Goodness. Igor (that’s Anlotti’s forename) had long ago fallen asleep, mainly as a result of the seeming futility of writing about politics in the UK – where nothing seems to make any difference, where the same few people hold all the power and money and steadily amass more of each without hindrance. It might as well be the 1950s, except that inequalities weren’t as pronounced then. Although something called the ‘government’ continually trashes, withdraws and undermines public services and public sector workers, the wider public does nothing to stop this; for the most part, the wider public regards politics as a tedious irrelevance that distracts from the core business of life – shopping and social media. So, what is the point?

Igor’s last waking memory was from May 2015, of something called the Labour leadership election. Somebody called Jeremy won it. Not Clarkson or Kyle or Hunt, but another Jeremy. Lots of Labour insiders who had believed that Labour had been changed for All Time by a Messiah were horrified, whereas lots of young people (apparently they were young) were galvanised and energised and joined the party in droves. Well, they paid three quid and sort of supported it, in a way that only the commitment of three whole pounds could engender.

We couldn’t decide, and neither could Labour insiders, whether this would introduce a familiar exclusive opposition – either Labour has strong principles or it gets elected – or signal a change to something else – Labour has to declare strong principles in order to get elected. Well, it was all very interesting, and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

But Igor’s woken up with a start. He’s had an unbelievably horrible dream.