News of John Prescott’s “eating disorder” gave me my best laugh of the week – until I went out shopping: food for Mrs Gabb, Miss Gabb and me from Sainsbury cost £90, and that was without alcohol or meat.
It’s bad enough that this worthless man spent a decade shovelling food and drink down his throat at our expense. Now it emerges he was straightaway pushing his head into a toilet bowl and puking it all out again.
What a waste of the taxpayers’ money!
Indeed, what about those children in Africa we were all told about when confronted with a plate of inedible greens? At a conservative estimate, Mr Prescott must have been feeding 8,000 calories a day to the sewer rats. That could have kept a family of five from starvation.
Above all, though, I feel cheated. There was an Anglo-Saxon King – I think it was Hardicanute – who died when his stomach burst one night at dinner. For some of us, the only compensation in the grim years of Blairism was that the same might happen to Mr Prescott.
Bah – New Labour: old fraud!