Special Guest Blogger: John Prescott

I led my life believing that a proper breakfast involves a full English and a strong cup of tea but that was the kind of man I was, born  in a modest council house in Grantham, the kind of place where the smell of boiled potatoes was a constant and I entered the world with a yowl and a plan.
My dad was a miner, my mum a cleaner, and I grew up in a house with parents who thought moderation was a type of sandwich.
Fast forward to the early ’80s. I’d already been elected as a Labour Councillor and I’d decided it was time to actually do something with my knack for shouting at people.
I was elected MP for Kingston upon Hull East in 1970, a constituency whose residents taught me the value of hard work, humour and the unbridled joy of a properly cooked fish and chips.
I quickly learned that Parliament was a bit like a giant, stuffy pub where underneath the silk ties and polished shoes was a collective yearning for a decent pint and a decent argument.
My first real highlight came in 1997, when Labour won a landslide victory, and I was appointed Deputy Prime Minister (and Secretary of State for the Environment, Transport and the Regions). Suddenly I was the guy who was no more being the guy who yelled at the bus driver for taking the wrong route, now I could make the routes.
I introduced the Cycle-to-Work scheme, which, helped thousands of people cycle to work and it gave me a clear run in my Jag to the office.
Working alongside Tony Blair and Gordon Brown was like being in a band where everyone thinks they’re the lead vocalist. We managed to rewrite the party’s manifesto, bring the UK into the era of digital connectivity and on one rare Sunday, I found myself in a small Yorkshire pub, debating whether to support a proposal for a expansion of the port when a local farmer, visibly agitated, shouting at me and hurled a raw egg straight at my head and I responded with a calm smile, a measured nod, and a purposeful, punch to his face to underscore the seriousness of my point.
The incident made the front page of The Sun the next day under the headline, 'Rambo Smashes Egg-Throwing Nutjob!' but looking back, the episode taught me If you’re going to punch a protester, make sure you have a reason that can be turned into a catchy headline.
When you stand at a podium, you often wonder what will echo through the corridors of history. Will it be the policies you championed, the speeches you delivered or the scandals you survived? Sometimes it just involves an egg.