Who, then, would care to lower themselves to peddle a little titillation to the masses? Step forward the odious flannelled fool Master Harry Cole, who is now the paper’s alleged political editor. The size of his wedge (fnarr fnarr) is clearly enough for him to be ordered to demean himself without getting the hump (kersnick kersnick).So readers were told “BAFFLING new Northern lockdown rules mean couples who do not live together can have sex in a hotel, campsite or B&B but not in their homes, gardens, sheds or houseboats. Emergency coronavirus restrictions imposed on the region last week were signed into law yesterday - banning 4.5 million people from going to each other’s homes”. The headline “Mancy Panky” adds to Cole’s humiliation.
Just to ensure readers knew what he was on about, there was a helpful graphic telling them all about “Romping”. That’s what the Sun used to euphemistically call “Bonking”. Because nobody understands what Screwing, Shagging, Humping, Fornicating or Fucking actually mean, perhaps. Anyway, you can’t do it in a yard or passageway. Nothing about “behind a French dresser in a department store”, but that’s a different film.
Adam Wagner - not his finest hour
Attempting to keep a straight face, he tells Sun readers “All gatherings, defined as ‘two or more people present together in the same place in order to engage in any form of social interaction with each other’, taking place in a ‘private dwelling’, are banned. And that includes gatherings for sex”. BUT “This is not legal advice, if you are considering having sex in the North of England please consult a lawyer”.Most of the North of England is outside Greater Manchester, of course, but to the London-centric press this is a mere distraction. The point is to sell more copies and score more clicks, and this story shows the level of desperation that has set in at the Sun.
No barrel is too low to scrape in an effort to keep their end up. Fnarr fnarr indeed.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
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4 comments:
"All gatherings, defined as ‘two or more people present together in the same place in order to engage in any form of social interaction with each other’..."
Neither his posh boarding school nor Edinburgh University bothered to teach Master Cole the meaning of the word tautology.
Reminds me of that wonderful anecdote in one of Milligan's war memoirs. A Pioneer Corps soldier was caught late at night having a knee-trembler in a shop doorway in a Yorkshire city.
Brought before the court, the magistrate said that there was far too much of this sort of thing going on and that he was going to make an example of the soldier. He gave him thirty days.
As he was being led down to the cells, the soldier shouted to the magistrate, "I'll tell thee summat; tha'll never stop fucking in Bradford!"
Cole's onanism has got the better of him again.
Maybe that's why Symonds fucked him off for Bozo.
I think I know what Harry Cole keeps in his cheeks.
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