Since I never had any interest in what Lord McConnell of Glenscorrodale (to give the former First Minister Jack McConnell what is now his correct title) had to say in public, I can't imagine why News International would hack his phone, as a private investigator working for the company is alleged to have done, to hear what he was saying in private.

But we seem to be getting to the point where NI hacking will become the new PPI mis-selling, and we will all get 20 spam emails and half a dozen phone calls a day telling us we're almost certainly the victims of it, and encouraging us to claim compensation.

It is too late to change the inaccurate label, too; what the company is accused of (and has in many cases admitted or forked out for) is intercepting messages on mobile phones' answering systems which, while unethical and for some of the time under examination illegal, doesn't involve hacking at all.

Never mind. Some newspapers owned by Rupert Murdoch have behaved badly; so badly, indeed, that his first appearance at the Leveson Inquiry was, he said, "the humblest day of my life". Before he returned, by popular demand, for an encore last week, Mr Murdoch had perhaps been musing on the etymology of the word "humble" and its connection with humus, the Latin for "soil" or "ground". At any rate, he is now making a splendid job of dragging other people – chiefly politicians – into the dirt.

This has led to the spectacle of journalists and politicians declaring their surprise and horror at what journalists and politicians get up to. It's reminiscent of the scene in Casablanca when Captain Renault closes down Rick's Bar with the words: "I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!" just as a croupier approaches and hands him his winnings.

It is nearly as funny as watching Nick Clegg cry: "Not me!" when the Prime Minister admitted in the Commons that most senior politicians had been too cosily involved with News International. As everyone knows, the Deputy Prime Minister was never cultivated by the Murdoch titles because his party was so electorally insignificant (though not as insignificant as it will be at the next elections).

Both politicians and the media may, however, be mistaken about how significant these relationships really are. Coverage of such ties may have been prompted by the hacking scandal, but the links themselves are more interesting, if harder to analyse.

In many instances, rather like the advertising industry, it's impossible to prove after the event that they produced a demonstrable benefit for either side. Was it "The Sun Wot Won It", as the paper declared after the 1992 election, a claim now disowned by Mr Murdoch? Is it inconsistent that the Scottish edition of that paper should support the SNP, while south of the Border it backed the Tories?

Politicians of all parties place too much emphasis on the power of newspapers, which, though they wield more influence than one might expect on the basis of circulation alone, are, alas, a small and declining component of the media. The effort spent cultivating The Sun would be much better employed on the political staff of the BBC or ITN.

Meanwhile, Mr Murdoch does not greatly alter the core political views his newspapers promote, no matter who is in power. Rather than deciding elections, his papers seem inclined to swing behind the leading party shortly before the poll and then hold it to account.

The one area where there was a clear benefit for either side – and where it may be possible to show influence, whether permissible or improper – is the one now under scrutiny. That is the political decision on Mr Murdoch's bid for BSkyB. Broadcasting not only reaches more people than newspapers now do, but Mr Murdoch's own reach in that sphere is more extensive, and thus contentious, than his control of newspapers, where he has nothing remotely like a monopoly.

Vince Cable (who said that he was prejudiced against it, unaware he was being recorded) was removed from making the decision, so the two politicians now under the spotlight are Jeremy Hunt, the Culture Secretary, and Alex Salmond, the First Minister.

Mr Hunt can be dealt with quickly, although strangely enough he hasn't been. He's toast. Or at least he ought to be on the basis of what has emerged in the past few days. The very fact that his office was sending emails to NI during the run-up to his decision and that he was seen hiding behind a tree on his way to a dinner being given by James Murdoch is damning enough.

But it's simpler than that. His special adviser, Adam Smith, resigned with an admission that he had over-stepped the mark. The ministerial code of conduct is quite straightforward in declaring that ministers are responsible for their advisers' behaviour. If it was right for Mr Smith to go, Mr Hunt should, too.

That, presumably, is the reason the Labour Party has focused on the role of Mr Salmond's adviser, Geoff Aberdein. If, like Mr Smith, he exceeded his authority, then like Mr Smith, he should go, runs the argument. If that happens, Labour can argue that if Mr Aberdein goes, so should Mr Salmond.

But broadcasting is (entirely illogically) a reserved power, and therefore Mr Salmond had, or ought to have had, no influence over the decision in the first place. The First Minister's supporters make this point. At the same time, that draws attention to his lack of power, so they mention 6200 Scottish jobs which he was entitled – nay, obliged – to lobby for.

Mr Murdoch is a canny enough operator to be quite aware enough of Mr Salmond's possible powers and lack of them. I doubt that it determined the Scottish edition of The Sun's decision to back the Nationalists.

Since its proprietor has an eye to the market, it was hardly likely to back the Tories. More likely that he recognised in Mr Salmond another canny operator, and then said: "Good Lord, have you seen the calibre of his opponents? Back the Nats."