I was a member of the Labour party for a year, way back in the day. This would have been 1995 or ’96, before they were elected, when they seemed like our last best hope. I also thought it would be a way to meet cute, politicised women.

It all turned out to be a terrible disappointment. I did get a red rose lapel pin, an occasional newsletter and the chance to go to dull meetings with tea and those biscuits only grandmothers ever have. And I don’t think there were any women, cute, politicised or otherwise. The only reason left for remaining a member would have been so I could quit in disgust at a moment like this, but it seems even that would have amounted to nothing much.