IF anyone was in any doubt about the importance of a free press, they need only consider MPs’ expenses.

The Daily Telegraph has provided an invaluable public service, generating such public reaction that editors have struggled to cope with the volume of readers’ letters.

Unfortunately, in the middle of the developing scandal, the momentum was interrupted by the devastating news that Jordan’s marriage to Peter Andre was in crisis.

The Sun, Daily Mirror and Daily Star went on to lead their front pages on this momentous revelation for successive days.

It has led me to the following theory: MPs must have clubbed together to buy the services of Max Clifford to concoct a sensational story about the publicity-crazed celebrity couple breaking up.

The politicians knew that this heartbreaking love-split was guaranteed to knock the expenses scandal off the front pages of Britain’s biggest-selling newspapers.

After all, what does being ripped off by our elected representatives matter when Jordan and Pete are in danger of splitting up?

Mind you, Max Clifford won’t come cheap – the MPs will no doubt be checking the rules to see if they can whack in a claim.

THE Sun’s front page quoted Jordan as saying this: “Pete is the love of my life – I’m devastated.”

On the very same day, the Daily Star quoted the buxom, polo-playing model as saying this: “He’s a kn*b. I can’t stand him.”

They can’t both be right, can they?

DESPERATELY needing to be cheered up following the sad news about Jordan and Pete, I headed off to the beautiful village of Faceby, hidden off the A19, near Stokesley.

Somehow, I’ve missed out on Faceby, with its spectacular views across the verdant Cleveland Hills, but a speaking engagement to Carlton, Faceby and Busby Women’s Institute took me to the village hall.

While I was there, I was reminded of the importance of the comma.

Kate Morris, a reporter on the Bingley Guardian in the 1950s, remembered an obituary being printed about a local councillor.

The headline should have been: “Councillor Jones dead, loss to Bingley.”

With a misplaced comma, it read: “Councillor Jones, dead loss to Bingley.”

APART from the importance of commas, the biggest lesson I learned last week was to remember to tell my wife what I’m doing each day.

On Wednesday night, I had the glamorous task of being a judge at the Northern Council of Butchers’ annual sausage and ham competition at Norton, near Stockton.

It wasn’t as easy as I thought. I got through 14 entries in the pork section reasonably comfortably. By the time I’d sampled ten entries in the beef class, I was feeling queasy, and there were still 22 “speciality” entries to go.

When I got to entry number 11, I felt like a marathon runner who’s staggered 13 miles only to discover there’s another 13 to go.

Somehow, I made it to the end of the sausage line, but there were still six whopping great hams waiting to be judged.

We selected Paul Clark, of East Boldon, as the supreme champion and I struggled home convinced that I’d never want to see another sausage as long as I lived.

“Sausage casserole all right?” shouted my wife as I opened the door.