From tush toucher to bush tucker, Matt Hancock’s jungle move is coming off a bit desperate
FROM tush toucher to bush tucker, former UK Health Secretary Matt Hancock is a desperate man.
He must be, to want to endure the ignominy of chewing on kangaroo penis with pop legend Boy George. Gulp!
He’s either overly-eager for public attention after new PM Rishi Sunak cast him adrift from cabinet, or Hancock’s signing up to I’m A Celebrity . . . Get Me Out Of Here! is a covert attempt by the Tory party to show its MPs are 'of the people'.
I’m inclined to think the former. Hancock is fond of himself. Can’t think why. He’s no God’s gift to women.
An Adonis he ain’t. But there must be some charm there that attracts the ladies. His balding bonce, maybe?
Hancock was famously caught by this paper in June 2021 awkwardly cradling the behind of his parliamentary adviser Gina Coladangelo as they canoodled in a Westminster corridor under a CCTV camera.
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It led to the break-up of his marriage to wife Martha, pals of whom described him this week as a “total halfwit making unwise career moves”.
Quite. The affair put paid to his aspiring political career. He was forced to quit his job as Health Secretary in the aftermath of the scandal and it’s been a downward spiral towards a dish of marsupial b***s since.
Since his offside antics, the man who was the face of the British government’s response to the pandemic, and who went up for the Conservative leadership in 2019, has languished in backbench obscurity.
Adulterers — when caught — don’t play well with the electorate. Just ask David “Chelsea kit” Mellor, who adorned the front pages in opprobrium after his affair with English actress Antonia de Sancha was exposed.
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There was no way back for him. He spent the rest of his days appearing on TV shows to be mocked.
For those with high opinions of themselves (and Hancock’s is stratospheric), being ignored grates with their unbounded sense of self-belief.
Attention is what they crave above all else, even if that means becoming the butt of the joke, as Matt surely will be once he gets down and dirty with Ant and Dec starting this Sunday.
A relentlessly cruel public will have him doing EVERY bushtucker trial under the sun.
Even fellow MPs will get in on the act. One ex-minister vowed to vote “every night to see him eat armadillo c**k”.
It will be a joy on these dark November evenings for those of us who enjoy revelling in the misery of others to watch Hancock being crawled over by rats in a sealed and buried coffin, or forced to gag on unsavoury bush 'foods'.
Who knows? He may pass all the trials with flying colours. If he does, I’ll doff my cap.
STARK RAVING MAD
My bet is, however, that he’ll put on a brave face, while deep down he’ll be swimming in a pool of self-loathing.
How else can one feel in front of a plate of sheep’s intestines?
Why he’s put himself in the frame for public ridicule is unfathomable, really.
His reasoning for going on Celeb brought a smile to my face, nonetheless.
He opined naively: “It’s a great opportunity to talk directly to people who aren’t always interested in politics, even if they care very much about how our country’s run.
"It’s our job as politicians to go to where the people are — not to sit in ivory towers.
“Rather than looking down on reality TV, we should see it for what it is — a powerful tool to get our message heard by younger generations.”
Eh, Matt, you’re delusional. No, in fact, you’re stark raving mad. Anyone who watches I’m A Celeb doesn’t do so to learn about the intricacies of Westminster or be engaged by political debate.
Rather, they do so to chuckle uproariously at your gagging misfortune.
So, God help you, son. May your kangaroo penis be supple and your testicles un-gooey.
That’s all the comfort one can give. Ace TV
DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER
I’M a Shoegazer. Early 1990s was more my muse than the mid- to late-1990s, when indie music crawled up its own a**e.
I’m thinking of Brit Pop, that swaggering, masculine-infused anthemic, mass-appealing, guitar-driven wall of (bland) sound that exploded on to the scene.
Blur were one band. Oasis were another.
I’ll give Noel and Liam Gallagher one thing, though. Wonderwall. A great tune.
The original penned lyrics, above, went up for auction this week and were expected to sell for around €6k.
Wonder if it’ll end up on some rich lad’s wall? Of course it will!
DOUBLES ARE ON MICHEAL
WEDNESDAY is betwixt and between. A meh day, when nothing much happens. A kind of tumbleweed-in-the-sands-of-time kind of day.
Not this Wednesday past.
The Place was hopping. Shops were full of folk, as were the cafes, restaurants and pubs.
Lots of women milling around like possessed demons.
For the life of me I couldn’t think why.
Then it dawned on me that the Government – thank you Micheal Martin – had paid out a double month’s children’s allowance as part of the package of measures aimed at dampening the effects of the cost-of-living crisis.
An extra €280 was very welcome indeed, and those in possession of the extra wad weren’t long in putting it to good effect.
It lightened the mood and helped stimulate the local economy at the same time.
Bravo.
FLAMING RELIEF
AS a mate of mine said on Halloween night: “Back in our day we had sparklers, a few Black Cat bangers and got stale monkey nuts when we knocked on a door.”
These days the kids are obviously supplied by Nato.
The night sky lit up like downtown Beirut during the Lebanese Civil War.
So loud were the booms of fireworks at the youngsters’ disposal that ears were left ringing long afterwards.
All that could be heard through the din were the frightened yelps and barks of dogs, poor things.
The rain didn’t stop the cacophony either, although mercifully the weather did dampen the ferocity of the illegal bonfires.
The firemen and women had an easier time of it than they do most years.
Thank Christ.
BRAZIL'S PLAYERS ARE NUTS
NEYMAR, the sideways-disappearing, dive-on-thin-air Brazilian footballer (he’s not an ace or a star) got his comeuppance last Sunday when his “hero”, Jair Bolsonaro, lost the country’s presidential election.
The Paris Saint-Germain player rowed in fully behind fascist, Amazon-destroyer Bolsonaro ahead of the vote, which former President Lula da Silva won by the tiniest of margins.
Lula, rightly, no doubt, had claimed prima donna Neymar had supported Bolsonaro publicly in return for a huge tax debt being written off.
Sickeningly, Neymar also pledged to dedicate his first goal in the World Cup to the country’s homophobic and sexist ex-leader.
After the election result, Neymar shared a post of himself with the flag of Brazil alongside the caption: “May your will be done, God.”
That prompted his father to reply: “God, country, family and freedom. Thank you for being like this, for being born like this, with courage and faith.
"Our family and friends are very proud of you.”
He’s not the only dim-witted Brazilian footballer to wade deep in the Bolsonaro swamp. Lucas Moura of Spurs also pledged support for the far-right loser.
As did former Brazil stars, Rivaldo and Ronaldinho.
Here’s hoping Brazil get knocked out in the group stages in Qatar. A team to hate for all the right reasons.
SERBIA TO THE SEMIS
SPEAKING of the World Cup – with only two weeks to go, I’m sticking a cheeky tenner on Serbia to get to the semis.
You might think me mad, but they are a serious outfit, who play fast, one-touch football and have one of the stars of this year’s Premier League leading their line, Aleksandar Mitrovic.
Yes, they are in a group of death with Brazil, Cameroon and Switzerland but they have, I firmly believe, the necessary mettle to make it to the knockout rounds.
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And as everyone knows, once you make it there anything can happen.
Whether they do, or not, is immaterial, I suppose.
But I’m looking forward to four games a day for the guts of three weeks. Will make winter bearable, somewhat.