Monday, May 01, 2006


Valerie Grove in the Times:
Only ten years ago it seemed amusing that the poet Fleur Adcock published her not very good poem about dreaming that she was kissing Mr Prescott: . . . our eyes had locked / and we were leaning avidly forward / lips out-thrust, certain protuberances / under our clothing brushing each other’s fronts . . . The idea of Prescott having sexual allure seemed so preposterous that Michael Heseltine read the poem aloud in the House of Commons.

Mr Prescott, who said he’d had to look up “protuberances”, was fed up with “that bloody poem” by the time he and I and his team, including a secretary named Rosie, caught a rush-hour Tube to Heathrow and a flight to Brussels (he was still in Opposition, and was attending a Socialist International). Rosie had been besieged all day for comments on her boss’s sexiness. He was said to be macho — shaved three times a day — but “insecure with women”.
As da kidz today say, that's random.

Things are bad when a loyal attack poodle starts having a go:
John Prescott should "consider his position" as deputy prime minister, Labour MP Stephen Pound has said.
And according to Guido there's even more to come.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I don't want to sound krool,but when John Prescott pleads for peace for his wife, how does this involve me?

Why would I, a total stranger, care about his wife? He doesn't.

3:59 am  
Blogger DFH said...

Why would I, a total stranger, care about his wife? He doesn't.

I like the way you think.

9:41 pm  

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