Forget the Grand Mess, here’s the fun stuff

There’s something a little-dispiriting about waking up one morning to find that our elected politicians are even more psychopathic, deranged and-disloyal than one had always suspected. I don’t just mean Gove and his cackling, somewhat ambitious missus. Charming though Michael undoubtedly is, and agreeably owlish in-public, I have imagined him in-darker moments standing in a blood-splattered hallway with a kitchen knife in his hand muttering over and over: ‘I did it for you, Mummy, I did it for you.’ Somehow I always thought that was in there, with Michael. No, the other lot as well, Labour; as one embittered clown after another traipsed into-Forrest Gump’s office and pretended to feel sad about resigning, with their crocodile tears and their immense and immensely misplaced hubris. All a bit depressing, frankly.

It occurred to me that you might be depressed, too. This is supposed to be the height of the silly season, with the politicians dispatched to their awful holidays — Margaret Beckett staring sadly at a canal from the window of her caravan, eating a ham sandwich, Dave’n’Sam Cam getting down to some bangin’ choons in Ibiza — and we get a chance to enjoy the fun stuff.