O Joy! Let the poets sing and whistle rudely for once again an old Etonian holds the reins of England’s green and pleasant land. This pink cheeked man of privilege, David Cameron is the country’s youngest Prime Minister since Pitt the Younger or Pitt the Even Younger than that. His wife, Samantha, is distinguished not only by her noble profile but by being part of a family that owns vast tracts of turf throughout the land including parks,several castles and the odd forest possibly containing Russell Crowe. Her ancestors sold Buckingham Palace to King George the Third (with the help, it must be said of Sir Phil Spencer and Lady Kirstie Allsopp* who showed him several other properties before he bit)
Tony Parsons, the popular novelist (Man and Boy, Man, Woman and Boy, Man, Woman, Boy and Dog etc) and plain talking guru of the UK Mirror newspaper suggested just before the election that a posh nob like Cameron might be ill equipped for the most important job in the country as, due to his protected and coddled background, he’d have no awareness of how the man in the street really feels or thinks. He’s wrong of course as pain and suffering has no regard for the class barrier. The man in the street (bless) would have no way of appreciating the angst Mr Cameron might feel if cook overboiled his breakfast egg or if the trouser maid screwed up the crease of his pants. These are issues that only a chap who’s ‘born to rule’ can comprehend.
Mr Cameron also, it is alleged, was once in troubleÂ for smoking marijuana at Eton. It’s this kind of devil may care rebel attitude that indicates the toughest and coolest of characters. By all reports he had to write out 500 lines of Latin text as punishment, a chore that would have kept him from swanning about the river in a candy striped blazer or lying baked in the cool grass with a bag of lemon sherberts* listening to the whack of leather on willow. Who knows what anguished hellish thoughts writhed through his mind as his hand struggled to keep pace with Caesar or Cicero or Virgil. Spending a year or ten in a maximum security prison surrounded by maniacs with shivs and over ripe sexuality is nothing to 500 lines of Latin. This man has paid his debt to society and has come out the other side refreshed, humbled and ready to lead.
The seriously impressive Gordon Brown has passed the baton which young David has duly wiped with aloe vera and waved aloft. Obama has made the phone call expressing whatever Presidents express at this kind of time and the Queen has shook his hand no doubt thrilled that finally there’s a PM who’ll know which knife to use with the soup.
One question remains. Will the power go to his head? Or is he, as a toffee nosed toff so well bred that even if it does, we won’t be able to pick it.
* Adorable UK televison celebs
* Adorable UK candy