A phrase originating in the
satirical weekly
Private Eye, and now in common use in British
journalism. It indicates that the
editor has emerged blearily from an on-going
alcoholic lunch just long enough to be aware that a writer's
opinion doesn't seem to toe the
official line.
I haven't an example to hand, but this is the sort of thing:
A spokesgnome for the proprietor of this newspaper defended the action, saying it was normal journalistic practice, of blameless integrity, and he would fix the conniving bastard who had grassed on him (shurely shome mishtake? - Ed.).