Okay so I made that last saying up but it rather nicely paints a picture of the man I want to tell you about today. His name is John Prescott and he is Deputy Prime Minister – if you like, he is our Dick Cheney – if Tony Blair were to fall on his sword this morning, this man would be running my country by the afternoon.
He is married and spoilt by his level of power. We call him '2 Jags', on account of the fact he has two Jaguar cars, and famously got his driver to transport his wife a couple of hundred yards so the weather didn't ruin her hair.
And this beloved wife he so wanted to protect from the evil British rain? Well he would have done well to consider her feelings before leaping into bed with one of his secretaries. Over here in Britain there has been a kiss-and-tell frenzy.
Prescott's sordid carrying ons have been laid bare, by his lover, for us all to see. Tales of rampant fumblings in his office, Lewinsky style. Debauch sexual acts in his official apartment and full on naked romping in a hotel room while his perfectly coiffured wife waited down stairs. It's all pathetic and sad and deeply uninteresting on so many levels, and if he hadn't shot off his big mouth over other people's personal behavior in the past, I'd happily be utterly bored and over the whole affair by now.
But as usual this man has crossed the line. He stood on a soap box a few years ago and accused the Conservative Party of being morally bankrupt declaring that they didn't mind doing wrong -- they just didn't want to get caught. Right back at you Mr. Prescott!
The deeper issue here is his abuse of his ministerial position – not in apparently seducing a much younger member of staff but in his disgraceful abuse of ministerial cars to ferry her around. Ministerial apartments and offices in which to satisfy his lust and ministerial work time in which to carry out his affair.
My message? Pull your pants up Mr. Prescott. Both actually and morally.
by Petrie Hosken