The Childlike lure of the Establishment

What is it about the Royal Family and the British Establishment that makes it so attractive to youngsters?

*squiggle - doodle - squiggle - doodle.* That was my introduction to the high-minded culture of the arts as it was many others I’m sure. A jolly, bearded behemoth of an artist grinning fulsomely which made far more of an impression than any “so called” “masterpiece” by any of the officially endorsed patron saints of the Left Wing art establishment such as the Chapman Brothers, Vivienne Westwood, Pablo Picasso or Giotto. Squiggle - doodle - squiggle - doodle. This is what made art accessible and fun: an outrageous, hairy cornflake of an almost-anglophone peintre armed with wit, repartee and a “wobble-board” - what child couldn’t be drawn to that? Not I - nor apparently - my 1980s contemporaries who knew where they were with Aussie banter, “cheeky” asides and his alter ego-cum-mascot the Rolfaroo holding court over proceedings. In later years I was glad to see the maestro emerging as a strong social conservative as per his country’s policy over “natives”, urging the indigenous Aboriginal inhabitants of Australia to “get up off your arse and clean up the streets,” before adding “why would you expect somebody to come in and clean up your garbage which you've dumped everywhere(?)". Splendid, culturally concise stuff to be sure. Is it any wonder these steadfast free market values led this greatest of all painters to be taken up as court artist/folk musician/jester to the House of Windsor and to be awarded the CBE and Order of Australia in the process? In this the most avant-garde of all antipodeans was mirroring the progress of musical impresario and philanthropist Jimmy Savile and the wit and raconteur Stuart Hall both of whom were doyens of the Royal Family and the conservative establishment during those halcyon years. In the process these titans of culture and conservatism gathered about them a great number of frantic fans - many of them youngsters, with unfortunate consequences as we have seen recently. In the fallout from the Operation Yewtree to my mind Britain needs to look at itself as a society and ask itself some difficult questions, the most difficult of course being - what is it about these men that make them so attractive to children? 

From the very beginning messieurs Savile, Harris and Hall were instrumental in bringing an exhilarating mix of high culture and bonhomie to all our childhoods. Savile in his work as chief gift giver as host of Jim’ll Fixit reminded us youngsters that it was and always would be who-you-know rather than what-you-know - truly the Tory way - and ended up blessed to spend eleven successive New Years Eves with The Lady at Chequers. Hall proved that a simple working man from “Oop" North could possess just as an adequate dexterity at language as his continental contemporaries Jean-Paul Sartre and Samuel Beckett, going on to accept an OBE and becoming the subject of a House of Commons motion congratulating him for his forty years service to the noble art of sports commentating. Now, we all know that children are subject to have their heads turned by excitement, by glamour and by the grace and favour of Margaret Thatcher and Her Madge herself. As has been revealed by some unsavoury (and unnecessary) high court trials a great many children may have been impressed by these bastions of the conservative establishment a little too much. These sorry affairs have opened up a great many questions regarding our children and their futures. Just what makes the Great British child so flighty, so prone to the bright lights of power and prestige and titillation? Are they easily led? Are they desirous? Insatiable? Perhaps deep down these brazen kiddlings are simply too easily led by all that glitz and glamour. 

In the wake of revelations regarding a number, or perhaps more. Perhaps dozens. Perhaps many dozens of children throwing themselves towards these bulwarks of the establishment one wonders about the quality of parenting in this nation of ours when we have in effect children who for several generations have clung so tightly to the trappings of power and the fame that it represents. Maybe we of Right minds and righter attitudes towards traditional family values should try and become less attractive - take a leaf out of Sir Leon Brittan’s book for goodness sake. There is a man who’s not been attractive to children for decades. Another suggestion is perhaps to adopt less groundbreaking and “trendy” musical tastes than the peerless innovator Savile who after all effectively invented “rave” music with the pioneering use of twin turntables. Want a non-child friendly soundtrack to your next dinner party or Conservative Association meeting? Look no further than the “hits” of Sir Cliff Richard! There’s no way any child AT ALL could be attracted to someone like him.

One thing I would like to make clear: no near-middle aged Tory should feel any sort of guilt when looking back at childhood infatuations with the likes of Hall, Savile and the Australian artiste himself. As Lord Tebbit has pointed out at the time in which they were in their pomp the priority in our national life was to defend the system. The establishment. This is what these men represented and why children found them so attractive and this is why we should regard these Grands Hommes of the arts as the cultural vanguard of the Right which crushed the Leftish Hampstead limp-wristedness of the continental, Labour supporting metropolitan elite. How sadly times have changed . . . as a latter-day wheezy-breathing Oscar Wilde languishes in Wandsworth Prison  let us remember the cultural contribution of those we have lost along the way, for as the groundbreaking Mancunian “emcee”  D.L.T said at the time of Sir Jimmy’s passing - “We are all going to be worse off without him around.”

Gary Barlow: Songsmith of the Right

What better tunesmith to write a brand new version of the national anthem and to bring Britain truly up to date

Gaz Man! How well I remember how he arrived during the twilight of the Major years . . . how Bowie-esque he lit up a grey decaying nation in a ray of extraterrestrial mystique and free market vigour . . . 

“Space Man

I always wanted you to gooooo!!!

Into space man

Intergalactic chrissttt!”

With a poetical assault on the senses of youth Gaz Man made selling sexy again in a way not seen since Duran Duran pulled up on the shores of Thatcherite Britain showing us that what really mattered in life was not something to say, intelligence, wit or style. No. It is showing the world that you have lots of women and other things of monetary value - THAT is what make’s people jealous! That is what “pop” music is truly about! And it is this spirit of pop which surrounds us in 2014, bought and sold and wholly prepackaged by the erstwhile Simon Cowell and the Gazster himself. Ever since the “kidz” (a young Thorncroft very much included) took to wearing Levis on the back of Gary Barlow’s shape-shifting space changeling hit I have myself followed the fortunes of Mr Barlow’s side-project, the “boy” band Take That with rapt attention in the years since. There was something wholly distracting and even slightly confusing about Gaz’s bandmates. Whether it was Mark’s boyish smile . . . Jason’s sinewy body . . . or even Howard’s hair; my teenage years were spent in an avalanche of admiration and wanderlust for the musical journey that Gary and the lads were taking us on. Imagine my delight when years down the line my own hopes were confirmed by dear old Gaz grinning next to Her Majesty whilst receiving his honours and contributing healthily to The Conservative Party’s esteemed coffers. As a young - albeit not as young as I once was - Conservative, and a pop fan who still wakes up each morning to the dulcet tones of Spaceman I have been outraged by the sanctimonious attitude taken towards this national hero on his healthy line towards sensible tax efficiency. Luckily I have a project that I can propose which will once again lift Mr Barlow back up into the pantheon of British musical geniuses alongside Handel, Cliff Richard, Bucks Fizz and Yehudi Menuhin. 

The most durable British patriot must admit that the National Anthem as it is is a bit of a dirge. Even after a crate of Stella I

can’t countenance the idea of watching Roy and the lads latest heroic failure in South America this summer played out to a cacophony of that plodding same-key beat before each shafting at the hands of our crafty continental opponents. I don’t think there’s any shame in saying that our anthem could do with a healthy lick of paint so that Britain itself can be pulled kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. I mean it’s not as if I don’t want to save Her Majesty - far from it. I like  her. In the same way that one likes an aging uncle who arrives for Christmas dinner each year only to tell the same joke as he always does and then fuck off in his shoddy Fiat Punto. No, Her Madge is sacrosanct as far as Britishness is concerned. But aren’t there other areas of public life that are far more worthy of our defence, even our veneration? Money for instance. Or a cup of tea first thing. Or a healthy dislike of the E.U and/or foreigners in general. As far as I’m concerned there is only one candidate who can bring a healthy, British Right-Minded approach to rewriting our national anthem given his sterling record supporting the establishment against the forces of long haired-ness and guitars - and that man is Mr Gary Barlow O.B.E. 

Think of Gaz’s greatest hits. There are too many to chose from aren’t there? From the saucy, eroticised verses of the classic dancefloor filler “Relight My Fire” to the plaintive tones of the utterly poignant “A Million Love Songs” the man simply has it all. God willing following Mr Cameron’s election victory we on the Right need to follow our successes vis-a-vis the EU referendum and the march of Mr Gove’s Free School project with some zeitgeist defining innovations that will truly put the Great back into Team GB - the first of which I propose is the Gazster writing ten alternative versions of the new national anthem and putting up the entires to public vote on what remains of the BBC. Or Sky. Think of the possibilities of Barlow belting out each and every free market inspired ditty alongside a bevy of Conservative supporting backing singers such as Cilla, Frank Bruno and Pudsey Bear! We could even put up the winning entry into European competition during that years Eurovision Song Contest - that’ll put the bearded Austrian lady in her place I can tell you! By penning a rallying cry to the Right in the form of national song celebrating low tax thresholds for those most able, and the right of an Englishman to hog the barbecue during a sunny garden get-together of a May Bank Holiday can we really get to rally the silent majority of Great Britishers of whom Gaz is truly their poet laureate. What d’ya say Gaz? C’mon! Let’s boogie!      

Free the United Kingdom’s Interests and Traditions

FUKIT

A Manifesto for a Better Britain

1) Britain should be run for the British. We want the Queen, the mother of all Parliaments, the crack of wood against steadfast leather, Ladies Day at Ascot, Crufts, nonsensical sobbing, dry rot, zesty complaints and general disappointment in those who spoil it for the rest of us.

2) Britain should not be run BY the British. There are many ample attributes of our island race but organisation is clearly not one of them. A single look at the delays on the TFL website says its own story. Instead we should ask a team of highly trained Swedish Civil Servants to augument a practical takeover of all facilities in this country. Only when we are run by foreigners will we know just how disgusting foreigners truly are. 

3) The British reserve the right to stick our tongues out at any persons speaking a foreign language. We reserve the right to stick our tongues out. And to run away.

4) We should respect the thoughts and practices of those who are out of the norm. The British are a respecting and a respectful people after all. All those persons of a Muslim and/or homosexual bent should be sent to Butlins for a long weekend to show just how we do things around here.

5) The Danish. I’ve got nothing much to add here.

6) The Conservative Party are the natural party of government. However in this time of terror, recession and the short sharp shock of Theresa May a man (or his wife) should be allowed to post UKIP supportive posts on the Telegraph website during the midweek malaise.

7) There should be no Australians unless entirely necessary.

8) Every Britishperson (man woman and child) should be visibly intoxicated in public on at least two occasions during the working week.

9) Be kind to northerners.

10) Let us all entreat to bring back the larder - it was always the most thoroughly British room in the house.

11) Going abroad is fine. What is not fine however is a lack of Gordon’s Gin.

12) Every British man (or otherwise) should be sodding well left alone for a few hours of a Sunday. 

Our Gloriously Dead

Why 2014 marks a happy centenary

These are images that are etched across our national consciousness: the oft-bespoke analogy of “Lions led by Donkeys” as wave after wave of young working class men in sepia black-and-white go “over the top” amidst the wail of cello-song. Miles upon miles of military cemeteries in Northern France and Belgium are testament to this scar upon history. The cliché that we will no doubt be told ad nauseum this year is that those million or so who gave their lives in Flanders and the Somme were the best of the best. Like the Battle of Britain lot of the early 1940s these people (most of whom were only in their teens or twenties at the time) made the ultimate sacrifice to keep Britain and Britain and to defeat the enslaving clutches of European-based international socialism. 2014 will be chocka full of anniversary events dedicated to perpetuating the memory of this most glorious of generations. Whilst we will no doubt stand in salute collectively at the metaphorical Menim Gate many of us historians of the amateurish hue will count the what ifs. What if Britain hadn’t gone to war over that “little scrap of paper” vis-a-vis Belgium? What if the strenuous terms of the Treaty of Versailles hadn’t led to the bloodletting of an aggrieved Austrian colonel twenty-five years later? Thank God that we all can celebrate that it didn’t. For not only has the British nation earned a new mythology thanks to the conflicts of the twentieth century but the deaths of those involved meant that decades of progressive/socialist governments have been averted.

The large body of those who endorsed the socialist tyranny of Mr Attlee in 1945 were of working class stock who’d participated first hand in the two world wars. The contribution of these men apparently gave them grand ideas far above their station as to the running of the country post the Nazi capitulation and hence forth history records the sad litany of leftish failure in the years following the defeat of Hitler. Just think what might have happened if the Germans had won the first bout of their efforts towards world domination - had we been defeated in 1918 might Britain have retained a downsized empire whilst keeping the underclass in their place to boot? Would Churchill, Lloyd George and others have embraced universal suffrage had the krauts not surrendered their only natural interest for empire building and lebensraum? We will never know. What we do know however is that this most “unselfish” of generations emerged from the slaughter of Passchendaele and of the heroics of D Day, the dam busters and all the rest voting for socialist surrender to the eastern bloc and spurning the generous offerings of British industrialists and imperialists who offered them a better sight of the future in a world where one could work for a living and expect just rewards in doing so; where one could aspire to be the best one could be without pandering to the labour movement’s “Gestapo” tactics as predicted so wisely by Mr Churchill. Thank the lord then that post-1979 British politics has been thusly realigned to the advantage of the wealth creators to the general horror of the trade unionists and other such traitors to British interest. That the dying wishes of two generations of British working class heroes who gave their utmost for King and Country have been systematically reversed over the previous three decades is to our credit as a nation and a people who believe wholeheartedly in free commerce and are sceptical as per class consciousness and human solidarity. So this year let us come together not only to celebrate these greatest of all Britons but more importantly to breathe a sigh of relief that oh so many of them came to a premature end. 

Islam’s Alcohol Problem

How the Great British tradition of shitfaced at Xmas isn’t good enough for our Muslim friends. 

So what are we going to do about it?

So just how did you do it then? Comatose in front of Love Actually post-Her Madge’s speech? Or propped up in front of the kids with early-doors champers and bucks fizz in hand? Were you reeling by the fireside screaming at your brother-in-law by dinner time? Or slamming a car-door shut at 3 AM, driving off with no idea where you’re going or how you’re going to get there? Whatever your weapon of choice it is of course your prerogative as a native British-person to enjoy the annual yuletide bounty of drunkenness. It is the inalienable right of us all to partake in this traditional custom in spite of all the kowtowing to the wrong headed, liberal minded sensibility-ists who have consistently attempted to desanctify and de-Christianise a formally pagan mid-winter festival which is steeped in the annals of inebriation. Having resided on these here isles for several millennia it is only proper that the indigenous born amongst us should question the motives and intentions of those who wish to subvert this fabulously British of traditions. Sadly there is indeed a faithless constituency who it is clear wish to do just that: to end, entreat and endure us Britishers to rein in our combustible, liquid desires upon this season of Christ’s birth. Of course, quelle surprise, it is the oh-so-righteous Muslim’s – those ethnic persons who are several centuries behind Christ’s call to his flock, and seemingly several eons behind getting their round in. 

As gallivanting hordes of Xmas shoppers made the tour of department stores in medium sized market towns this past week a plucky Muslim-ess behind the counter at M&S apparently refused to serve a customer attempting to purchase a routine festive booze-haul. The press release from M&S sadly says it all re this particular debacle. The food-chain which is the sheer backbone of Middle England decided to give the Mohammedan a lengthy ticking off and a spell in the back-office – thereby averting a good day’s work that would SODDING WELL DO THE WOMAN GOOD. Anyhoo, the public relations crisis averted by the firm versus the capricious clutches of the PC brigade has been averted and they can get back to what they do best – serving an assortment of surreally flavoured “sandwiches” to the nation’s office workers. One rather disturbing thought lingers from this whole affair however and refuses to go away. What if this isn’t a one off? What if - instead of exhibiting the passive separateness that is the hallmark of the Great British Muslimer - what if each and every man jack of them decides to have nothing to do with alcohol from this point forward? Never mind the once yearly Christmas splurge-up – for Christ’s sake every offie and Costcutters in the land will be full of noncompliant hijab wearers refusing our native custom! The very idea of being robbed of a 1 AM fix of a Thursday night by Abu (the nice smiley one) from Bargain Booze sends my skin into a cold sweat. And so if one is to deduce that there is a potential crisis within this most important of all UK service sectors one must also seek solutions. So this is what I propose to do about it. 

Unlike my fellow travellers within the Conservative Party, UKIP and other denizens of right wing thought such as Melanie Phillips I do not propose at all that we should exclude the Muslimers from Britain. These people - impoverished and simple as they generally are - are the very beating heart of menial labour in this country. From collecting scattered rubbish outside of Stockwell tube to cleaning the insides of Number One Canada Square at all hours, where in all honesty would we be without these stoic godfearers? Islamaticists are now a fact of life - they are welcome to stay and live here as long as they live within a few nicely bound, non-egregious rules and regs that may assuage the fears of their countrymen that they are in fact not all crazed knife-wielders ready to lop off the heads of all and sundry. Why then is it so unreasonable to suggest that our fellow citizens of the Muslim persuasion should be allowed to leave their homes only on condition that they are totally intoxicated? For surely if the Muslimists are drunk (every man woman and child) ALL the time, then we can be not only assured that they are adhering to our time-honoured traditions but also that they are merry enough to (to coin a youthful phrase) “chill out” some, and in doing so they will be able to contribute more enjoyably to British national life. It is common knowledge that just two or three generous measures of wine or so makes an individual more agreeable, and as a matter of course it would be all that more fun for us all if this downtrodden minority spends their mostly miserable lives thoroughly plastered. Think of the “bants” that could be had if your local grocer or corner-shop salesperson was pissed 24/7! Daily we are told that the British consume far too much alcohol per capita than is healthy – surely now we can gather together the booze that is surplus to requirements and use it to paper over the cracks in our multi-racial mosaic of national life. By rationing a per-units policy as per each and every Muslimander who resides here we can hope to keep those extremists who wish to destroy us on a tight leash and also keep a smile on the face of us genuinely British, who would dearly love to interact more with these darkly-hewn religious persons but who cannot for the simple reason that they are not shitfaced all day and all night. We need firm leadership in this country. A leadership which (one hopes) Mr Cameron can provide by making compulsory the drunken inebriation of each and every Muslimist when they leave their houses, places of worship, council flats or local haberdasheries and making sure they remain drunk through the course of their working day via regular spot checks and breathalyser samples. Only when we can be sure that these apostates of Christendom and Britishness are pissed can we be certain that they will remain loyal; for as it has been so plainly and wisely observed – a numbed drunken servant is better for Britain than an alert and sober terrorist. 

PRISON WORKS!

How A Sound Approach To Crime And Punishment Means One Man’s Walk To Freedom Meant He Died Having Never Reoffended

The dignified single-fisted salute said it all. After twenty-seven years incarcerated on Robben Island a proud black man emerged into the bright African sunlight: a world historical event that apparently warranted a newsflash (entirely ruining the episode of Antiques Roadshow my mother had dutifully tuned into that Sunday evening.) Sad news emerged last week that said old black man had breathed his last at his home in Johannesburg. Whilst we are right to mourn the passing of any human being it is also correct that we should give extra kudos to this particular ex-offender. For after twenty-three years of freedom this esteemed old black passed away having never reoffended and having never seen the inside of another South African prison.

Now there have been many liberal-minded obituaries to the old black. Many have spoken of his revolutionary zeal against the proudly nationalist government of the day. Others have pointed out the fun-loving showbiz side of this decidedly perky old black - he did after all greet high calibre celebs such as The Spice Girls during his declining years (I imagine the girls were presumably doing some kind of charity gig on behalf of ex-offender charities at the time.) However the only truly insightful pieces of analysis of course come from the legacy of Right Minded insight from former Conservative MPs during the quarter-century period of punishment and rehabilitation of the old black. Lest we forget during the 1980s one leading Right Winger and head of the Monday Club bravely pronounced that the old (then imprisoned) black should be shot. Another of his colleagues stoically said that that the revolutionary group the black was aligned to were guilty of high treason. We can undoubtedly speculate that the deft machinations of firm but fair figures such as Dick Cheney who voted against the U.S Congress’s Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act gave the black’s morale some moral sustenance as per his rehabilitation back into society. Also the efforts of our very own PM David “Dave” Cameron should not be forgotten either. After all it was he as a go-getting young entrepreneur who decided of his own free will to make a pound or two on a South African government-sponsored trade junket back in 1989. Surely this desire to better ones self and to make a bob or two must have made the black pull his socks up “damn straight” as they say in the hip-hop world and made him reconsider his perilous position regarding his stance with regards to human rights, dignity and the fair and free treatment of all.

Now I am not suggesting that we should ignore the old black’s violent legacy. Like many of his race he was easily led astray by the whims of boxing, flighty women and profound moral justice. We should however celebrate the international conservative response regarding the efforts to pull the old black into the brotherhood of humanity. When we all cried “TREASON” surely it could only ever have assisted him in his efforts to stay away from the life of crime and dank decrepitude the old black was travelling. That being said one feels it would be churlish to ignore this old black’s efforts at recompense and remorse for his actions. When the powers that be told him to turn a dignified face towards all mankind and bask in the adulation of other such erstwhile villains as Yasser Arafat and Fidel Castro he did so. Likewise when they told him to put on a colourful shirt, attend a few rugby matches and keep on smiling he did so. The very fact that the old black was compos mentis enough to point his head in the right direction during the last world cup surely meant that the Apartheid South African policy of hard labour and short-sharp-shock really paid off in this instance.

As the world gathers around its collected television sets, laptops and ipads during this “in memoriam” bonanza we should perhaps consider the effect that the so-called “liberal” commentariat had on this former offender. The snide brouhaha of messieurs Hain and Skinner entirely eclipsed the worthwhile efforts of those such as Lord Norman Tebbit who adopted a clearly stand-firmish stance on the subject of law and order when relating to our darker brethren. In terms of the sporting embargo against the lawful South African government of the day the work of Lady Thatcher’s ennobled consort Sir Denis Thatcher ensured that a number of sporting test matches went off without a hitch. Indeed in looking at the state of play in Africa in 2013 we can be confident that none of the wishes of this leftish black have come to pass and the world can breathe a sigh of relief for all that. His apparent love of liberty, justice and vibrant colours have razed the fabric of society in southern african climbs down to the ground to the extent that merely to book a BA Business Class flight to Cape Town invites a severe dose of swine flu, AIDS and dengue fever. We can’t of course know what this ageing black’s wishes would be during the final farewell of his ultimately redeemed life. Thankfully we do know that the thoughts and prayers of international conservatives such as George W Bush, Bono and Iain Duncan Smith are with the family at this difficult time. One can only look forward to watching the international spectacle of the funeral and the voices on the all-singing, all-dancing grief-o-ganza on Sky News. Undoubtedly there will be the pronouncements of sanctimonious establishment voices such as Sir David Dimbleby and Moira Stuart but do remember to press the red button for alternative views from the right such as Sir Teddy Taylor and Luis Suarez, for without them we would surely not have been welcome to the life-affirming story of redemption that the legacy of the old black represents and in whose guilt we can truly understand the steadfast, protective clarion call from the right who after all were not to know that a cut-price black lawyer from Jo’burg would turn out to be the greatest statesman of the twentieth century. Cry it loud from the rafters of any home counties hostelry you doth frequent, because he belongs to us as much as he belongs to the assortment of lefties, long-haireds and weirdos who do his legacy such a disservice. And so say all of us! Madiba Lives!

Dear Mr Cameron – now is the time to seize the crack smoking mantle

An open letter to the Prime Minister regarding the necessity of a strong drugs policy prior to the next election

Dear Dave (you don’t mind if I call you Dave do you?) I am writing to you as regards to your perilous poll position with the Tories. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m dyed in the wool true blue Conservative here, fond of canapés and sherry and one-upmanship, but one cannot remain unconcerned by the scurrilous reporting of our loyal journals of note such as The Telegraph and The Spectator who increasingly point out that you yourself are seen as a third-rate estate agent from the home counties flogging a dead horse (i.e the United Kingdom.) Hope is at hand however Dave. You can’t help but gaze out from the joyous Notting Hill soirees you so frequent and not notice that there is one tonic that we of the Right can unite upon. A cutting-edge, thrills and spills pastime that is apparently all the rage amongst those of your natural constituents as well as amongst plenty of those whom your policies are designed – RIGHTfully I might add – to punish. I speak of course of Base. Beemers. Bings. And a good ole Big 8. I dare say you might be a bit out of the loop re street “slang” Dave so let me spell it out for you – I’m talking of the freebase form of cocaine. Crack.  

Now I know you might be a confirmed resident of planet “fuddy-duddy” sitting up there in your ivory tower in Number 10 (put away those old Smiths LPs Dave!) but no doubt you are conscious of the overwhelming groundswell of Great British love for crack at this point in your tenure. From gatherings in garages in Norwood to the upper-echelons enjoying a joke and a smoke amongst the well-heeled and upper-profiled it is clear that crack has a steadfast place in the nation’s heart (and wallets) just at a time when the reforming coalition government of which you are the head is struggling to find a “vision”, a “brand”; in short is failing to show the world that it is just a wee bit Zeitgeisty. Mr Cameron, looking around the state of a despondent education sector, a housing policy up the spout, an NHS on its last legs and rocketing fuel costs it does indeed raise the question: Dave, are you smoking crack? And if not – why not?

Now I do not propose that by indulging in the use of crack Dave that you should make this a daily occurrence. No one wants to witness you monged out of your eyeballs having bade “Harroe!” to a Chinese trade delegation. Or slipping into a paranoid psychosis during PMs Qs. No what I’m suggesting is setting up an opportune (or several) photo-op or clandestine tabloid stings featuring your new-found love of the pipe. Let’s face it it hasn’t exactly done Rob Ford any harm (in fact the Toronto mayor has personal approval ratings way above your own), neither has the Boutros-Boutros Ghali fuelled antics of Nigella shaken her “street-cred” with a Middle England on whose votes you so depend. With pipe in hand (or melted drink can or wrapped tinfoil - whatever’s your poison) and with three-white-one-brown deep in your lungs you have the opportunity to present a newly swivelled-eyed optimism to the world at large for a nation who doesn’t care about the recession or the cost of living as long as there’s Bobo to be had and a burst of euphoria akin to the Royal Mail selloff.

Now in terms of selecting a venue for the proposed use-up. I myself luckily retain a small maisonette south of the river and might be able to help you out. What I am proposing is a cosy Sunday evening get-together - just you, me, your redoubtable companion “Sam-Cam”, my neighbour Hassan who’ll be bringing the “gear” and no infants please (really not suitable; and on the bright side you won’t have to “remember” your daughter following the insatiable ten minutes of pure rock rush. ) All we need is a few choice snaps of you and the missus chasing the proverbial dragon to sneak their way to the red tops (am sure a latter-day Coulson amongst your press corps can arrange this) and - hey presto! – we have a rejuvenated PM with an edgy young image; unafraid to make difficult decisions be it concerning the “bedroom” tax or burning some sweet sweet Paradise White, thereby attaining the kind of incendiary confidence that one can only associate with a Conservative custodian of Downing Street. Think hard Dave. Your country, your party and your social status depends upon it. Let’s go roast some blow “bro!”

With admiration and concern

Rupert Thorncroft