Two Jags Three Shags Two Dinners

John Prescott in Newcastle. Surrounded by his security men from London in a curry restaurant in the centre of town. Outside are the local plod, alert as ever to any violent mobs demanding he stop shagging his secretaries or playing croquet. The London rozzers shepherd the great man out of the restaurant, he having demolished a platter of rogan josh, pilau rice, vegetable curry and all the usual accoutrements. "Where we going sir?" says local plod. "Back to the hotel?" "Nah mate," says Bodie or possibly Doyle, the guys with the big bulges in their jackets. "Know a good Italian? He wants a pizza now." Tis true, promise.