Oh Lord Triesman, where are the hula girls?

It has been a very middle-class British affair. The kind where sex texts read "sweet dreams" or "the next hours are what I crave". Isn't it all very Judy Blume? Although thankfully the American novelist's famous euphemism "Ralph" does not make an appearance at any stage . For this we must be grateful – and that there are no available photographs of Lord Triesman in his underpants. For a tabloid sting it's definitely lacking in juice. We have grown accustomed to certain standards in kiss 'n' tell exposes in this country – reveal-all ladies in lingerie, and always, always , detailed synopses of "manly" lovemaking. Instead, though, we have a slightly weird lady, Melissa Jacobs (for God's sake don't Google her at work), allegedly suffering from OCD, and a series of lame texts from Lord Triesman. Oh, and some guff about football's dodgy international dealings (sorry, but I just can't bring myself to feign shock). Interestingly, no one has made too much of a fuss about the alleged infidelity bit; we're all far too upset at the thought that we might miss out on hosting the 2018 World Cup – along with all the McDonald's and Visa-enforced consumer opportunities that may bring us. Or maybe we're now just immune to blokes in football shagging around. Luckily, in a totally uncynical way, Melissa kept an up-to-date blog on all the goings-on, romantically titled "The Labour Minister and I – Power is the definitely the ultimate aphrodisiac". Funny, then, that Triesman ended up jobless while Melissa has got herself £75,000 and 15 minutes of fame. I keenly await her recipe for chicken's testicles on the next series of Celebrity Masterchef. Most frustrating of all is Triesman's total inability to spot a stitch-up. By her own admission Melissa has "never been able to put on a fake smile very effectively", which rather makes me scream: 'Lord T you blundering idiot! You encountered a rubbish fake smile and you didn't even spot it? No wonder you never made any headway on the Burns report'. Although the Mail on Sunday spared us the more sordid bits, you can actually find everything you thought you wanted to know on Melissa's blog, although I warn you that some of the details will make you feel a little bit ill. Melissa continues with a full assessment of how fab her body is and how much Lord T liked her hip bone. From this particular passage, despite being unaided by a GCSE in psychology, I think it is safe to assume that Melissa is a total narcissist. Triesman, God bless ya, but you do pick 'em. You were so fast to denounce John Terry and Ashley Cole's hairdresser/topless model antics, yet if you had only followed their simple formula and nabbed yourself a bird of that calibre you would only be getting accused of infidelity, instead of some crackpot international football political scandal. Anyway, let's go to the Lineker element of this story, where Gary tells the Mail on Sunday to stuff it. For me that's definitely the most mind-blowing element of the whole affair. It is safe to say that the world has turned on its head when Gary puts down a packet of chicken teriyaki flavoured crisps and decides instead to picks up an ethical cause. Once a man of principle (no bookings, remember), over the years our Gary slowly metamorphosed into something different – I think it all went wrong when he started stealing crisps from children. Next thing we knew he was permatanned and marrying a lingerie model some 19 years his junior. Now he's come full circle, ditching the newspaper that he happily accepted dough from, and proclaiming them scum. (Seriously, though, Gary, why the surprise?) It is lovely to witness the Mail on Sunday getting a pasting. That they have been accused of a lack of patriotism is even more special. You just couldn't make it up. This from the home of nationalistic‑material scare stories over the number of Britons called Mohammed, or advising that immigrants and their children are unlikely to "start reading Jane Austen or tuning in to The Archers". Bloody hell, round up the anti-Austen fans and expatriate them immediately! I do feel, though, that the whole bugging shebang has been an opportunity lost. I wonder how much more Triesman would have said if he knew his career was about to go down the pan? Would he have had a go at all those FA bods who stood in his way over institutional reform? He must have had enough gossip on them to fill the 3am column for a year – late‑night pictures of Geoff Thompson getting rowdy with hula girls on a vote-winning trip to Hawaii? Perhaps that is all still to come.