'It's not the money I'm bothered about, it's the principle.',
I glanced down at the stitching coming away from the pocket of my trousers,
'And the money.'
Hannah agreed to continue asking the MoS for the shirts off their backs. We didn't think they were going to give at all, it was just so they couldn't pull a bit of cash from their back pocket and walk off without giving the matter another thought. As I say, 'principle'.
I now had to leave for the southern tip of Germany for the next bit of our holiday, to a village called Oberstaufen where the internet has not yet penetrated. Lord help me – I was going offline.
Before I left I gave J Nash the password for my NTL account, so he could confer with Hannah and do anything necessary while I was marooned away from cyberspace.
Next, an email arrives from the MoS's lawyers threatening to sue me for the explanation I've put on the Things page and how it allegedly defames Jim Gillespie (purely as shorthand, by the way, throughout this he was referred to as Copyright Jim).
Tragically, this email arrives while I'm in a place in the Austrian Alps with no net access and no phone. Thus, knowing nothing whatsoever about it, my response is a series of flowing parallel turns on a ski run at Balderschwang. I am deft.
The MoS's lawyers also got in touch with Hannah (I found out all these things, by the way, when I returned to the German cybercafe and logged on to 'You have 1,101 new emails'). She called J Nash. J Nash is the most utterly unthreatenable person who's ever been. (He's also even more dumbly stubborn about principles than I am – this is a man who walked out of his job as editor of a magazine over a point of principle so esoteric that there are still only four people in the world who claim to understand it.) His reaction to the MoS's legal threat was, in Hannah's words 'very cool'.
Being a splendid chap, however, and mindful of the absent me, what he did was to remove anything from what I'd written that could in any possible way be used for ammunition by the MoS and, further, move the remainder onto his server stating at its new home that it had nothing to do with either Hannah or me.
The MoS's throbbing legal mind didn't think this sufficient and contacted Hannah again suggesting she ought to tell her client and his friend J Nash to grow up (Huh-uh-huh-uh-huh, Beavis – she said 'up'). J Nash's ISP was also contacted by the MoS's legal wing and asked to shut him down as his site contained 'defamatory material'. It didn't.
I don't even want to get into the details of what went on then, as they're horribly messy, or at least appeared to be so to me when I returned from skiing (skiing quite brilliantly, it's important to add) to read the whole thing in flashback in a German cybercafe at the rate of 2DM per 15 minutes. The upshot was that the final email from Hannah I collected in Germany said that she'd received a cheque for £1,600 from the MoS and (more importantly) a letter apologising for their unauthorised use of my work. They said they hoped that would be the end of this matter, and it, as far as I'm concerned, mercifully and conclusively is.
Immediately I returned home, I took the money from the MoS to the offices of a local charity, outside which I'd arranged a meeting with a man from whom I bought a bin liner full of crack and four prostitutes. Hurrah!
There are several things about this whole unpleasant business I'd like to rub over in conclusion.
Obviously, there's the whole issue of copyright of stuff on the Net. Or rather how it's viewed in some areas. But I'm not going to labour that; you're all intelligent people with strong teeth, bright eyes and shiny coats – you've already grasped those yourself.
Next, I'd like to hope George Thwaites is OK. Mr Thwaites is Deputy Editor of the review section at the MoS and the person who originally emailed me. I have had no contact whatsoever with him since, but word on the street has it that he was (a) off with flu when it was decided to ignore my refusal to print and (b) is 'a nice bloke'. I hope, then, that he didn't get harangued by any morally arid, self-inflated weasels over making the initial (and perfectly decent) offer, as it clearly put the MoS in a far worse position, legally. Partly due to the flagrancy thang, but also because they'd offered money. J Nash and Stuart Campbell (with contributions from others – Panellists among them, in fact.) had a website they had done stolen, wholesale, and stuck on the cover CD of a magazine. One of the two arguments the magazine's publisher's made was that, as the site was just funny and well-written rather than selling anything or requiring money be paid to view it, it was 'worthless'. George Thwaites's offer of Ј800 would have prevented the MoS from ever using this argument, of course. I hope his simple good manners didn't mean his getting asked 'Why didn't you just steal the stuff without asking, you moron?' while being shaken by the lapels by some slavering, urine-soaked figure from some part of the Associated Newspapers Ltd organisation.
I'd like officially to thank all the people who helped out. J Nash and Nice Girl Hannah, of course. The Internet's very own The A Team, The Panel. All those in the media – The Independent, The Guardian, The Register and so on who selflessly and in a spirit of true malicious glee spread news of the story (the good people at The Register were especially gleeful, for obvious reasons).
Finally, a smashing 'Cheers' to everyone who wrote offering support, advice, good wishes or, best of all, simply a stream of foul-mouthed abuse directed at the MoS. The response was unexpected and punch-in-the-face staggering. Not only can I not hope to reply to everyone personally, but it'll be some time before I've even managed to work through all of the mail backlog – there were thousands, for God's sake. I suppose some of the ones I've yet to read could say, 'Tsk, stop whining, you git,' in which case I hope a tramp sneezes in your face. For everyone else, a strainingly huge thank you; it was genuinely appreciated.
Returning from Germany on the coach, where I typed most of this, they showed the film Notting Hill, and I cried like a tiny baby. That's not strictly relevant, but shows I'm really sensitive, eh?
J Nash's record of events is here. It is far more detailed, but neglects to mention what an excellent skier I am .
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Things my girlfriend and I have argued about (online version) Page 11