish stories about them. Like a lot of people in the public eye, Mr Mosley seems to think his life should be above examination, because he says it's not in the "public interest". He's right, but only up to a point.

It's a natural, human instinct to be intrigued by obvious attempts at deception.I'm not really interested in Mr Mosley's life, or his strange little penchant for sado-masochistic orgies, but seeing him go to such lengths to keep his secrets can't help but pique my curiosity.

The well-known figures who are trying to use our courts to shield them from the consequences of their own actions might learn something from the Spycatcher case. Back in 1985, Peter Wright, former assistant director of MI5, wrote a book about his exploits. By most accounts, Spycatcher wasn't much of a read, but once the UK government got all hysterical and tried to ban it, it instantly became a bestseller.

It's the perfect example of how high-profile gagging orders can actually generate interest, and since I don't like the idea of anyone - especially the rich, powerful and successful - being unfairly protected by the law, I hope those people relying on our legal system to cover up their misdemeanours will soon be exposed to the full censure of the Twittering masses.

Until that happy day comes, I've decided to take out a super-injunction to keep the contents of this column totally private and confidential. If that doesn't send my readership figures into the stratosphere, nothing will.