8 www.thestar.co.ukThe Star, Wednesday, November 28, 2012

FEATURES

Two lines hdytwo lines hdyTIME and time again, following a trag-edy we hear of the failings of the socialservices or other agencies who couldhave prevented it - if only they had com-municated effectively.

Sadly, we are witnessing the sameagain over the failure to properly iden-tify Hannah Bonser as a risk and whowent on to kill an innocent teenager,Casey Kearney..

A report published into Bonser onceagain identifies systemic failings - sobad that the killer became almost“invisible” to the council and healthservices that should have been helpingher to cope with her mental state.

Bonser, herself, is a victim - let downby the system as a child - and the inde-pendent review identifies a number ofmissed opportunities to safeguard herfrom neglect.

That failing is important becauseit would have had a material bearingon her mental wellbeing - a conditionthat led to her stabbing to death youngCasey.

And those failings, though uncon-nected, continued into her adult life.Bonser told many agencies many timesthat she might harm someone - yet shewas not identified as a high risk.

She was well known to the agenicesand was seen by 16 different psychia-trists and more than 20 communityworkers.

Surely someone overseeing her casewould have been aware that this waswrong.

But there was no-one who acted asa lead professional to oversee her careand treatment.

Once again we are being told that asa result organisations need to conductbetter monitoring, record keeping andtraining.

Sadly, that is too late for Bonser, butmore importantly, it is too late for poorCasey.

Manor’s panto isa crowd pleaserIT’S a city institution, as Sheffield asHenderson’s Relish and just as much-loved.

The Manor Operatic panto at theCity Hall has entertained hundredsof thousands of Sheffielders and is anestablished favourite in many a familydiary.

This year’s performances mark thecompany’s 25th year, a remarkable featby anyone’s standards.

The group reckons every year morethan 25,000 of us turn out to see them, atestament to their dedication and talent.

So never mind whether the economyis flagging, the Manor panto never failsto perform.

That’s because it makes us feel goodand that’s why it continues to live on,

OPINION

Follow the Editor on@TheStarEditor

OurMolly tries speed-dating in city of love

Find love in Paris?Are you in Seine!

OurMolly tries speed-dating in city of loveOurMolly tries speed-dating in city of loveOurMolly tries speed-dating in city of loveOurMolly tries speed-dating in city of loveOurMolly tries speed-dating in city of loveOurMolly tries speed-dating in city of loveOurMolly tries speed-dating in city of love

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, whenthrown together, make me squirm.

Fancy and dress, for one. Office andparty, another duo. But the pairing whichreally makes my skin crawl is speed anddating. I can almost smell the desperationseeping from my fingertips as I tap thosewords out on my keyboard.

So when airline Jet2.com offered mea place on their first ever Love Plane -whisking 100 singletons from Yorkshireoff to Paris for a day of match-making fun- I didn’t exactly jump at the chance.

But since dying alone looks increasinglylikely, and since I have been asked outonce in the six months I have lived in Shef-field, and since almost every phone callback home to Barrow is met with ‘haven’tyou got yourself a fella yet, our Molly?’ - Idecided to put my pride and prejudiceaside and hop on board a flight to France.

My quest for love begins on a coldNovember morning at Leeds Bradford Air-port. Outside is pitch black. There is noteven a hint of the morning sun and yet myeyes are fixed, razor-sharp on every manwithin a half-mile radius.

V-neck t-shirt? No thanks. Bright redchinos? Jog on. Ironic bobble hat? ‘Taxi forbobble boy!’

Despite my initial concerns, I chat tosome lovely people. Some applied for theirseat through Jet2, some through radiostation Capital FM and others have beenroped into joining friends.

Kerry Jennings, 25, from Gleadless,Sheffield was nominated by colleagues atCatcliffe-based Dormer Tools.

“They call us the Dormer Dollies,” shesays. “I am the youngest there so theythought they’d put me forward for it.”

And just in case we need any datingtips, Mario and Lucy from ITV2’s TheOnly Way is Essex have been drafted in toaccompany us on the trip. A quick powernap later and we arrive at Charles deGaulle airport. There is chance for a cou-ple of snaps beneath the Eiffel Tower - halflost in an autumn mist - before boardingour boat for a cruise along the River Seine.

Already the majority of Yorkshiremenand women are showing a typical ‘Britsabroad’ approach to the free drink on thetable. There is a fine Bordeaux to ac-company the red meat main, then a crispChardonnay to go with dessert. But as Ilook around me, glasses are being filled tothe brim with the nearest bottle to handregardless of its colour. Don’t these folkwatch Come Dine With Me?

After a beautiful two-course meal it’son with the dating. We’re told we have toscore 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 ispolite 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’sall going surprisingly well.

“What football team do you support?” Iask.

“Leeds United,” replies Daniel.So close.Next up is Carl Watson, a 28-year-old

personal trainer from Selby. He’s clearly alovely lad, but is slightly tipsy and beginsto tell me about the girl who broke hisheart.

Now I am no dating expert, but I’mpretty sure talking about the ex withinthe first 30 seconds of a five-minute date isconsidered a bit of a faux-pas.

I want to shake him, to tell him to manup, to say ‘save the sob story for your XFactor audition’ - but instead I nod sym-pathetically while wondering how BarrowAFC are getting on.

Date number three is Daniel James,22, from York. He seems nervous, but thejournalist in me helps prevent any awk-ward silences with my dates. This is aninterrogation, a barrage of whos, whats,whens, wheres and whys Paxman wouldbe proud of. When I finally stop to lookacross the table I see I have reduced himto a quivering wreck. He’s contemplatingjumping overboard rather than spendingthe remaining two minutes opposite thisdemon in a dress.

So far, not so good. Around me would-becouples laugh and chat and ply each otherwith booze. I resolve to try and be morelaid-back with my next date.

He walks over and pulls my handshake

into a kiss on his wine-stained lips. Not thebest start. I point out the splendour of theEiffel Tower as we sail past, he mentionssomething about Blackpool. Seriously,mate? The penultimate date is a far morepleasant experience. His name is Tom andhe is a 28-year-old firefighter from Leeds.There is no spark but I enjoy our chat.

Last up is Adam Bradshaw, 26, a lawyerfrom Sheffield. I clocked his coat in the air-port. Well-dressed, tall, dark hair. Couldbe on to a winner here.

But Adam and I don’t seem to havemuch in common, other than the fact welive in Sheffield and are obsessive aboutcleanliness. Reader, I didn’t marry him.

By the end of the session, red winehas turned a lot of teeth a deep shade ofscarlet. It has gone from looking like anepisode of Take Me Out to a scene fromDawn of the Dead in one swift boat ride.As Jet2 collect in the cards I take a sneakpeek at what one of my dates scored meand immediately wish I hadn’t.

Despite being in the most romantic cityin the world, the jaunt did not result in alove-match, though I’d have happily elopedwith the dashing Parisian working in theduty-free shop. Or the chap with the chis-elled cheekbones in Passport Control.

But at least I learned a few things aboutmyself along the way. Firstly, don’t knockit until you’ve tried it, that I score a solid4/10 in the attractiveness stakes (thanksCarl) and I would quite like to marry aFrenchman. So perhaps just a one-wayticket will do next time...

byMOLLY LYNCHNews Reporter Non, merci

Non, merci

Non, merci

Love talk: Star reporterMolly Lynch declines the ad-vances of these three suitorswhile 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 nowwhen the Leveson Inquiryfirst started I read an opinionpiece in a local newspaperabout the phone hackingscandal.

“I bet you imagine,” thewriter noted, “that, as ajournalist, I’m always break-ing into voice mails. I bet youthink I’m bribing council of-ficials and paying police off.”

I flicked back to the frontpage.

The splash was about adoctor running a race toraise money for a patient.Something told me no-one had risked jail tonail that scoop.

Still...that was sortof his point. He’d never

broken any laws in the nameof journalism, he said.

Neither have I, unless youcount once forgetting to buy

a Supertram ticket. And nei-ther, I’m confident, have anyof my colleagues.

Our stock-in-trade, see, islegal journalism: in holdinglocal institutions to account,investigating local issues,reporting local crimes andsupporting local campaigns.

The Star is here to informyou what the council is slash-ing next or to reveal whatthe student games are stillcosting or to tell you why thepolice were round at number57 last night.

It’s not in the remit to lis-ten to Sean Bean’s voice mail;or pay paps to sit outside JessEnnis’s home in the hope ofgetting an upskirt shot.

It’s a paper that’s part ofthe community, and youcan’t be part of any com-munity if people don’t trust

you because you’re mired incorruption.

Hacking, blagging, pingingand bribing have no place.

Those were dark arts con-fined to a few dark journalistsworking on dark nationalnewspapers. The preserve ofscummy types for sure - but,significantly, just a few ofthem.

This is what Lord Leveson- and I imagine he’s read-ing so I’m happy to remindhim - must remember beforerecommending any statute-backed press regulationtomorrow.

Some hacks have acteddisgracefully. They shouldbe punished by law. Butthe trade should not be.Newspapers, like The Star,must be allowed to go abouttheir business without fearof excessive, expensive andtime-extracting monitoring.

Why? Because a press freefrom interference is one ofthe single most importantthings this country has.

Good newspapers watchour country’s institutions -courts, councils, police, andother newspapers indeed -and ensure they do no wrong.They keep us safe. Theyprovide transparency andensure free speech. They area democratic bulwark.

Which means it’s probablynot entirely wise to leavesuch papers under eitherthe direct or arms-lengthinfluence of MPs - you know,the people at the centre ofan expenses scandal a whileback.

The conclusion? The lawwill punish the journalistwrong-doers. For the rest ofus - for good newspapers, forThe Star, for the reporterwith the scoop about a doctorrunning a race - we should beleft free from excessive, po-tentially vindictive, possiblydangerous legislation.

Because, ultimately, con-sider this: it was journaliststhemselves who uncoveredthe phone hacking scandal.

Inquiry:LordLeveson.

ColinDruryColumnist of the year

Takes a look at ethics

Pressing aheadafter Leveson

‘‘ ‘‘Something told meno-one risked jail tonail that scoop

We’ll always

have Paris...

City of love:

Star reporter

Molly Lynchpreparing toboard the Jet

2

Love Plane to

Paris, right,and Mollymeets TheOnly Way isEssex’sLucy andMario Falcone