While the world seemingly rattles to hell in a handcart, Fleet Street is losing its collective tagnut croquembouche over an edited photo.

It’s difficult to know where to begin with this shizzle, so let’s go straight to the bottom and head further south still.

The princess tweaked a picture to improve it.

That’s it.

She touched up a photo, not a non-consenting minor.

She utilised some useful technology, just as others might, for example, add some light or colour to their digital efforts to alter a first effort.

A habitual routine for any snapper, pro or amateur.

How shamelessly inconsistent that enhancing a photo is considered less acceptable than tea-straining words.

How many editors tweak their journalists’ stories before publication?

Spoiler alert – all of them.

Nobody insists that rags publish the first unadulterated ass-fodder that pops into what the hysterical hippo hacks are pleased to call their minds. They hash and re-stitch with gay abandon until their words are rounded enough to effectively convey whatever selected message their billionaire sugar daddy squeezes through his dry, grape-cushioned balloon knot.

But this is the scum media machine in full swing. Suck up.to them and feed them juicy titbits, and you’ll get an easy ride. Keep them in the dark, and they’ll scythe away your legs.

They relish in their alter ego of fearless, righteous warriors holding the disreputable to account.

Do me a favour. They’re dirtbags.

If the story’s twice as shite, scum on down.