We join proceedings at the denouement of the courtroom scene. An increasingly intransigent Chris “I love to hoon” Huhne is, for some reason, being cross-examined by his estranged son.
Huhne Juhnior: Daddy, did you order mummy to take your penalty points?
Judge: You don’t have to answer that question!
Hoon: I’ll answer the question. You want answers?
Huhne Juhnior: I think I’m entitled.
Hoon: You want answers?!
Huhne Juhnior: I want the truth!
Hoon: You can’t handle the truth!
Son, we live in a world that has roads, and those roads have to be commandeered by men with balls. Who’s gonna do it? You? Your “new dad”? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom! You weep for the taxpayer and bleat “it’s 30 for a reason!” You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that my minor indiscretion, while regrettable, enabled me to continue doing my duty as Energy Secretary by bolstering petroleum demand. And by said indiscretion, your mother – while grotesque and incomprehensible to every sane man on this planet – was enabled to do likewise! You don’t want the truth, because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that road! You need me on that road! We use words like “brake-horsepower”, “torque”, “Maserati”. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent takin’ it out and choppin’ it up. You use them as a punchline! I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a kid who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the paternal guidance that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather you just said “Thank you,” and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a pair of patented leather driving gloves and grab the wheel. Either way, I don’t give a DAMN what you think you are entitled to!