The first thing the mob kills is its own humanity. Long before they sink their collective claws into the target of their flapping ire, they lay waste to their own decency. We see this in the digital hounding of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor. Behold the ugly gloating over a man’s downfall. Witness the peddling of false accusations. The shame, right now, belongs less to Andrew than to those who have made a bloodsport from his troubles.

We don’t even know if Andrew is guilty. He hasn’t even been charged

We don’t even know if Andrew is guilty. He hasn’t even been charged

What do we want from Andrew? When will the mass stalking of him like a wounded deer finally be satiated? When his head is on a spike? When all memory of him is scrubbed from the public record? I get it – Andrew is far from a sympathetic character. He strikes me as boorish, pompous, and unlikely to take kindly to republican riff raff like me. But so what? Don’t even the disagreeable deserve fair treatment and the presumption of innocence?

The hunting of Andrew has gone too far. Admit it – you can feel it. His arrest this week on suspicion of misconduct in public office unleashed yet another round of prideful animus for the former prince. Social media was a riot of malicious glee. Then came that photograph of him in the back of his........

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