One of these days, someone will write a novel about David Cameron. One of those frothy comedies you buy at railway station outposts of WH Smith. The kind with embossed writing on the cover and a photo of someone in a business suit clutching a baby and an iPad and talking on the phone, while looking harrassed. The picture will be of Cameron himself. Maybe it will be called I Don't Know How He Does It.
Because how does he do it? His Sunday Telegraph interview last weekend saw him discussing policy, how he "finds time for his children", and his many and varied pop culture interests – he's finished Angry Birds and moved on to Fruit Ninja. He was hooked on The Killing 2 on TV. And he's been listening to this year's most hotly tipped new act, Lana Del Rey, as well as Band of Horses, a beardy American group beloved of men of a certain age. Sometimes he even runs the country.
Cameron's relationship with pop culture has become a vexed issue. Every time he proclaims his love for something – the Smiths or Paul Weller, for example – artists and fans alike queue up to distance themselves from him. And the world wonders if he has given them the kiss of death. But the evidence suggests otherwise. Since Weller got the Cameron endorsement in 2008, he has entered a career renaissance, recording albums that have set the critics salivating. The Smiths were one of Cameron's Desert Island Discs in 2006, and now they have had the financial boost of that John Lewis ad, and the artistic one of their acclaimed Complete box set last year.
The lesson for Del Rey and Band of Horses is clear: start planning for superstardom right now. And if you are in a new band, don't bother with that irksome business of building a fanbase – just get your demo to No 10, wait for the prime ministerial mention, and your dreams will come true, especially if your dreams include every mention of your name being followed by the words: "Doesn't Cameron like them?"
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