By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who has hated Venezuelans ever since one gazumped her on a house

HE pretended he wasn’t interested. ‘Brexit?’ he said, disingenuously, ‘Why on earth should I stage an entire election just to sexually violate that?’

‘Come on,’ he adds. ‘As if I would go to the trouble of running as Labour leader, reshaping the party, creating attractive though unworkable policies and becoming prime minister, to get unrestricted, unsupervised access to Brexit?’ The drool on his chin giving him away.

Oh, he knows. He’s bided his time: pretending he loved it, accepting it like a gay son, acting like he was indifferent to its sovereign charms. All the while consumed with his lust, envy and murderous intent.

Because ‘Sir’ Keir Starmer

See Full Page