A Political Hot Potato

Still, I suppose, it was not the wisest thing to have done when she was approaching – at speed - wielding a still oven-hot jacket potato; I should have made my excuses and left, however, abiding by the fine upstanding traditions of British tabloid journalism: I denied everything.

Such are the vagaries of the political life. Never, on first paying the initial bribes and backhanders had I expected to get this close to the great engine of the British State, and never this close to a politician and member of the cabinet. Although, judging by recent political history, it really should have been the jacket potato with the seat at the Cabinet table. At least, it couldn’t have been worse for vegetables don’t vote for ridiculous policies that have more unintended consequences than a Brussels Sprout Vindaloo.

Anyway, to get back to the matter – and hot potato – in hand, I never, before that unforgettable night, realised that when fellow journalists on the inside track talked about political hot potatoes, that they were talking literally, and that – indeed – hot potatoes are a staple of the political process.

Still, you live and learn – unless you are a potato… or a politician. I suppose – though – it does go a long way towards explaining the current state of the country.