Over the last decade, British newspapers described the late Bob Crow as a "union baron" 204 times.

In fact, in 21 per cent of all articles about Crow he was awarded this noble title.

He wasn't the only union leader so honoured by the newspapers. Unite general secretary Len McCluskey was called a union baron in around 8 per cent of the 371 articles about him in national newspapers over the last 10 years.

It's nice of the newspapers to award union leaders with this feudal title, especially as the press are so much less keen to use the similar phrase "press baron."

In all UK newspapers over the last year, the phrase "union baron" appeared 600 times, whereas "press baron" just appeared 240 times.

This was year when newspaper proprietors' bad behaviour has been exposed by the phone-hacking scandals, so the "press barons" have been in their own papers quite lot.

Meanwhile, union leaders have had a lower profile because, sadly, they have not been calling their members on strike as much as I would like.

The union baron: press baron ratio is even more stark when you look exclusively at the national newspapers - which are actually produced in the buildings where the press barons can sometimes be found.

National newspapers only used the phrase "press baron" 12 times in the last year - it was entirely absent from some papers - whereas "union baron" was written 38 times. Which is odd, because the union leaders are as unbaron-like as possible.

They are elected, when the essential feature of a baron is to hold arbitrary, undemocratic power, through inheritance or royal appointment.

By contrast the owners and editors of the newspapers are undemocratically appointed and rely more on inherited titles and cash. Indeed, many serving newspaper bosses actually have noble titles.

So why the urge to award this unwanted high honour to union leaders?

It's a simple lie. The the democratically elected representative of working people is described like some old feudal ruler, terrifying the poor folk from their castle, whereas the rich autocrats who really do harass the poor - and indeed sometimes really do live in castles - appear as reasonable, modern, sophisticated men.

But when you actually look at the press barons, they are not just like medieval nobles. They are actually like the grotesque, scheming, crazed kings found in Game of Thrones.

People my age will never forget Robert Maxwell, who ruled the Daily Mirror like a lunatic lord. When he fell off his yacht and died, we found out he had stolen all the money from the Mirror workers' pensions.

The mad drowned king who stole all the castle's gold sounds like a Game of Thrones episode summary. But barmy baron behaviour goes on.

The Telegraph was owned by Conrad Black (pictured). He was quite literally a press baron, being "Baron Black of Crossharbour." He behaved like a baron of the fictional Westeros, dressing in historic garb, living in a mansion and, it turned out, defrauding the company. He ended up in prison for cheating over the company cash.

The Telegraph is now owned by the Barclay Brothers - identical twins who live in a castle on their own island.

The islanders complain of bullying and harassment, while the brothers are accused of avoiding tax.

Just add a few prisoners being tortured in their basement and the odd wizard, and they could fill a whole episode of the HBO sword-and-sorcery tale.

The Mail is owned by the Fourth Viscount Rothermere. Nobody voted for him. He's got a title and a newspaper because he inherited them.

Rothermere is like one of the scheming lords who offer poisonous counsels in King's Landing.

He fills his newspaper with demands for patriotism while himself avoids tax by his non-domiciled status, flitting between homes on the continent and London.

And last of all is Rupert Murdoch, the ailing king. A lifetime of exercising power through bullying, influence-peddling, threats and persuasion, but his power now wanes.

After taking a series of younger wives, he now faces the indignity of rumours that he is being cuckolded by his main courtier. Just add some robes, a throne and a crown, and he could fit straight into Game of Thrones.

Andy Burnham is making big noises attacking the coalition over NHS privatisation, glossing over the last Labour government's similar record.

But his team keeps turning to the old ways. In the new MPs' register of interests Luciana Berger says she accepted a "research analyst" to "support" her in her "capacity as shadow minister for public health" at the beginning of the year. She didn't turn to health campaigners or friendly academics or trade unions for help.

Instead, Deloitte MCS Ltd supplied her assistant for free. This is the management consultancy arm of one of the "big four" accountants.

Deloitte wants to earn fees by complicated financialised "solutions" to NHS problems - most obviously the PFI which it tirelessly promoted, saddling hospitals with debts while enriching investors and advisers like Deloitte.

Coalition NHS reforms are opening up primary care - including GPs - to new commercialisation, and Deloitte is keen to get fees advising on "new structures" there.

Deloitte set up a new Centre for Health Solutions to promote its schemes, starting with a suggestion that pharmacy businesses should take over work from GPs - a "solution" which Boots and Superdrug have been pushing for years. Getting a researcher into Berger's office means Deloitte is better placed to win if Labour replaces the coalition in 2015.

Berger's free Deloitte adviser was "worth" just under £5,000 for 10 days' work but could well cost the nation much more in the long term.