Ding Ding, Round Four

Ee, if yer a politics junkie things are very fattening right now, stuffing our faces with US MidTerms, UK State Opening of Parliament. Yesterday's ceremony, turgid with pomp, circumstance and pompous circumstances, gave the greatest insight into our Deputy Prime Minister ever seen on television.

You will remember John Prescott's act of self-defence against an egg-hurling ne'er-do-well during the Labour Election Campaign of 2001. On 16th May of that year, a Wednesday, Prezza was on the campaign trail in Rhyl, North Wales, when a disgruntled farmer chucked an egg at the DPM's face/shoulder from point-blank range. If you'd like a reminder, it's here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRQDnGTcc4A

He's got a quick jab, there, hasn't he? Of course, before he became a respected politician, John Prescott was a ship's steward, hence his enormous size. One is to assume from this history that he can a) put a few pints away without blinking and b) stand up for himself. From early days working on ships to union chapel representative, to trades union worker, rising through the ranks until, lumme, he's only gone and become the nation's second most important - maybe third - politico.

And so: the point. The monarch read Mr Blair's speech like a good queen, and she told everyone what Mr B plans for the next year. Once all the tedium was over, the lads got back in the chamber and started rowing again. Boyface Cameron stood up and did he usual haranguing, leading to a point-of-order on "tough decision making". Tone decried the efforts of the New Tory Boy, saying that Cameron was "a lightweight" and that he'd be facing a "heavyweight" - Blair's first open reference to Gordon Brown's forthcoming Premiership. The boxing analogy continues:

"At the next election, it will be a flyweight versus a heavyweight, and however much he might dance around the ring beforetimes, at some point, he'll come within the reach of a big, clunking fist..."

The crowd goes wild. Cameron looks to his chums on the front bench, resplendent in the red flush that all posh boys get when someone else starts making fighting suggestions. Blair senses weakness, and goes for the death move:

"...and you know what? He'll be out on his feet, carried out of the ring, a fifth Tory leader carried out, and a fourth Labour government still standing."

Now, look at Prescott when the PM starts talking about fighting. You can see his bile rise, his blood pressure notch up. As adrenaline prepares his corpulent body for fight or flight, the eyes narrow and the folded arms flex beneath the shiny suit. You just feel he'd like to pop you one.

Did you know Prescott's middle name was Leslie?