When I was a wee sprogg in school, the teacher decided to demonstrate something called Brownian Motion.
Taking out a cigarette, he blew smoke into a box, then put the box under a microscope.
We all got the chance to see the little smoke particles being bounced around by the air molecules, and even the bad guys were impressed, because, well, it was cigarette smoke.
To the uneducated eye, the reportage of papers such as the Times, Telegraph and Guardian appears to take a consistent position; one of these organs is supposed to be enough to inform and confirm the predispositions of various types in the social firmament.
For every random occurrence of truth, there will be at least five gyrations about the mean of the meaningless 'centre ground'; the publishers are trying to play a numbers game with an entirely imaginary beast, the doyen of the centre, something which only can exist so long as they betray every principle in their attempts to pander to it.
So they try to be 'blue but not too blue', or 'pink but not too pink', and end up being nothing at all.
Their opinion pieces and editorials follow the path of Brownian Motion, bouncing randomly about a fixed point.
Fixed in smoke.
The smoke box may be about to fall off the edge of the desk.
Or smoking itself may be banned.