let them eat quails' eggs and caviar

(Brilliant) Image credit: Mongo

There will have come a time in David Cameron's day today when he wished he'd stayed home to quell the serfs. Limping away from the podium at the first ever national televised political debate between the LibDem, Labour and Tory party leaders, the only  possible comforting solace for him, deriving from his  warm, cosy memories of Eton, might have lain in his having been soundly thrashed.

Eager to present himself as a man fit for Number 10, his accounts of meeting this person, and that person, and yet another person trying to get away before being used as a convenient soundbyte, seemed as though delivered by a freshly-moisturised-baby's-bum-faced boy sent to the headmaster's study eager to secure a prefect's badge and snitch on Carruthers Minor.

He reminded us eight times of his children in case anyone doubted his ability to do anything vaguely similar to the average human being in Britain, and spoke with breathless surprise of having met a black man in Portsmouth.  This man, he reported with astonishment - "even he" (Cameron's italics) thought the immigration situation in Britain was out of control.  You can see why Cameron would have been so agog, having been raised in the rarefied atmosphere of the aristocracy and finding himself talking  face to face  with a man who surely must have been an immigrant, what with having black skin and all and yet pronouncing on Britain's border controls. Imagine.

All was not lost however, despite what you might think. Having been trounced by the other blighters on stage, he was bolstered by the ministrations and support of the blue rinsed, the chinless and the squeakily and cleanly scrubbed acolytes who received him into their collective bosom. Valiantly they tweeted to a yawning void how well he did, how he won, how he came first in the debate. Later they retired to read of unicorns and a flat earth and a moon made of cheese.

Ding ding. Round two .... 

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