grace and favour

Sunday morning. The birds twitter, last night’s puke sparkles forlornly in the gutter, and sensible citizens lie abed, curling up with the papers. Aha! What’s this I see?

In extracts of her diaries published today, Prescott’s diary secretary Tracey Temple claims she performed oral sex on the deputy prime minister in his Whitehall office.

Jesus wept. Talk about curdling the milk on your cornflakes. That one’s here to stay, I’m afraid. It’s burned on the retinas. I can just see him hopping up and down, like a toddler in a high chair anticipating lunch.

You may come here in hope of political analysis. I’m not fucking well analyzing that. Analyze it yourselves, if you’re so keen.

Comments

[Matthew]

For those of us who don't read the Sunday Times, but do read this blog, was that fair! Was the idea to spread the pain? I'm now 12 hours behind you in trying to remove the image.

[dsquared]

I'm lucky enough to have a more or less purely verbal imagination. So when I read the phrase "John Prescott's erect cock sticking out of his trouser fly as his PA's mouth descends on it", I have no associated mental image. Which is why I can write phrases like "John Prescott's erect cock sticking out of his trouser fly as his PA's mouth descends on it", without any serious trauma. I would certainly hate to be one of those people with a largely visual imagination, who can't read the phrase "John Prescott's erect cock sticking out of his trouser fly as his PA's mouth descends on it" withou getting a mental image of John Prescott's erect cock sticking out of his trouser fly as his PA's mouth descends on it. That would be really disgusting.

[dearieme]

The working class can kiss my ... oops, you've changed it, DPM.

[jamie]

I, unfortunately, have a visual imagination. And the thing I'm visualising is someone chewing on a pepparami while balancing a pouffe on her head.

Oh, lord, make it stop...

[John]

I think I'd rather read about fucking China than that.