Pump Goes the Weasel

Thanks to the Sun, we’ve finally discovered the reason for Matt Hancock’s permasmirk.

Anybody who had touted the view that door Matt was losing his grip had clearly not clocked the telefoto snap of the slippery toad up to the hilt in some covert sidechickery or, as it’s now known, Hands – Face – Back to my place.

And from the looks of it, that wasn’t just his second jab.

This morning, he failed to attend a constituency meet-up in Newmarket, electing to pull out at the last moment, which arguably headed off (pun unintended) a greater scandal.

In all seriousness though, isolating one day in May when the Cock allegedly breached Government guidance on social distancing is akin to rebuking Mr Putin for his bonkers comb-over.

Lest we forget, this Government has presided over staggering death tolls, a shafted economy, and wholesale corruption. Again, nobody seems to fancy the factual legwork required in order to take these charlatans out cleanly and for the right reasons.

Meanwhile, glossy Matt is in no danger of getting the boot. His meeting today with Johnson was probably punctuated by high fives, back slapping, and witty repartee. In their gang, not boffing the typing pool gets you tin-tacked.

The main takeaway from this non-event – aside from the faint, sweet whiff of Cummings – is undoubtedly that the woman at the centre of the storm most certainly needs a COVID test.

She’s clearly lost her sense of taste.

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