THERE have been a lot of pots calling and equal number of kettles black in recent days.

All red-blooded Eng-er-landers have sat in terminal judgement on the dastardly goalkeeping hands of Rob Green. Amputation was one pub-snug sentence. Another was exile to Division Ten of the Accrington Combination.

It’s as if each and every one of us righteous judges has never put a foot, or hand, wrong in our own particular posts.

Similarly, St. Barack and the United States of Angels. Forgotten apparently is America’s poisoning and polluting reputation as black as Dallas oil and catastrophic as the Exxon Valdes. And in the same month as being found guilty of destroying thousands of lives in the world’s biggest ever industrial pollution at Bhopal, it turns its two-faced wrath on BP’s oil-slick.

Certainly demand £13 billion compensation from BP but why not then re-allocate it to India’s desperately poor and suffering in Bhopal?

For me, the blackest pot is Joe Public. We’ve been busy for months blackening a comparatively small number of priests for child abuse. Rightly and justly so, I stress. And the Pope was absolutely right this week to plead for forgiveness. What has happened has been abominable.

Yet, are we that much better?

This generation is taught that it’s lost. It comes from a Big Bang, is now en route to a black hole and has no purpose but to recycle its carbon for another hopeless generation.

Disregard God. Forget hope. Cancel right and wrong. You’re nothing but hairless apes out of a jungle.

Now that’s abuse on a grand scale!