After he had made it known that the Brexit withdrawal agreement negotiated by the Government of which he is a member had incurred his displeasure, the Member for times long past Jacob Rees Mogg stepped out of Parliament to bask in the limelight of a press conference yesterday. Many hacks with nothing better to do paid court, including one prematurely bloated specimen who at first looked unrecognisable.
Young man no more
Many photos of Rees Mogg holding forth had this figure in shot. But who was he? Who was this pimply slab of executive Gammon in an unwilling suit? The faux furrowed brow, the lack of notepad, the pretentiously slicked-back Barnet, all looked strangely familiar. And then came the recognition. Yes, that bulging overdraft was instantly recognisable - it was the odious flannelled fool Master Harry Cole, who claims to be a journalist.
Was it really Cole? Could this be the same amateur human being who stood before the cameras less than four years ago showing off his young, svelte self? Where had all the bellies come from? How could someone just 33 years old have acquired such extensive and indeed premature middle aged spread? The presence of beanpole Rees Mogg only made Cole look even more as if he were as broad as long.
Has the continuing pretence that he is a Real Journalist (no sniggering at the back, please) taken such a toll? Is Cole beginning to get a conscience over all the whoppers that appear under his by-line in the Super Soaraway Currant Bun? Has he been missing the asparagus, green beans and hummus from his Pret order? Has the light ranch dressing become something less light? Has the Diet Coke been unceremoniously ditched?
What happened to the large salad leaves he used to insist on? Has he been dodging them? Or is this some kind of metamorphosis in which he begins to more closely resemble his old boss, the perpetually thirsty Paul Staines? But enough of the speculation: what can be said about Master Cole’s current state is that it cannot be doing him any good. Some of us may enjoy taking the piss, but he is leaving himself open to all kinds of problems.
Diabetes - ask Tom Watson - is one of those stalking folks carrying excess baggage. Heart disease is another, and were I a betting man, I would wage good money on Master Cole and hypertension medication not being in proximity to one another right now. The toll on the body of being far more Gammon than necessary can be irreversible.
Still, that’s what you get after all those years of lying, smearing, threatening, bullying, and all those other less than totally savoury habits that Master Cole gets up to. He had every opportunity to retract his defamatory smear of this blog, but declined to do so. But when his tail was tweaked some time later, he was shouting the odds and demanding retractions - then having his lawyer send a threatening letter (which got him nowhere).
Being a terminally unpleasant and untrustworthy slob can do terrible things to one’s wellbeing, however good the media opportunities. Sad, really.
Enjoy your visit to Zelo Street? You can help this truly independent blog carry on talking truth to power, while retaining its sense of humour, by adding to its Just Giving page at
0 Response to "The Sad Decline Of Harry Cole"
Post a Comment