I like to take an interest in genuinely insightful investigative journalism. For the merest examples, off the top of my head and of recent vintage: All manner of war correspondents. Jason Burke's always-informed despatches on terrorism for the Observer. David Cohen's behind-the-story inner-city London featurettes for the Standard. Er, Laura Topham's insanely, inanely-addictive 'Single Life' columns for the same paper... (I wish I could find some examples on line, she really is so, so bad it's so, so good - annoyingly pretty, too, it's true - but I'll stop here, before I get too disturbing...)
But I take my hat off, hurl it 20ft in the air, catch it on my bonce, take it off again, repeat the trick, and finally hand it over as a mere token of my affections in tribute to the author of the following scandalous expose about one of the most-beloved icons of our, or any recent time... Life shall never look quite the same again.
Woodward and Bernstein - grab some cutlery and ketchup and prepare to gorge heartily on those, er, hearts of yours...
Read it and weep...
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