Oh good grief.

I'm sorry, if things have reached this sort of nit picking lunacy, someone, somewhere, needs a good rogering with the rough end of a pineapple until such a time as they start to see sense, cut through the crap, and begin to rediscover the plot.

No wonder we are no further forward. So the Minister is a self confessed "simple urban boy" for whom "the idea of listening to three Somerset folk singers sounds like hell."

In my book he's obviously not up to the job then, pineapple or no pineapple.

SM