1. 8 www.thestar.co.ukThe Star, Wednesday, November 28, 2012
FEATURES
Two lines hdy
two lines hdy
TIME and time again, following a trag-
edy we hear of the failings of the social
services or other agencies who could
have prevented it - if only they had com-
municated effectively.
Sadly, we are witnessing the same
again over the failure to properly iden-
tify Hannah Bonser as a risk and who
went on to kill an innocent teenager,
Casey Kearney..
A report published into Bonser once
again identifies systemic failings - so
bad that the killer became almost
“invisible” to the council and health
services that should have been helping
her to cope with her mental state.
Bonser, herself, is a victim - let down
by the system as a child - and the inde-
pendent review identifies a number of
missed opportunities to safeguard her
from neglect.
That failing is important because
it would have had a material bearing
on her mental wellbeing - a condition
that led to her stabbing to death young
Casey.
And those failings, though uncon-
nected, continued into her adult life.
Bonser told many agencies many times
that she might harm someone - yet she
was not identified as a high risk.
She was well known to the agenices
and was seen by 16 different psychia-
trists and more than 20 community
workers.
Surely someone overseeing her case
would have been aware that this was
wrong.
But there was no-one who acted as
a lead professional to oversee her care
and treatment.
Once again we are being told that as
a result organisations need to conduct
better monitoring, record keeping and
training.
Sadly, that is too late for Bonser, but
more importantly, it is too late for poor
Casey.
Manor’s panto is
a crowd pleaser
IT’S a city institution, as Sheffield as
Henderson’s Relish and just as much-
loved.
The Manor Operatic panto at the
City Hall has entertained hundreds
of thousands of Sheffielders and is an
established favourite in many a family
diary.
This year’s performances mark the
company’s 25th year, a remarkable feat
by anyone’s standards.
The group reckons every year more
than 25,000 of us turn out to see them, a
testament to their dedication and talent.
So never mind whether the economy
is flagging, the Manor panto never fails
to perform.
That’s because it makes us feel good
and that’s why it continues to live on,
OPINION
Follow the Editor on
@TheStarEditor
OurMollytriesspeed-datingincityoflove
Find love in Paris?
Are you in Seine!
OurMollytriesspeed-datingincityofloveOurMollytriesspeed-datingincityofloveOurMollytriesspeed-datingincityofloveOurMollytriesspeed-datingincityofloveOurMollytriesspeed-datingincityofloveOurMollytriesspeed-datingincityofloveOurMollytriesspeed-datingincityoflove
Find love in Paris?Find love in Paris?Find love in Paris?Find love in Paris?Find love in Paris?Find love in Paris?Find love in Paris?
Are you in Seine!Are you in Seine!Are you in Seine!Are you in Seine!Are you in Seine!Are you in Seine!Are you in Seine!
THERE are certain words which, when
thrown together, make me squirm.
Fancy and dress, for one. Office and
party, another duo. But the pairing which
really makes my skin crawl is speed and
dating. I can almost smell the desperation
seeping from my fingertips as I tap those
words out on my keyboard.
So when airline Jet2.com offered me
a place on their first ever Love Plane -
whisking 100 singletons from Yorkshire
off to Paris for a day of match-making fun
- I didn’t exactly jump at the chance.
But since dying alone looks increasingly
likely, and since I have been asked out
once in the six months I have lived in Shef-
field, and since almost every phone call
back home to Barrow is met with ‘haven’t
you got yourself a fella yet, our Molly?’ - I
decided to put my pride and prejudice
aside and hop on board a flight to France.
My quest for love begins on a cold
November morning at Leeds Bradford Air-
port. Outside is pitch black. There is not
even a hint of the morning sun and yet my
eyes are fixed, razor-sharp on every man
within a half-mile radius.
V-neck t-shirt? No thanks. Bright red
chinos? Jog on. Ironic bobble hat? ‘Taxi for
bobble boy!’
Despite my initial concerns, I chat to
some lovely people. Some applied for their
seat through Jet2, some through radio
station Capital FM and others have been
roped into joining friends.
Kerry Jennings, 25, from Gleadless,
Sheffield was nominated by colleagues at
Catcliffe-based Dormer Tools.
“They call us the Dormer Dollies,” she
says. “I am the youngest there so they
thought they’d put me forward for it.”
And just in case we need any dating
tips, Mario and Lucy from ITV2’s The
Only Way is Essex have been drafted in to
accompany us on the trip. A quick power
nap later and we arrive at Charles de
Gaulle airport. There is chance for a cou-
ple of snaps beneath the Eiffel Tower - half
lost in an autumn mist - before boarding
our boat for a cruise along the River Seine.
Already the majority of Yorkshiremen
and women are showing a typical ‘Brits
abroad’ approach to the free drink on the
table. There is a fine Bordeaux to ac-
company the red meat main, then a crisp
Chardonnay to go with dessert. But as I
look around me, glasses are being filled to
the brim with the nearest bottle to hand
regardless of its colour. Don’t these folk
watch Come Dine With Me?
After a beautiful two-course meal it’s
on with the dating. We’re told we have to
score our dates out of 10 for attractiveness,
sexiness and personality.
First up is Daniel Cooper, 27, from York.
On the surface, he isn’t my type, but he is
polite and sweet.
I ask his profession - a bricklayer. Nice,
at least he’ll have a sturdy set of shoulders.
We chat about York, places to go out. It’s
all going surprisingly well.
“What football team do you support?” I
ask.
“Leeds United,” replies Daniel.
So close.
Next up is Carl Watson, a 28-year-old
personal trainer from Selby. He’s clearly a
lovely lad, but is slightly tipsy and begins
to tell me about the girl who broke his
heart.
Now I am no dating expert, but I’m
pretty sure talking about the ex within
the first 30 seconds of a five-minute date is
considered a bit of a faux-pas.
I want to shake him, to tell him to man
up, to say ‘save the sob story for your X
Factor audition’ - but instead I nod sym-
pathetically while wondering how Barrow
AFC are getting on.
Date number three is Daniel James,
22, from York. He seems nervous, but the
journalist in me helps prevent any awk-
ward silences with my dates. This is an
interrogation, a barrage of whos, whats,
whens, wheres and whys Paxman would
be proud of. When I finally stop to look
across the table I see I have reduced him
to a quivering wreck. He’s contemplating
jumping overboard rather than spending
the remaining two minutes opposite this
demon in a dress.
So far, not so good. Around me would-be
couples laugh and chat and ply each other
with booze. I resolve to try and be more
laid-back with my next date.
He walks over and pulls my handshake
into a kiss on his wine-stained lips. Not the
best start. I point out the splendour of the
Eiffel Tower as we sail past, he mentions
something about Blackpool. Seriously,
mate? The penultimate date is a far more
pleasant experience. His name is Tom and
he is a 28-year-old firefighter from Leeds.
There is no spark but I enjoy our chat.
Last up is Adam Bradshaw, 26, a lawyer
from Sheffield. I clocked his coat in the air-
port. Well-dressed, tall, dark hair. Could
be on to a winner here.
But Adam and I don’t seem to have
much in common, other than the fact we
live in Sheffield and are obsessive about
cleanliness. Reader, I didn’t marry him.
By the end of the session, red wine
has turned a lot of teeth a deep shade of
scarlet. It has gone from looking like an
episode of Take Me Out to a scene from
Dawn of the Dead in one swift boat ride.
As Jet2 collect in the cards I take a sneak
peek at what one of my dates scored me
and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Despite being in the most romantic city
in the world, the jaunt did not result in a
love-match, though I’d have happily eloped
with the dashing Parisian working in the
duty-free shop. Or the chap with the chis-
elled cheekbones in Passport Control.
But at least I learned a few things about
myself along the way. Firstly, don’t knock
it until you’ve tried it, that I score a solid
4/10 in the attractiveness stakes (thanks
Carl) and I would quite like to marry a
Frenchman. So perhaps just a one-way
ticket will do next time...
byMOLLY LYNCH
News Reporter
Non, merci
Non, merci
Non, merci
Love talk: Star reporter
Molly Lynch declines the ad-
vances of these three suitors
while speed dating in Paris
9www.thestar.co.uk The Star, Wednesday, November 28, 2012
FEATURES
Follow Colin Drury at twitter.com/colin_ _drury
YEARS and years ago now
when the Leveson Inquiry
first started I read an opinion
piece in a local newspaper
about the phone hacking
scandal.
“I bet you imagine,” the
writer noted, “that, as a
journalist, I’m always break-
ing into voice mails. I bet you
think I’m bribing council of-
ficials and paying police off.”
I flicked back to the front
page.
The splash was about a
doctor running a race to
raise money for a patient.
Something told me no-
one had risked jail to
nail that scoop.
Still...that was sort
of his point. He’d never
broken any laws in the name
of journalism, he said.
Neither have I, unless you
count once forgetting to buy
a Supertram ticket. And nei-
ther, I’m confident, have any
of my colleagues.
Our stock-in-trade, see, is
legal journalism: in holding
local institutions to account,
investigating local issues,
reporting local crimes and
supporting local campaigns.
The Star is here to inform
you what the council is slash-
ing next or to reveal what
the student games are still
costing or to tell you why the
police were round at number
57 last night.
It’s not in the remit to lis-
ten to Sean Bean’s voice mail;
or pay paps to sit outside Jess
Ennis’s home in the hope of
getting an upskirt shot.
It’s a paper that’s part of
the community, and you
can’t be part of any com-
munity if people don’t trust
you because you’re mired in
corruption.
Hacking, blagging, pinging
and bribing have no place.
Those were dark arts con-
fined to a few dark journalists
working on dark national
newspapers. The preserve of
scummy types for sure - but,
significantly, just a few of
them.
This is what Lord Leveson
- and I imagine he’s read-
ing so I’m happy to remind
him - must remember before
recommending any statute-
backed press regulation
tomorrow.
Some hacks have acted
disgracefully. They should
be punished by law. But
the trade should not be.
Newspapers, like The Star,
must be allowed to go about
their business without fear
of excessive, expensive and
time-extracting monitoring.
Why? Because a press free
from interference is one of
the single most important
things this country has.
Good newspapers watch
our country’s institutions -
courts, councils, police, and
other newspapers indeed -
and ensure they do no wrong.
They keep us safe. They
provide transparency and
ensure free speech. They are
a democratic bulwark.
Which means it’s probably
not entirely wise to leave
such papers under either
the direct or arms-length
influence of MPs - you know,
the people at the centre of
an expenses scandal a while
back.
The conclusion? The law
will punish the journalist
wrong-doers. For the rest of
us - for good newspapers, for
The Star, for the reporter
with the scoop about a doctor
running a race - we should be
left free from excessive, po-
tentially vindictive, possibly
dangerous legislation.
Because, ultimately, con-
sider this: it was journalists
themselves who uncovered
the phone hacking scandal.
Inquiry:
Lord
Leveson.
ColinDrury
Columnist of the year
Takes a look at ethics
Pressing ahead
after Leveson
‘‘ ‘‘Something told me
no-one risked jail to
nail that scoop
We’ll always
have Paris...
City of love:
Star reporter
Molly Lynch
preparing to
board the Jet2
Love Plane to
Paris, right,
and Molly
meets The
Only Way is
Essex’s
Lucy and
Mario Falcone