Well, it wasn't exactly a John Prescott moment. Prezza had, after all, been the one who delivered the left hook, having been the ungrateful recipient of an egg. It was Mazza who was on the end of the left hook, one delivered with rather greater force than Prezza had planted on Eggy's chin, and it went not on his chin but on the side of his face.
The idiot who did this, a seventeen-year-old youth by the name of Andrés, is apparently related to the PM. Son of a cousin of his wife. Or something like that. Quite what this means - in relative terms - I have no interest in trying to figure out. But maybe the youth was having a go for not having received Christmas presents in the past. Whatever his motives, he was said to have been pleased with himself. A judge has sent the spotty Herbert to a youth detention centre. No Christmas for him then. Stupid, more stupid, most stupid.
The great question that was raised by the left hook was what had happened to the prime ministerial spectacles. Rajoy continued his walkabout in glassless disorientation. "Where am I going?" "Who are you?" It was to be a day later before the prime ministerial Twitter advisors delivered a message that the PM had been planning on sending a letter to the Three Kings and ask them for some new specs. But this was not going to be necessary. The spectacles had been found. Hurrah!
Reunited with the eye furniture, Mazza was able to inform a radio interviewer that he would not be wearing glasses the next time someone decides to land one on him. With this, everyone was mightily relieved, while the Twitterati at Rajoy HQ had landed something of a coup in managing to turn the whole thing into a joke. The spotty Herbert in question had also managed something previously almost unimaginable: making people feel sorry for Rajoy. If there's one thing you don't do, it is punch a defenceless man who, whatever you might think of him, looks as though he's the last person in Spain who would either retaliate or initiate a punch-up. His poll rating almost certainly increased.
While Mariano had studiously avoided using the C-word when confronted by the boy Sánchez of PSOE during their televised head-to-head insultathon, it was given more than ample airing here in Mallorca. The six leaders of parties hoping to get themselves a nice number in Madrid today were televisually paraded midweek, their debate - such as it was - notable for Here Come Da Judge (Podemos) using distinctly unjudgelike and intemperate language. "Rotten to the core," he bellowed on three occasions in Matty Isern's general direction. It was the PP that was rotten, he was reminding the viewers, most of whom have been able to figure that out for themselves.
Reassuringly, however, and amidst the jibes of "demagoguery" directed at Da Judge by the bloke from the C's whose name no one remembers or "structural corruption", which was levelled by The Verger (Més) at any party other than his own, there was The Font, whose vast, great and wise knowledge has previously made him and his party - The Pine (El Pi) - appear to rise above the puerile name-calling. The Font informed everyone that it costs 15.45 euros to send ten kilos of sobrassada to Madrid and nine euros for the same amount of sausagey stuff to go to Barcelona. His point being? Don't send your sobrassada to Madrid. Which will come as a bit of a blow to him if he wins a seat in Congress. Which he probably won't.