Thank heavens for John Prescott

Now, that may be the first time in history those five words have ever been uttered, but I mean it. If it hadn't been for the self-effacing Most Powerful Man in Britain laying into James Naughtie and waking me up, I'd have been late for work. Well, later anyway. The Deputy Prime Minister was being pressed on the squaring off between Blair & Brown, and Naughtie let fly with a low comment about Labour politicans sorting things out over meals, but then the pugnacious Prescott ducked, weaved and punched back with the counter-allegation that Naughtie should know all about meals, what with the grand affairs he throws where he invites politicians so that he can get juicy stories from them for his books. It then descended into a rather sordid self-involved argument about people who brief against people who brief. In a moment of searing clarity, rare enough in the mornings, I was struck by a vision of poor senior politicians, so starved that they are forced to attend these meals in order to exchange unattributed quotes for morsels of food. When, oh when will we pay our politicians a living wage?