A belated birthday gift has arrived from one of my wittiest and loveliest colleagues. She has, in her wisdom, given me a pair of voluminous Y-fronts. Not just any old Y-fronts: Boris Johnson Y-Fronts.
Needless to say, I disapprove of Boris Johnson: under the clown is a very unpleasant right-winger of the worst sort: like Cameron and Osborne, he's a hereditary millionaire fond of telling people that a bit of hard work will drag them up from the gutter.
If they're anything like Boris Johnson's own pants, these would spend quite a lot of time on the floor of somebody else's bedroom. As it is, they'll keep me amused for years, and when he's Prime Minister of England (I can't see Scotland, Wales or even the NI Unionists sticking around for Boris), I'll donate them to the People's History Museum, along with my 2001 election lollies depicting Tony Blair, Michael Howard and whoever the Lib Dems had in those more innocent times.