Hunt and Gauke

Jeremy Hunt (rhyming slang) and David Gauke

Jeremy Hunt (Rhyming Slang), who is the minister for sport, has come out against swearing on the playing field. He has a level of smugness that suggests never having played contact sports.

Absorbed fully in the vanity project that is the taxpayer sponsored Olympics (Oy! Coe! Where's my tax-free sponsorship concession? (See Coke, McDonalds, Addidas, etc)), and willing to show his ignorance, and once again illustrating exactly why politics and sport should never mix, Mr Rhyming Slang has come out with the old rubbish about rugby pitches being akin to your local church on a Sunday morning. Still in a job only because he and his bosses inhabit cloud cuckoo land, here's Hunt's sporting idyl:

FAST BOWLER: (the ball has again just passed the hapless bat's outside edge). I say, old chep, you jolly nearly nicked that one! Well done you for being so lucky. Better luck me next time.

FAST BOWLER: (the ball has just bounced over the stumps, missing by the proverbial coat of varnish). I say, old chep, almost got you that time. You should get more in line and watch the gap between bat and pad.

RUGBY PLAYER: (on the receiving end of some eye gouging). I say old chep, would you mind, awfully...

RUGBY PLAYER: (on the receiving end of a crunching tackle). I say old chep, jolly good hit! Now. If I can only get my breath back.

FOOTBALLER: (open goal, places header just wide). Crickey!

FOOTBALLER: (bearing down on open goal, dispossessed by centre half who came from nowhere). Blimey. Well played, old chep.

FAST BOWLER: I say old chep, how come you're so rotund?

BAT: Because...(pause)...every time I make love to your wife, she provides sustenance by way of a biscuit.

What a total Jeremy.

Then there's this:

This is the bloke telling us that paying cash and avoiding tax is morally wrong. Morally right is stealing my tax and spending it on your homes, televisions, Mars bars and moats. Morally right is awarding yourselves your own pay and benefit packages. Morally right is wasting fortunes on opening ceremonies, on Royals, on subsidised food and drink for you lot in bars and restaurants where the laws of the rest of the land don't apply. Mrs Gaulke? A tax avoidance lawyer.

Look again at Mr Gaulke. An old friend, Swanny, on meeting a Gaulke lookalike, greeted him with:

“Jesus. Mate. You're ugly. One more push from your mum and you'd've been a mongol. You fell out of the ugly tree alright. And hit every branch on the way down.”

Swanny was not known for his political correctness. He was a huge, plain-speaking brute and great company. He was no oil painting himself, but then he had no illusions in that regard.

Anyway, Mr Gaulke could compete with the Coes and the Jeremys in smug-lookingness, I wouldn't trust him in a room with the dogs without CCTV to keep him on the straight and narrow, he is so ugly, as the saying goes, that the maternity ward staff ignored his arse and slapped his mother, and, Mr Gaulke, you typical, meddling, godawful politician, when I need a morality barometer I'll arrange one. It won't, by the way, be you good self. Now Foxtrot Oscar.