There used to be a certain romanticism about being a tramp. Walking the highways and byways with a red spotted handkerchief knotted on a stick. Battered hat worn at a jaunty angle. The occasional mild con, but nothing terrible. Since Gordon Brown was in power it’s all become a bit sordid, why on my way to work I was even accosted by what can only be called a beggar. ‘come come’, I said, ‘this is England, not some Egyptian souk. Have some pride, man’. He used a profanity.

Oh what had become of this green and lovely land? At least Cameron seems a decent enough cove, and will have us back to warm ales on village greens in no time.