Name: David Cameron.
Age: 51.
Appearance: A bladder of lard. A carrier bag filled with yoghurt. “A C3PO made of ham” (Caitlin Moran). A serenely untroubled alleged (but denied) pig- and (definite) country-despoiler.
May I briefly indulge myself by hoping that he is in the news because he is about to be brought before some kind of tribunal for letting his ego drown his nation in the Brexit mire? You may, but he’s not.
An official commission? Inquiry? Nope.
Could you give me “constantly running a gauntlet of contemptuous Cotswolds looks whenever he pops down to Waitrose”? It’s possible, but there have been no confirmed reports.
What is he up to, then? He has been taking selfies with a hen party at Wilderness festival.
There are many things wrong with that sentence. I know.
One, what is a hen party doing wanting pictures with Cameron? How bad a night are you having for his advent into your lives to become a highlight worth recording instead of a reason to run screaming into the night? One has to hope they were so powerfully intoxicated by the prospect of one of their number being about to embark on a lifetime of marital bliss with the man of her dreams that their happiness was strong enough to absorb and neutralise his presence rather than shatter on contact.
I do suspect intoxication played some part. Or they were leavers ...
What is he doing going to festivals, anyway? I thought they were free-spirit, crap-in-a-bucket, leftwing things? Wilderness – AKA Poshstock – is posh. And Cameron loves a posh festival. He and Sam were first spotted at the precursor to Wilderness, which takes place in Cornbury in Oxfordshire, in 2008, then at Wilderness in 2013.
Bleeurgh. Pace yourself. There was also the year he was photographed sporting a baby sling and chatting to Jeremy Clarkson at Alex James’s cheese festival, Harvest, while James looked on in the background.
Is there a festival tent somewhere around here? I suddenly feel the very great need to escape reality. And last year he was snapped, cocktail in one hand, fag in the other, being hugged by another Wilderness festivalgoer.
It’s as though he is almost never sitting at home contemplating the wreckage of his life and country as we would wish him to. On the upside, that festivalgoer was, seemingly unbeknown to him, wearing a giant pink glittery heart emblazoned with “Corbyn” on her back.
Oh well, that just makes up for everything, doesn’t it? I know.
Do say: “I have a wilderness in mind for you, Dave, but it’s a little more filled with savage beasts and inhospitable climatic extremes than this one.”
Don’t say: “Ooh, David Cameron! Is Jeremy Clarkson with you? Let’s partaaaaay!”
