I spent yesterday at a pensions trustee seminar in London. I travelled to London on the train and in the cafe opposite Marylebone station I had scrambled egg on toast for breakfast. Someone had left a copy of the Sun on behind on the table, so I had a quick flick through it, though it proved a depressing experience regarding the quality of journalism.
Raoul Moat is a very serious subject, but a short article about the possible below average size of Mr. Moat penis was an archetypal Sun article and suggests the editor needs to get a grip himself (or maybe he already has).
While on the surface it is a trivial article written on a rag, it does reinforce to me the concerns about the expanding media empire of the Sun's owner.