A Curious Career by Lynn Barber Page B

had any proper legal basis. Thus, I could ask my old boss Bob Guccione if he was connected with the Mafia, and put the question in the article, so long as I followed it with his denial. But it meant I could at least float the idea, which readers could ponder for themselves. People were terribly shocked in 1990 when I asked Sir Jimmy Savile if it was true that he liked little girls. He had just been given a knighthood! He was a friend of the Royal Family! He had raised zillions for charity! How could I ask him such a terrible thing? But it was a rumour that was very widespread (and subsequently turned out to be true, though not until after his death) and I felt I had to tackle it. Sir Jimmy was momentarily flustered by the question but not, I think, surprised. He obviously knew the rumour existed. And of course he denied it. But at least by posing the question, I’d alerted readers to the possibility.
    My sessions with the Sunday Express lawyers amounted to a useful libel training, and in fact I only ever landed the paper with one writ – from Frank Warren, the boxing promoter, who was a famously keen litigant – which was settled out of court. But while I was at the Sunday Express , I had an extremely lucky libel escape. I was asked to do an article about the fashion world, and happily ran round interviewing designers and attending catwalk shows. I noticed in the latter that Rastafarians seemed to be all the rage – it was a rare show that didn’t feature at least one model with dreadlocks. I mentioned this to the fashion editor who said oh yes, Rastafarians were the hot new accessory and the designer Katharine Hamnett actually lived with one. I gleefully put this in my article, thinking that the fashion editor’s word must be good enough. Alas, it was not (she had mixed Hamnett up with someone else) and we duly received a letter from Hamnett saying that she lived with her husband and didn’t even know any Rastafarians. Potentially, she could have sued us for tens of thousands but instead she wrote sweetly that, in case people got the wrong idea, perhaps we could print a small correction? Of course we did, with huge sighs of relief, but it could have been a very costly mistake.
    By luck more than judgement, I managed to get through several decades of doing interviews – and often going quite close to the line – without being sued for libel. I ascribe that largely to my habit of tape recording everything and keeping the tapes, but also to discussing potential problems with the in-house lawyers. When I did finally find myself in court, in 2011, it was over a book review for the Telegraph and I lost. The case took three years to come to court, cost something like £1 million in legal fees (which the Telegraph had to pay, thank God, not me) and meant spending literally weeks in consultation with lawyers. My day of cross-examination in court was one of the most unpleasant and exhausting days of my life – the idea that anyone, ever, should ‘look forward to their day in court’ is insane. The whole process was a nightmare, and I’m very glad it didn’t happen to me when I was younger, because it could have permanently shaken my confidence. It must be tempting for young journalists now to avoid all possible legal problems by never writing a single rude word about anyone. But how dull that would be for the readers!
    Libel, of course, is the most obvious hurdle you confront as an interviewer, but there are other, much less straightforward ethical questions that have to be decided by your conscience rather than the law. I believe that an article should give an accurate account of what happened in an interview, but some journalists (especially on the Daily Mai l ) don’t seem troubled by this rule. They find it alarmingly easy to distort what transpired – for instance, they will give the impression that the interviewee has talked non-stop about their evil ex-husband when in fact they’ve been trying to plug their pet