First: Sub-Prime Minister does not know whether to fart or kick for touch. “I, I, I, accept the ahhhhh ruling, of course. Er, what is the phwarrgh correct attire for Wormwood Scrubs? Neow, neow, my actions were, haaaa, illegal but I’m not, not a criminal, am I? Can’t go putting a y’know, Prime Thingy in prison. I’ll get Dominic Doings to, to, to bail me out or something, yah? I’m still y’know, leader of the ahhhh party. That must help, surely? Carrie – stop packing that suitcase. Not phwarrr, over yet. Is it? Oh, er by the way, I’m staying in New York until, until, phwarrgh, until something or other happens. I’m going to haaa, apologise to Prince Phyllis, of course, as soon as I can, y’know, get a flight back. Damned Thomas er, ahh, Cook, kicking me in the, in the, haaa.”

Then: O Jeremy Corby Press says “This is all pants.” My reaction to the Supreme Court ruling? “………………………..”. I need time to consult, with, with, with. Going to allotment now. Must speak to cucumbers. Also compose questions to the PM for next time, asap. PDG, QED. I will say this, that and the other, maybe, maybe not, possibly, probably, on one hand, and on the other.”

And so: Her Maj waits in Buck House for apology. Mobilises Household Cavalry to drag bozo to her if necessary. Cameron heard to suggest he’d like to return to politics, as application for ennoblement turned down. Her Maj totally pissed off with him, too. Says, “Deount bring one any more Praime Ministers. One is taired of the whoale rorten lort orf them.” Jacob Rich-Muck polishes Bently furiosly, furious. “It’s may turn, demmit.”

In the USA: Trump goes farming. Digs dirt in all directions, buries Melania, Peoria, Georgia and Pennsylvania by mistake. Addresses rally, according to him, of four million in Assill, Alabama, or Tennessee or maybe somewhere else. Welcomes cardboard cutouts of Stalin, Pol Pot, Goebbels. “I’ll talk to Gee Ping Jing, Chin pang, Chee chang whatever his name is, also Kim Ying Yang, and the Holy Sh-it in Eye-ran. I’ll talk to anyone, any time, anywhere. Maybe not in San Francisco, all those queer guys, love them, really, great guys, great guys, also gals. Where’s Pence? Need his two cents’ worth.”

And in Edinburgh: Nicola Sturgeon celebrates with caviar from, er sturgeon. Scotch whisky shortage everywhere. Decides on strength of Supremes decision not to ask for another Indie Ref for Scotland. Just declares deep-fried UDI instead, herself Nickie Queen Of Scots, deposing Sean Connery in boozeless coup. Bakes independence cake using Flour Of Scotland.

And etcetera etcetera ad nauseam, but more to come.