XXXpenses

The most entertaining piece of news so far this week has been the revelation of Jacqui Smith’s X-rated expenses claim. Trivial, I know, but oh, so satisfying. Not because the amount being creamed off is an issue – when compared with the tens of thousands that an MP might hoover up as a result of, say, a questionable second home allowance, this is small time, not many steps up from taking a few biros home from the office.

No, what I love is the sheer poetic justice of it. This happened to Big Sister, the latest Home Secretary tasked with railroading us into accepting an outrageous, intrusive, almost certainly insecure ID Card and database, a cheerleader for the Police’s probably illegal attempt to hang on to the DNA of anyone they’ve arrested, regardless of whether they’re subsequently released without charge “just in case”, someone who apparently finds the idea of private citizens having private lives and keeping control of their own personal data suspicious and possibly subversive. If you’ve nothing to hide, as the saying goes, you’ve nothing to fear, Jacqui.

The expenses, in this case, are a side issue. The important thing is that this hurts. A brief thought experiment – just suppose that there had been no MP’s expenses and no public money involved, but Jacqui’s husband’s viewing habits had still accidentally leaked out into the public domain. As far as I’m aware there was nothing illegal about the “adult material” Jacqui’s hubby was watching but Jacqui would, I think, still have been hurt, and embarrassed by having something she’d have liked to keep private made public.

This, Jacqui, is what it feels like to be denied privacy. This is what it feels like to be under constant surveillance. Not very comfortable is it? Do you feel angry, humiliated, violated? Can you feel the irony yet? Ha! Ha!