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"Whatever they do, men are too anxious to get to the end. Sex, eating a fine meal, playing golf - there is always a temptation to rush, gobble, run. That is foolish, for one should move at a relaxed pace through life, doing the work one enjoys instead of chasing ambition helter-skelter, pursuing one's ultimate death." - a character speaking in Len Deighton's 1967 book "An Expensive Place to Die".

If there ever was a politician whose honesty, human decency and ethical integrity were in inverse proportion to his political ambition and lust for personal power, it is [censored].

The entomological equivalent of [censored] would be a cockroach - an insect famed for its aversion to bright light and preference for living in the dark recesses of buildings, wallowing in the putrid, stinking filth of its own making, spreading diseases, and being so tough and resilient to pesticides and other hazards that if a nuclear war or asteroid impact wiped out every other animal species on the planet, it alone would survive.

It is high time that the boot of justice, human rights, civil liberties and public indignation stamped on this loathsome insect, and left his gooey, shattered exoskeleton on the pavement of Whitehall for the pigeons to peck at.