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The eyes of the nation turn towards a little corner of far-off France. Emerging into the morning sunshine, chest bared, carefree and laughing, rejoicing in the gentle kiss of sun on naked flesh…. It is… Brother Stents, an elderly customer of this blog who long since departed his damp shop in Cornwall for sunnier climes.

Scratching his armpits and rubbing his eyes, he is unaware thus far of the twitching in his shrubbery (as it were).

It being dewy morn, he is, for the moment, just until breakfast, sober. And therefore, ever-so-slightly grumpy, a condition fondly remembered by customers of a certain pet shop.

But see! He stops, shocked, arthritic fingers frozen in the act of scratching his wizened yet capacious scrotum.

He has noticed the eyes of the nation upon him.

He shouts. “What? What? I haven’t got any. And you’re not having it.”

The eyes stare remorselessly. Telephoto lenses click. Coyly, Brother Stents covers his nipples.

“I’m not buying anything. I haven’t got any money. You can’t park your camper vans here.”

The eyes stare.

Bewildered, Brother Stents backs into his palatial residence, calling pathetically for Mrs Stents, involuntarily breaking wind (though the latter is nothing unusual these days).

What are these eyes doing, then, focusing on poor Brother Stents?

Well, it is because this simple pensioner is but a couple of Euros away from immortality on the front page of the Daily Mail. A nation hangs on his choice.

Were Brother Stents to purchase a copy of the French edition of that esteemed organ Closer and post it to this blog, or better still scan in certain images and e-mail them to this blog, he would be instrumental in the first, exclusive British publication of photographs of the norks of the future Queen of England. Such pressure.

While subsequently languishing in jail, Stents and I could take comfort in having provided vital public information to many readers of this blog who tell me they have spent fruitless hours searching for the royal hooters on the internet.

Together, we could strike a blow for people with too much time on their hands. We could strike a blow for the rights of the man and woman in the street to be titillated. Literally. We could strike a blow for the freedom of a press which would sooner talk about regal baps than, for example, Jeremy *unt’s *uck-you appointment to the NHS. A noble cause, indeed, Brother Stents.

Would I print the pictures? Yes. Because there is a public interest defence. Because the public are undeniably interested.

Does the interest betoken a purpose other than prurience? No.

Is it in any way important for the public to see photographs of the Middleton mammaries? No. I suppose you could mount a defence that the nation has a valid interest in the health of her adorable little puppies as they may one day be called upon to nurture a future monarch, but that’s a bit of a shaky argument.

Were the photographs an invasion of her privacy? Yes. It is really appalling that any woman, princess or pauper, should be stalked by a voyeur in this way. It is a form of sexual assault.

Is it any different to the case of Harry’s wanger? Slightly, in that Harry’s little prince was photographed by a guest invited by Harry, who then betrayed him. Whoever photographed Kate’s devil’s dumplings was simply stalking. But the end result is the same – Harry would not have invited his guest if he’d though he or she would then unleash pictures of his Ginger Johnson on an eager world. (Possibly. You never really know with Harry, do you?) But Kate, I’ll bet, certainly did not get them out for the boys, or anybody else.

Can such invasions be stopped? In the short term, yes, by improved security. But crucially, in the long term, only if people stop buying newspapers and magazines that print pictures of celebrities in swimming costumes or with their gazonkas flopping about the place. And if celebrities, including royals, stop willingly acting as dopey clothes horses and allowing themselves to be endlessly photographed.

Is it fair on Kate? No. But then, life isn’t fair.

When Management, poor girl, decided to get manacled to me, she decided on all of me. As well as the saturnine good looks, the exquisite good taste in matters of words and music, the extraordinary sexual prowess, the culinary skill, the wit, the intelligence, the joie-de-vivre, the wisdom, the generosity, the man-of-the-world sang-froid, the sporting ability, did I mention the extraordinary sexual prowess?, she got the bad temper, the dreadful wind problem, the drink habit, the intolerance, the poverty, the terrible clothes, the shocking impatience, the opinions, the ranting, did I mention the dreadful wind problem? Being intelligent, she knew all this. Her choice. When Kate chose Will, she had to know that with the man she got the glare. He is what he is. Not just a man. Her choice.

So given all that, would I print? Again, yes, because to pontificate endlessly about celebrity privacy is to avoid the central point. It isn’t the paparazzi who are the baddies here, or the journalists who run pictures of Royal nakedness. They wouldn’t do it if the people didn’t buy. Yes, the press should show restraint. But nobody’s going to show restraint if they can scent cold hard cash.

And actually, is restraint really necessary? Do Kate’s bazookas really matter? Shouldn’t the royals just buy a sense of humour with all that money of ours they’ve got and front it out (as it were). Legal action? Criminal case? Good god, it’s only tits.

If I were their PR advisor, my advice would be this: get William and Kate up on live TV doing a strip act. Stand them stark bollocky buff in front of a watching audience of billions and have it all over and done with. If everybody sees the lot, once and for all, there’d be no mystery, no titillation, and no more snappers in the shrubbery. If they really wanted a peaceful life, they’d get Harry and Pippa in on the act. As a bonus, the internet would explode.

If you doubt the advice, look at the case of Madonna, for one example. She’s been getting them out for years, in one way or another, and now all anybody does is yawn and ask politely if she wouldn’t mind putting them away.

I write all this with some hesitancy, by the way, as the person who once murdered Princess Diana. As those of you who have been with us from the start will know: http://www.fraserwords.co.uk/?p=57 Read that old piece from before William and Kate’s marriage, and you will marvel afresh at my prescience and wisdom.

So I have form here. But I’d say now what I said then: something along the lines of the length of your spoon vis-à-vis supping with the devil.

Over, then, to Brother Stents (though I am aware that others of us have French Connections too, Sister Wizard Woman, and that there are readers in other little corners of Europe too). I suppose that if the thought of sharing a prison cell with me is too much for the old boy, we could reach a compromise solution and permit him just to describe the Duchess’s headlights? A nation awaits…

Oh – and while you’re waiting could you have a whip-round for the cost of the fine for copyright infringement?

Case for the defence

I’m always keen to offer you evidence that supports my beardy lentil-wearing lefty views, as you know. Three things for you this week.

Firstly, Brother Fiddle sends us this link: http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2012/09/15/opinion/sunday/20110913_letters-slide-sh-3.html

Be warned. You’ll need a strong stomach.

Secondly, can I suggest all those of you who don’t believe what I say about the divide in this nation between have and have-not, between north and south, tune into Neighbourhood Watched on BBC1? It’s about social housing in the north of England. And guess what? All the poor people smoke and have televisions. Watch it, and tell me if you’d swap places with them. Watch it, and tell me if you think the country has an underclass or not:.

It’s full of people who have made exactly the same mistakes rich people have made: bad sexual choices, bad choices of substance abuse, bad job choices, poor educational choices, self-obsession, poor diet, lack of social skills. But crucially, the people in the programme who have made these choices have made these choices without any money.

And finally, we must thank the good Brother Fiddle once again for this: http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2012/sep/16/health-firms-nhs Corporate consultants advise the private sector to prepare to cash in on £20billion of our money from the NHS, thanks to the reforms of this disgusting government.