a complacent hunt

Meanwhile Jeremy Hunt, not even looking soggy after his weeks floating among the brown stuff, dares to blame others for the foreseeable consequences of Olympic Games. If, in a metaphorical pub, particularly a Public Bar (bliss was it to be alive, sort of), someone spoke such supercilious crap with that arrogant smile on their self-satisfied face, they might not be surprised if someone smacked them in the mouth. I’m just saying. I hope no one does it. It is the retailer's fault for not preparing a plan, he says. This a couple of days after it turned out that the Low Cog Games ran out of milk. They ran out of milk for a known number of people. That's after they ran out of water for a known number of people; and you can't take in your own in case it explodes.