Imagine being so nosy of a person that not only do you make investigative journalism your career, but you start using super secret spy technology just to get better dirt on celebrities, so you can write salacious tell-all biographies and expose everybody's darkest secrets in your gossip magazine.
One day you strike gold by getting close to an up-and-coming teen sensation, and of course you're doing your spy thing, following him around all the time and learning as much about his private life as you can. Except in the process, his 14 yo friend ends up figuring out what you've been doing, catches you in the act, and threatens to report you to the authorities if you don't leave the kid alone. You could face some pretty serious consequences for the spy tech shit alone so you reluctantly agree to comply, and she eventually drops the matter.
As a result, you don't actually face any consequences, and you don't learn your lesson.
Fast forward a couple years. Both that kid you were reporting on and the girl who caught you end up marrying into the same semi-well-known family in the area. It's like they're practically begging for publicity. You stay mostly out of it for a while but then comes your big chance- you get invited to be one of the commentators for the women's FIFA finals and they're all going to be there because what's-his-face's wife is one of the players.
Obviously you spend most of your time on the sidelines ignoring the game in favor of watching that family through your binoculars, making your typical stream-of-consciousness, over-the-top-sensationalized comments about everything you see, until eventually that guy's wife comes hurtling towards you, elbows you in the chest in the process of getting the ball back under her feet, then passes it off to one of her teammates and runs back into the thick of the action as if nothing ever happened. You get the wind knocked out of you on live television, and nobody even cries foul on your behalf. Imagine that.
Cause that's basically what happened to Rita Skeeter.