John Gibson: All ticket, my clash with Clegg

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All I wanted for Christmas were his two front teeth. Not too late to do a bit of damage. My mole at Westminster tells me that Nick Clegg (God help us when you consider that we have him and Old Etonian Calamity Cameron at the helm) has taken to kick-boxing.

Have his aides informed him that we have regular kick-boxing nights at Portobello Town Hall? He asked wife Miriam for a pair of 12-ounce. Colour Lib-Dem yellow.

She slipped them into his Christmas stocking and in the gym Nick was like a bairn with a new toy, swinging punches and kicks at anybody who ventured within range.

I’d love to get into the ring with him. I’d get under the ropes bare-knuckle if he so agrees. Naturally it would have to be an all-ticket affair in Porty.

Meantime, Cameron has been running in central London, with his personal protection officers, to ease his bad back and wonky knees.

Flushed out

Jawohl! Wouldn’t it be wunderbar to have your neighbours queueing up to spend a pfennig to use the toilet (bowl and lid) used exclusively by Hitler? Adolf squatted on it frequently.

The newly-discovered Nazi khazi is to be auctioned soon in London. A priceless item, where a mere piece of toilet paper, if certified genuine and suitably sanitised, would also fetch a pretty pfennig.

Now that you ask, one in five people don’t wash their hands after going to the lavatory. You just never know these days who you’ve done a high five with. Now we know why the Queen keeps her gloves on.