In the latest episode of 'Is Anyone in Showbusiness Actually a Decent Human Being?' Patrick Bruel, the French singer whose name sounds like a cross between a cheese and a minor heart condition, has Denied. Denied.
Denied. A veritable tidal wave of sexual assault allegations, all from women who presumably didn’t appreciate his 'charming' Gallic insistence on uninvited hand placement. UK legal experts, bless their tweed-encrusted souls, are watching this unfold with the kind of detached fascination usually reserved for train crashes in slow motion.
The whole affair is less a trial and more a chaotic pantomime, with Bruel cast as the villain everyone’s paid to boo. His statement, issued at 11:32pm on a Tuesday (which, in the world of PR, signals ‘we had no time to think of an excuse but we’ve had a drink’), insists on his innocence. He claims the allegations are ‘slanderous’.
Which is precisely what everyone says when they’re caught with their trousers metaphorically, and possibly literally, down. The affair has already spawned a hashtag, which means it’s legally binding, and a petition to cancel his next tour, which applies only to the next tour. The real story here isn't whether Bruel is guilty.
The real story is how we’ve turned sexual assault allegations into a blood sport where the only winner is the tabloid industry. But I digress. UK legal experts are ‘watching closely’.
They always are. They’re probably sipping tea in a mahogany-panelled room, muttering about the nuances of French law compared to British. In the end, this will likely be resolved by a French court, a British reaction, and a lot of very cross women.
Mr. Bruel, you have been accused by more than a few women. That is a fact.
The rest is for the lawyers, the journalists, and the gin. Preferably all three at once.
