The news of Jan Moir's profound homophobia was deeply unshocking. It was not just that another young star has been pilloried by bigots.
Through the recent travails and sad ends of the careers of assorted hacks, fans know to expect the usual drivel dipped in poison - particularly if those journalists live a life that is shadowed by dark appetites or fractured by private vice.
There are dozens of journalists out there with secret and not-so-secret troubles, or damaging habits both past and present ; we all know who they are. And we are not being ghoulish to anticipate, or to be mentally braced for, their bad end: a long night, a mysterious stranger in the Groucho club, an odd set of circumstances that herald a sudden end to a once glittering career.
In the morning, the page has already been turned over before anyone reads the lofty concerns of a self appointed hypocrite. It is not exactly a new storyline, is it?
In fact, it is rather depressingly familiar, and somehow we completely expected it of her. Always her. But then I'm definitely not thinking what she's thinking.
In the nastiness around the Daily Mail, Moir was always bitchy, stupid and vile.
A founder member of Britain's Glenda Slagg tribute band, she was the group's self appointed queen bitch, even though her intelligence was too small to fit inside a Louis Vuitton credit card holder.
She was the excrement of the Daily Mail, an unpopular and illiterate additional after thought.
Moir came out as a bigot in 2009 after discovering that someone was planning to pay her lots of money to write in a newspaper.
Although she was had little intelligent and nothing nice to say, she became the meddlesome self publicist of sleazy journalism, albeit a deeply unreluctant one.
At the time, Moir worried that the revelations might end her ultra-right wing career as a put-down merchant, but she received an overwhelmingly positive response from the BNP. In fact, it only made them love her more.
All the official reports point to a natural death, with no suspicious circumstances, but that doesn't stop Moir - perhaps unforgivably - from stirring the grief of the family before Stephen Gately is even buried by trying to pin their boy's demise on the national consciousness as just punishment for gays and not a tragic accident.
Even before the post-mortem and toxicology reports were released by the Spanish authorities, she launched into rant mode.
But, hang on a minute. Something was terribly wrong with the way this incident could not be milked to make more money for Jan Moir, so she shaped and spun it into much more than a broken teacup in the rented cottage of journalistic standards.
Consider the way it has been largely reported, as if a menopausal hot flush in the grounds of the Bide-a-Wee rest home while hoeing the sweet pea patch could be taken as serious commentary.
The bile on this hypocrisy is so crusty-thick that it fails to obscure the bitter truth that lies beneath.
Daily Mail journalists don't give a toss about the truth but invent lies to fit their nasty, blinkered right wing bigotries. It is a shame that healthy and fit 33-year-old men who have just died can get no respect from the rancid nastiness that is routine in female journalists of a certain age.
Moir's family have always maintained that drink was not involved in the death wish of her career, but it has just been revealed that she had at least three gins on the night she wrote.
Another real sadness about Moir's career near-death is that it strikes another blow to the "we are not bigots" myth of the Daily Mail.
Gay activists are always calling for tolerance and understanding about right wing journalists, arguing that they are just the same as normal people. Not everyone, they say, is like Richard Littlejohn.
Of course, in many cases this may be true. Yet the recent career near-death of Chris Moyles, and now the dubious events of Moirs's last column raise troubling questions about what is happening.
It is important that the truth comes out about the exact circumstances of her acquiring this strange and lonely world view.
As a human being, I am sure she would want to set an example to any impressionable young journalist who may want to emulate what they might see as her glamorous byline.
For once again, under the carapace of glittering hedonistic pseudo celebrity, the ooze of a very different and more dangerous journalism has seeped out for all to see.