IN MY print column this week I have tried to come up with a practical answer to the question: is there any way to rein in British newspapers intent on dismantling current privacy protections, without chilling the vital work of investigative journalism?

Amidst the noisy headlines and tabloid crowing of the last couple of weeks, as campaigners in Parliament and on the internet wrecked court injunctions that had prevented reporting of alleged adultery by various more or less famous people, it is easy to miss the sober point that British press regulation is in something approaching disarray.

It is clear that Twitter users now can and will break any injunction that pops into the sights of the anti-privacy campaigners, egged on by newspapers desperate to report on a string of married actors, sportsmen and other celebrities whose sex lives are currently covered by gagging order.

If judges no longer have the ability to use injunctions to protect privacy, and given that Britain has no formal privacy law or tort of privacy that can be defended in the civil courts, what is left to hold back the long-lens cameras, keyhole snoops and kiss-and-tell merchants?

Not much, some suspect. During my research for the piece, I spoke to members of parliament who have been asked to form a committee and review the situation for the government, in a classic piece of Whitehall can-kicking. What now, I asked each of them? They all agreed with government ministers who have said that a French-style privacy law would be overkill. I think I agree: just look at the current state of British libel law, which all too often protects wealthy scoundrels, rewards lawyers and gives French politicians a whip hand over the press. If British libel rules were reproduced in the field of privacy, few apart from lawyers would have much to cheer.

If not a privacy law, then what? "I haven't the foggiest," said a senior MP who will sit on the committee. And few politicians want to pick a fight with the tabloids: "we want to keep the press on side."

Another figure closely involved in the review agrees: "The government is in a blue funk, I don't think it has any idea what to do."

The problem is this. When the European Convention on Human Rights was enshrined in British law via the 1998 Human Rights Act, Parliament set judges the task of balancing Article 8 (the right to privacy) with Article 10 (the right to freedom of expression). At the last moment, Parliament added Article 12 at the behest of the then chief press regulator, Lord Wakeham, suggesting that judges should give special weight to freedom of expression: that was an attempt to prevent the HRA turning into a privacy law by the back door.

Now the system is in disarray: injunctions have been holed below the waterline. And in a sustained campaign, the daily press is painting judges as out-of-touch elitists who have failed to uphold Article 12 and are now issuing gagging orders left, right and centre to protect powerful philanderers from exposure in public. Many members of parliament are joining in the judge-bashing. It is not for unelected judges to rule on what the press can or cannot print, they thunder.

The senior MP I quoted earlier thinks that is ludicrously unfair: it is precisely the role of judges to interpret the laws passed by Parliament, especially when Parliament passes laws that include clashing rights. "You are always going to have courts interpreting the law. Parliament is not going to say whether Ryan Giggs stories should or should not be published." But he is sympathetic to the argument that judges have been nudging the case law further and further in the direction of privacy, ignoring the nudge from Article 12 to favour freedom of expression. He suspects that the result of the coming review may be to strengthen Article 12 in some way.

I wonder. That seems to suggest that the only way out of this impasse will involve a gift to the press. Is that politically feasible?

The press campaign against injunctions is making all the running at the moment, but the mood could be very different in a few months' time. One of the wise old birds I spoke to this week, a former cabinet minister with long experience in the media industry, noted that three arrests have now been made in the phone-hacking scandal, as a new police investigation probes allegations that gumshoes hired by News of the World reporters systematically hacked into the mobile phone voicemail of scores of celebrities, politicians, sportsmen and ordinary citizens unlucky enough to become involved in a news story. More arrests are rumoured to be on the way. In that context, said the former minister, the press campaign against injunctions looks less like a triumph for the tabloids, and more like defensive chaff being thrown out, as a huge scandal bears down on the whole newspaper industry "like a guided missile". Once the first phone-hacking cases come to trial, he suggested, the public mood could turn very firmly against the press.

So is there a way out? Given that other European countries are subject to the European convention and thus have to balance the same rights of privacy and free expression, do any of them make a better fist of it?

A comparative study praising Sweden caught my eye (as long-suffering readers may recall, I am a fan of Sweden's).

How do the Swedes do it? Well, they police privacy through self-regulation, and by all accounts it works pretty well. They get some small things right, and one very big thing right.

The big thing is this: when Swedish journalists write about public figures, they enjoy a strong public interest defence (much stronger than any public interest defence that exists in Britain) with special protections for fair comment and opinion. But the definition of who is a public figure is drawn narrowly. Ola Sigvardsson, the Swedish press ombudsman (who is the first port of call for any complaint against the press) told me that public persons meant people such as politicians, senior officials or corporate leaders. Crucially, footballers, film stars or reality television performers are not considered public figures. So their privacy is pretty strongly protected by the ethics code (though not by a formal privacy law).

Some small things Sweden gets right: their press council, which dates back to 1916 and has the power to sanction newspapers that break the code, is not dominated by the industry (as the British Press Complaints Commission is). Its chairman is a judge, there are three lay members of the public and four representatives from the Swedish press, elected by members of the newspaper publishers' association, the magazine publishers' association, the Swedish union of journalists and the national press club respectively.

In addition, a Swedish journalist who believes he or she is being asked to break the ethics code can refuse, and is formally shielded from sanction by his employers at that point.

Complaints to the press ombudsman and press council are free, and though the council hands down fines, the main sanction is public shaming: newspapers that err have to publish rulings against them over most of a page. This hurts, because readers "hate seeing such notices," the ombudsman told me.

Now, Sweden is not Britain, in many ways. It is a small, consensual, high-minded country, with the oldest freedom of information law in the world (dating back to the 18th century). It is a country where that unusual transparency is matched by unusually clean politics: this is a place where ministers resign when it emerges they failed to pay their television licences before entering government.

The Swedes also take a more grown-up view of sex than the British. Not in a hooded sort of libertine way (cf, the Paris intellectuals defending Dominique Strauss-Kahn with the observation: "nobody died"). The Swedes display more of a cheery, skinny-dipping, flowers in the hair, jump in a lake lack of prudishness.

But that tacit bargain with the press—a strong public interest defence, but a narrow definition of who is a public figure—looks quite interesting.

I asked Mr Sigvardsson, the ombudsman, to give me his informal gut instinct about some recent British tabloid stories, and whether they would pass or fail the Swedish ethical code. Being a sport, he agreed.

Here goes, I said. A married footballer for a big team has an affair. That would break the code he said: just because they are famous, footballers are not public figures and enjoy privacy rights.

Ok, I said. A bank boss whose bank had to be bailed out by the state to the tune of billions. Now it is alleged he had an affair with a colleague, and the tabloids say this may have affected his judgement. Hmm, said the ombudsman. Are you saying the banker was having an affair with someone from the government who was in charge of the bailout? No, I said. Well in that case, no, his affair would not be a story, said Mr Sigvardsson.

What about allegations that a prominent politician has had a love child, backed by newspaper photos of a child in a pushchair who looks awfully like him? This, I explained, has happened recently in Britain. A politician with a love child is a story that could be published, he said. But definitely, absolutely no pictures of the child.

What about long-lens shots of actresses on the beach in a bikini, allowing the newspapers to mock their cellulite? No way, said the ombudsman. What about pictures of the prime minister on the beach looking fat in swimming trunks? Now, that's fair game, he said. The prime minister is a public figure.

You see how it goes. Lots of freedom when writing about public figures, but a narrow definition of public figures that chokes off the celebrity snooping industry.

Just to check I was not being spun an official line, I contacted the editor of the Aftonbladet tabloid, Jan Helin. He was in editorial meetings, so we exchanged emails.

If an actress has an affair with a famous married footballer, I asked, could your newspaper report that affair? It depends, Mr Helin replied. Strictly speaking, it would be against the code of ethics, because the public interest in such a story would not be enough to outweigh the harm caused by publication. Swedish law would definitely allow its publication, however.

Would Aftonbladet publish such a story?

That depends, he said. Maybe if one of the two parties wanted to speak about it, or the actress and footballer showed up together in a public event.

Would Aftonbladet pay for such an interview, I asked. No, he said: I don´t pay for kiss and tell. Money clearly compromises a story like this.

A mixed picture, then. Readers in Sweden may be able to say how the system works when seen from up close. But from a distance, I wonder if there are some lessons there for this country.

Here, for those still reading this rather long post, is the actual print column:

EVERY gang of rogues knows that, when it comes to agreeing an alibi, quality matters more than quantity. To a comical degree, that lesson is being ignored by the British press, as newspapers seek to justify reporting sex scandals involving the rich and famous, which became public knowledge after court injunctions were wrecked by campaigners on the internet and in Parliament.

The spring air has filled with excuses, as the press explains just why the public needs to know about alleged extramarital flings by Sir Fred Goodwin, an unpopular ex-bank chief, or Ryan Giggs, a popular footballer. Many of the alibis are weak. Taken as a whole, they are hopelessly contradictory.

Sir Fred's sex life is funny, suggests the Sun, with the front-page banner headline: “Fred the Bed”. It is a grave matter, intones the Daily Mail: perhaps his libido distracted him as he led the Royal Bank of Scotland to disaster, costing the taxpayer billions. If his injunction had held, nobody would have known to ask this “disturbing question”. What hogwash: follow that logic and nobody should fly without full details of their pilot's marriage.

In a single issue on May 24th, the Daily Mail simultaneously suggested that Mr Giggs deserved exposure because his lucrative “brand” was underpinned by a “clean-cut, family-man image”, because he was a notorious “Lothario” dogged by rumours of serial infidelity, and because his name had been leaked on Twitter, unfairly disadvantaging “traditional newspapers” subject to gagging orders that cannot be enforced on foreign internet sites.

Married celebrities who cheat on their wives are selling the public a lie, newspapers declare: that is why we must expose them. Come off it. If tabloids really believe the exposure of sexual hypocrisy is their moral mission, how come they also report on the sex lives of unabashed bed-hoppers?

Newspapers denounce privacy injunctions as an elitist tool open only to the wealthy. It's a fair point—and would be neatly addressed by granting ordinary citizens legal aid to sue newspapers. Legal aid for privacy and libel suits is provided in France (home to some of the world's toughest press laws): is that really what British editors want?

Some grander dailies have attacked privacy injunctions as a judicial assault on parliamentary sovereignty. When Parliament approved the Human Rights Act in 1998, says the Daily Telegraph, MPs intended that freedom of expression should trump privacy rights “especially—but not only—in matters of public interest.” This last phrase is the final giveaway. Strip away all the cant, and the campaign against injunctions is a power struggle. Sections of the British press are seeking not just to promote free speech over privacy, but to challenge the need to mount a public-interest defence at all. Some are already snarling with triumph: “Anyone thinking of taking out a gagging order now knows what to expect,” as the Sun put it this week. But beneath the bully's swagger, there is also fear.

In a candid 2008 speech on press freedom, Paul Dacre, editor of the Daily Mail, admitted what was really at stake: commercial survival. If mass-market papers are not allowed to write about scandal as well as dry public policy, he said: “I doubt whether they will retain their mass circulations, with the obvious worrying implications for the democratic process.” Newspapers have other reasons for fear. Fresh arrests were recently made by police investigating the alleged interception of voicemail messages on the mobile phones of the famous or newsworthy by gumshoes working for News of the World reporters. More arrests seem likely, and the widening of the phone-hacking scandal to other papers.

In a last-ditch defence, British hacks point to French counterparts who concealed what le tout Paris knew about Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the Socialist politician and former head of the International Monetary Fund, and his creepy ways with women. That's the effect of French-style privacy laws, British journalists say, and they are half-right: French law chills investigative journalism and gives politicians the whip hand. But the worst French censorship is self-imposed, as journalists preserve access to the gilded, incestuous circles of the Paris elite.

In any case, the British government is not about to propose a privacy law, ministers say. With the current system of injunctions crumbling, a committee is being set up to review press regulation. “The government is in a blue funk, I don't think it has any idea what to do,” says someone involved in the review.

The famous are people, too

If France is a bad model, what about Sweden? There, a strong public-interest defence—stronger than currently exists in Britain—shields those writing about public figures such as politicians, senior officials or corporate chiefs. But the definition of “public figure” is tightly drawn, to exclude the merely famous. For instance, an adulterous footballer would not be fair game, says Ola Sigvardsson, Sweden's press ombudsman. Privacy is policed by self-regulation, backed by the threat of public humiliation: errant newspapers must publish press-council rulings across most of a page. This works, because readers “hate seeing such notices”.

Could this work in Britain? The Swedes are pretty grown-up about sex, the British not. Swedish journalists are also rather respectable. British journalists know they—we—are below the salt, that reporters pursue a trade not a profession and can never be part of the Establishment. The British press at its worst is intrusive, sanctimonious and spiteful. Yet roguery can be a power for good: when the public interest demands, British hacks burn bridges and attack with rare vigour. Let rogues remain rogues, then. Offer the press a deal. A stronger shield in clashes with the powerful. But intrusion allowed only when it is in the public interest—no other alibis allowed.

Update on May 31st. The Press Complaints Commission has asked for a right of reply to this blog posting. The following is a comment from the PCC's director, Stephen Abell:

Your blog about press regulation is flawed in a number of respects. First, it makes the inaccurate claim that the Swedish Press Council is “not dominated by the [press] industry (as the British Press Complaints Commission is)”. As you say yourself, the Swedish Council has a fifty-fifty split between public and journalistic membership. In contrast, the UK's Press Complaints Commission actually has a majority of ten public members (including the Chairman), and a minority of seven journalistic members. Indeed, the PCC has the highest ratio of public to journalist members of any Press Council in Europe – to the point where it isn't self-regulation in the true sense.

Your point about the Swedish Press Council levying “fines” is also misleading. These charges are not generally regarded as part of the penalty for breaching the Code – rather, they are small, set, service charges that assist the funding of the Swedish system. The main sanction in Sweden is public shaming, with errant newspapers having to publish the Council's ruling. This is exactly the same situation we have in the UK, where offending titles must publish PCC rulings against them in full, with due prominence and with a headline reference to the Commission. Like our Swedish counterparts, we believe this to be an effective sanction. The UK's PCC maintains close links with colleagues in Sweden and at many other Press Councils. We exchange advice and ideas through the forum of the Alliance of Independent Press Councils of Europe (www.aipce.net).